Self-Nudes, Self-Discovery, Self-Acceptance
From shame to self-love, snap by snap
Totally inspired by Yael Wolfe’s article on disrobing before her own camera, I sneaked into the bathroom, pulled down my trousers, and snapped three photographs of my penis in flaccid state — exhibits A, B, and C (not included in this article).
Okay, Ms. Wolfe did not exactly flash her crotch at the camera, did she? At least not in relation to her wonderful article about empowerment through self-nudes, May I Show You My Breasts?
Crotch, breasts, potah-to, potay-to. The body part is not the important part. The point is that many of us — regardless of gender — are insecure about our bodies. We have learnt to hide them in shame or conceal what we regard as imperfections. Each of us with different ways and for different reasons, we camouflage ourselves since adolescence or childhood.
Yael says, in her article:
I struggle with my appearance every second of every day. There isn’t a moment that goes by that I don’t feel deeply insecure about it. I’m tired of fighting my body. I’m tired of hiding it. I’m tired of being so careful to present it in just the right way.
Having taken her nude selfies, her attitude towards her body shifts completely:
I want to be seen. For the first time in my life, I want to be seen.
I believe her. I’ve had the same experience.
Taking photographs of my own body contributes to rediscovering it and—with some perseverance—embracing it.
Being alone
This isn’t the first time that I see nude photos of myself. I have many boudoir shots of my wife and me, which we’ve taken of each other on several occasions.
This couple-boudoir kind of photography is quite different from the nude selfies I am talking about, though. Those pics my wife has taken were in a context of sexual play and exploring each other—possibly through role play, too. Nothing wrong with all that, but exploring myself through self-photography is a different journey.
It, too, can have a playful and sexual side — and there is nothing wrong with that, either. What makes the big difference, though, is being alone. Being alone creates a whole different dynamic to the experience.
It’s me, my body, and my camera. And the camera is the tool that helps me approach my body.
Like all photography, it can become mystical. Being alone internalises it even more. It becomes a personal search for identity, without anybody else’s help or opinion.
No other person is there to direct or pep-talk me. Nobody is there to persuade me that I look good.
It’s not even about the looks. It’s about photographing the essence.
It is about anagnorisis. Seeing the previously unseen. Passing from a state of ignorance to that of knowledge.
Ignorance
Of course, at first, we don’t know we are in a state of ignorance. Admitting ignorance is the beginning of knowledge. Denying it facilitates its perpetuation.
We are ignorant, because we think we know ourselves, when all we have is a well structured illusion.
First, we are already saturated with our shape. We see it everyday for years, looking downward or in the mirror. Since that shape doesn’t change drastically from day to day, the brain doesn’t bother “refreshing” the perceived image. (If it did, we would spend hours every day actually rediscovering our appearance from scratch.) This is why, some day, we look closely and realise that we have white hair. The white hair has already been there for months or years, but — under the illusion that we know our self-image — we haven’t bothered to really look.
Then, it’s not just the shapes. We are also saturated with the beliefs attached to them. The stories we tell about ourselves, not the shapes, shape our identity.
When they are negative, our noses, our penises, our labia, our breasts, or our butts are not just shapes, anymore. They are chains attached to a big iron ball of shame.
It can be a personal decision: “If this is what others see, I must hide it.” Or it can be imposed by a parent, teacher, or other authority figure: “Stop flaunting your breasts, young lady. You’re distracting the boys.”
So, we start wearing clothes that accommodate hiding our shameful parts. Or adopt a body posture that does the same. Hiding and shame become parts of our identity.
Knowledge
When I heard my recorded voice for the first time, my reaction was, “Is this me?” I was shocked. I hated it. “Is this what people have to put up with, every time I open my mouth? Why hasn’t anyone told me I sound so horrible?”
Then, through repetition, I got more well-acquainted with that stranger’s voice. Today, I can genuinely say I love my voice. I do acknowledge its flaws — my mumbling and shallow breathing — and I would welcome any voice training. Still, I love it.
The same happens with photographing ourselves.
The only true voyage of discovery, the only fountain of Eternal Youth, would be not to visit strange lands but to possess other eyes, to behold the universe through the eyes of another […]—Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time, vol. V: The Prisoner
Proust writes that — through their work — an artist lends us their own point of view. Photography can offer us something similar; a fresh gaze towards the world — including ourselves.
Photography allows us to see our form from angles we’ve never seen it before. Like hearing our recorded voice for the first time, we are surprised — even shocked. Then, we get used to our form. We can even like it.
Or… love it?
God forbid! Is that even possible?
Empowerment
I photographed my penis, because it has always been the part that I’m insecure about the most. There is more, of course. With a 40-year-old dad bod, a bald crown, and a psoriatic skin, I have plenty of things to photograph, rediscover, and embrace.
It is working — and has worked in the past. Photographing my own body has always given me a sense of empowerment.
“Empowerment” does not mean I can be anyone I fantasise. It means I can be me.
Finding and embracing ourselves is the most important quest. Photographing our naked bodies is one of the ways we can get closer to this discovery.
Is it exhibitionistic?
Perhaps. Turning shame into love deserves a celebration — for some, even a public one.
But please don’t make the mistake to think that it’s about getting other people’s approval. In the journey of self-acceptance, other people’s opinions come second — if at all. Whether people find Yael’s breasts beautiful or not is unimportant.
What’s important is that she used to be ashamed of her body and now she embraces and celebrates it.
Self-love
I know self-nudes can help us find self-love. There is one prerequisite:
When we photograph a nude body, we must be kind with the model.
To do that, we must accept the form, but reject the ideas attached to it. Especially when model and photographer are the same person, we must suspend our judgement and keep our hearts open — clean from all the chronic, polluted beliefs that drag the ball and chain of shame.
As our bravest part trusts us with our most vulnerable part, we must not betray either.
We can’t keep repeating the old shaming mantras. The shock of seeing ourselves under a new light is an opportunity. It is the disturbance needed to start a revolution and overturn the reign of shame.
That is when the age of self-love begins.
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