Fuck You, I’m a Sexy Bitch
It’s been a while since I did one of my infamous body image challenges. If you’ve known me for more than 3 years, you’ll remember the great buzzcut of 2013. This time, I decided to sign up for a professional photo shoot with a lovely local photographer. All I had to was go out and find some lingerie to wear. Oh, did I not mention?! This ain’t headshots we’re talkin’. I willingly participated in a boudoir photo shoot.
I totally know what you’re thinking! But Rachel, this is not the type of thing millennials do! Aren’t boudoir photo shoots for bored housewives who want to keep their aging sugar daddies interested?! Well, sure; I guess they can be. I mean it does sound pretty bougie (bouge-oir?). But FUCK it’s also for the average layperson, people.
I honestly don’t think I would have done this without the perfect photographer. And I found her! Well, to be fair, my good friend out in LA found her on Instagram about a year ago and shared with me. But that’s beside the point. Not only is she incredibly talented, she is super-duper body positive and is all about allowing the experience to become transformational. It helped that she herself does not have the societally-approved ideal body type. It comforted me knowing that the person on the other side of the lens would be someone who understands what it’s like to not feel fully comfortable in your own skin, which is something that she’s very open about herself. Someone who understands not seeing her body type represented. Maybe even seeing it criticized (ex: Lena Dunham’s body on Girls).
What put me most on edge, though, is simply the fact that this is not something I, Rachel Elizabeth Drane, do. First off, rarely, if ever, would I sign up for a thing where it was actually someone’s job to stare at me for an hour straight. Especially wearing less fabric than my typical bathing suit has! Yeah… right. I’ll just be behind those curtains over there, thank you very much. I do teach yoga occasionally, but I CAN hide in those classes. It’s actually more the point to hide, or at least get out of the way.
I was also having trouble entering into a situation where I am trying to look/act/be sexy. My whole life the most common (positive) appearance identifier I have received has been “cute.” Sometimes pretty. (Some people would have to stress that I have a pretty face… now what does that make me? A but-her body?! Mmmm… now I’m craving Auntie Anne’s).
So, yeah, I tend to be the cute one. The quirky one. The nice one. But rarely would you see me out and about and think “Damn, you look sexy. Let’s go to my yacht in the West Keys, ride my jet skis.” I mean, in all fairness, I’m in yoga clothes 85% of the time, and we’re not talking Lululemon. And when I do dress to go out, I don’t have “sexy” attire. No boob shirts (as if my boobs would ever come together to form anything resembling cleavage… they’re just obstinate that way — it’s the Capricorn in them). No super short garments (I tend to wear shorts under dresses like you did in grade school in order to play without inhibitions at recess). No tight clothes (people can tell I’m wearing underwear!!). I do like to wear dresses, especially in the summer because my only superpower is sweating. But I find myself self-conscious because, uh-oh, people might actually think that I’m trying to look nice! And bam! I’ve opened myself to criticism, or even worse, admiration.
The only exception to this “never do I ever feel or consider myself sexy” mindset (*earmuffs, Mom and Dad*) is if I am already in some sort of sexual act. And even then, part of me wonders if my feeling sexy is just to fulfill a role that my partner expects. For their pleasure. However, on the other hand, these instances could just be the main times I tend to feel comfortable enough allowing my sexuality be expressed. Or maybe it’s the only time women have been taught is appropriate for this sort of thing. Unless they’re a slut (negative connotation, there — not mine, society’s).
Recently, I have gotten much better with myself as a sexual being. I’m slightly (SLIGHTLY) more comfortable with my body than I have been in the past. Definitely more comfortable with asserting my body’s needs. But I think being a person who displays her sexuality openly still scares the shit out of me. A part of that whole stand-alone person thing I’m working on. AKA just showing/being more of my authentic self without the validation from anyone else. It wasn’t until after my marriage (to a person scarred about sex by his fundamentalist Christian upbringing) ended 3 years ago that I started accepting my sexuality and how important it was, and could be, for me.
Journal Entry Day Before the Shoot
“Boudoir shoot is tomorrow. I don’t know if I’m as prepared as I would have liked. And by prepared I guess I mean this in a few ways. Financially — having just had a blown tire and a hospitalized cat, now I need to complete my payment on this shoot. Emotionally — being in a state of pure body love and acceptance would have been nice to achieve beforehand. Physically — I would have loved to have treated my body better leading into the shoot.
That’s part of it , though, Rachel! Accepting yourself and your body at any point in time. Not at the best point in time. Not when you’ve prepped. But at any point. Even when you’re slightly emotionally drained from an intense therapy sesh. What I want for tomorrow is to be in the moment. To let go. To allow for imperfection. To try new things. To feel sexy. To be honest. To be open. To be seen.”
The Shoot
Okay, so, holy shit! I did it!! I bore not only my sexuality but my belly to another human being! Another being I’m not sexing with! Or want to sex with (sorry, Cheyenne)! As a thing that could be sexy! I was sexy! I am sexy! I am overcome with confidence! I’m gonna go wear a romper!
Back up… After a night of waking up every hour to make sure Nico the Cat was still breathing, I meditated, groomed, and made some last-minute wardrobe decisions. I met Cheyenne at her studio in Fishtown, Philadelphia. It was beautiful and soft and well-lit by the Sunday morning sun. We shot the shit until the makeup artist arrived. I was relatively nervous at this point but feeling more like myself than the last time I met Cheyenne. I unexpectedly felt empowered. The makeup artist comes and spends at LEAST 30 minutes smearing stuff on my face. And I know nothing about makeup, so I let her do her thing. Once she was done and I peeked in the mirror, it was a surreal sight. It was me. My face. But like airbrushed? A part of me debated whether or not I liked it because it didn’t look quite like me. It was close but not the real thing.
Then it became just Cheyenne and me. After a brief talk about what to expect — it was time for my first outfit. I took off my clothes, and Cheyenne started showing me poses. Explaining the dos and don’ts. Do keep your fingers relaxed. Do keep your legs together. Don’t suck (jk… she didn’t say that). At this point, I was a little insecure and nervous. I tend to be all about clothing equality. If my shirt’s off, yours is too kinda thing, so me being the only almost naked one was slightly unsettling.
I get into pose #1, a relatively simple, sweet seated pose on a bench next to the window. And I start getting settled into it. Cheyenne began snapping away. She was getting pumped. She was getting amped about my poses, about my look, about the shots that she was getting. She was even coming over to show them to me! THAT’S when her excitement became infectious. I was able to not only feel comfortable but to actually get excited about the shots. That it was me. That I could be that beautiful. Desirable. SEXY, even. Oh, I was in it now!
Pose after pose, I was just getting more into the whole experience. Feeling my body (literally and figuratively). Feeling the sheets beneath me, the rug, the floor. Arching my back and pointing my toes. Messing my hair. Tracing the curve of my neck with my fingertips.
I was so busy feeelin’ maself (as ‘yonce would say) that I hardly even hesitated to change into my more delicate, belly-exposing outfit. I walked back over to Cheyenne, consciously baring my stomach. Resisting the urge to wrap my arms around my center, hiding my biggest “flaw.”
Now Cheyenne is freaking out over the colors, both of my lingerie and of my hair. It’s all so soft and ethereal and dream-like.
I was actually a little disappointed when the hour was up. It had been so much fun. Not only getting into the different positions and trying out different shots but spending time with Cheyenne. We really just had fun with it the whole time. Laughing, joking, talking about butt stuff (as in how to pose my booty). I didn’t want this experience or feeling to fade. All I could think about was how I just wanted those pictures. I wanted to be able to pour over them and internalize all of them. The empowerment, the beauty, the possibility. I was already doing mental math to see if I could afford to buy them all. EVEN ONES THAT SHOW MY STOMAAACH.
After the Shoot
Walking out of there and driving home, I kept saying in my mind “Fuck you, I’m a sexy bitch. Fuck you, I’m a sexy bitch!” I’m not… entirely sure to whom I was talking. Maybe myself or the part of myself that likes to attack my body. Maybe I was addressing the random Tinder guy who might not like the body I bring with the face. Or maybe I was addressing the entirety of society. Or… maybe it was just that voice in my head.
As sexy as I was feeling, it was a sexiness I was unfamiliar with. It was really internal. As I stated earlier, I tend to feel sexy only while with a partner. But I was alone. By myself. Feeling sexy. By just being. I almost wanted to horde this feeling. I didn’t want to give away any of my sexual energy. It wasn’t for anyone else. This was me.
I’m sharing a significant number of the shots publicly, but the images and this experience are primarily for me. As in, this wasn’t done to please anyone else. My mind is aware of the part of itself encouraging me to only share the most flattering shots, in order to receive the most positive feedback. Specifically, the ones that hide my stomach. So Past Rachel threw down the gauntlet to Future Rachel:
Future Rachel, I challenge you to post at least one photo that is not flattering in your typical sense/idea of the term. But also — fuck yeah, share the shit out of the ones you feel bomb.com/iamtheshit_duh.html about!
And it’s okay that I’ve been looking forward to sharing? It is! Sharing is an essential part of this whole process. Sharing my experience as well as the images. It’s essential to express that this is a part of me, and it’s something that I’m not ashamed of.
Writing this now, I have no regrets. Nothing I would have done differently. I opted not to do any nudes or topless shots — sorry ;) — and I’m totally okay with that decision! I thought I might regret it later, but I don’t. Maybe I’ll do that another time, but I’m pretty okay with my naked bits, especially my breastseses. I almost wanted to focus less on them in this shoot, which is why one of my outfits had a high-neckline. And in seeing some of the shots on Cheyenne’s camera, I actually didn’t like it as much when I was especially booby. Not because it was a more highly sexualized version of me, but because that was less what I attribute my sexuality to, maybe? My sister got those genes. I got those thunder thighs, yo! #thickthighssavelives
It’ll be interesting to see how I feel in a few weeks time. Especially after I have spent a significant amount of time with the photos and after I have published this. I wonder how I’ll feel about my body and if I’ll act any differently both in my everyday life and in my dating/sex life. I hope I will.
So far since the shoot a couple weeks ago, I think I’ve more or less gone back to how I tend to interact with my body. I might be slightly more confident in some respects, but sometimes it gets all wrapped up in this never-ending dating game I’ve somehow entered into voluntarily. I’m hoping that with these images, I’ll have a reminder. A visual trigger of the experience. Of this special part of me. A part that can be cultivated, stored, expressed, and even shared (if I want to).
Okay, I’ve made you read enough. Let’s get to the real reason you opened this post:
And, finally, one of my favorites (whaaaat) as well as one of the scariest to share. Not only because of the fully exposed and very relaxed belly but for the newly-acquired forearm scar. But that’s for another time…
Thank you for taking the time to read all of this and share in this experience with me. Your support means more than I can express. You are wonderful, shiny, sexy people. All my love.
Also — please, please, PLEASE check out more of the lovely Cheyenne’s work at cheyennegil.com or on ig (that’s Instagram, Dad) @cheyennegil.
Do yourself a favor — hire her if you’re ever looking to do boudoir. Seriously. Do it. I promise you won’t regret it.
