Our Glorious Bodies: Strategies for resisting mainstream prescriptions of allure and beauty.

Courtesy of Luke Beachey

This year, as part of the Albion Faeries summer solstice celebrations, a circle of courageous faeries came together to share our experiences of embodiment: to talk about how our body issues; anxieties, fears, comparisons, resentments and projections shape our experience of the world, our intimacies and relationships.

Our circle was well attended by a diversity of bodies vis a vis size, shape and age: slim and skinny, big and wholesome, young and old. Our collective was mostly white, mostly male and cisgender – but also genderqueer.

We recognised the lack of representation by our female, trans, black and brown brothers and sisters and honoured their unique experiences. We hope our thoughts and process help initiate further circles where all bodies; their histories, narratives and futures can be held and welcomed, seen and heard, loved and supported.

We set out our space with love and intention and our facilitator encouraged discussion around a number of talking points. As an introduction, participants were invited to reflect on why they had come to the workshop:

  • Why are we here? What moved you individually about the workshop title? What particular feelings and / or grievances do you have about you body that you want to share and / or understand?

Each individual was given space for five minutes to talk around this opening point. A variety of experiences / trauma / conflicts and reflections were offered. Some of us had experienced serious accidents and had been left with the pain and insecurities of scars and surgeries. Some of us, perceived as ‘not having body issues’, felt silenced, unheard and isolated in our pain; not ‘taken seriously’ by others about our anxieties and fears. Some of us were confused by our bodies and by others bodies too – feeling like the body and the symbolism around the ‘preferred’ and ‘body beautiful’ were barriers to finding connection and relationships. Most of us felt dismayed at the pervasiveness of such notions, feeling that even ‘spiritual’ and ‘queer’ communities were just as afflicted and affected by such exclusion and reductivism.

Some of us disliked particular areas of our bodies: our bellies, our faces, our stretch marks, acne, teeth, gums, varicose veins, grey hair and general appearance. Some of us felt a little resentful that just as we were embarking on newly discovered queer-trajectories and callings, our bodies betrayed us by ageing and becoming less appealing to those seeking out the youthful body, the adonis or its non-binary equivalent.

  • How does it feel to inhabit a body that doesn’t conform to mainstream prescriptions of beauty and allure? How does it feel to be disenchanted / depressed or resentful of your own body when it or parts of it feel ‘ugly’ or are sick and weak? How does this affect our lives and relationships?

This section was timed at around 10-15mins and was an open session with people volunteering reflections and insights. Here we uncovered a great sense of awareness and mourning around the painful experience of being in the world with a body that doesn’t ‘match up’ or that ‘plays up’. Some of us spoke of entertaining a love / hate duality with our bodies; recognising and appreciating its potency, capability and inherent beauty but feeling resentful of its ‘shortfalls’ and ‘weaknesses’. Some of us described the act of recoiling from others touch or interest – literally flinching at the approach of another body or intimate encounter. And also of second guessing and being suspicious of the others intentions: the internal narrative of ‘they’re not really interested’, or ‘I’m not enough’.

Courtesy of Luke Beachey
Courtesy of Luke Beachey

The common experience here was on of inadequacy, which was referenced continuously. Some of us spoke of an energetic experience of ‘closing inwards’ or ‘closing down’, a ‘shrinking feeling’ and a ‘peeling back’ from the world; a clammy fear of being seen and avoiding the gaze of others.

In times of complete disillusionment with our bodies, some of us spoke of adopting an asexual energy and position as a defensive strategy: ‘no one wants it anyway honey, so put it away’. Our natural impulses toward sexuality and intimacy were denied through fear of rejection or having to expose a body that we felt interminably shameful about. Some of us spoke about wanting to just disappear, to be invisible – in humour (but also, in deadly seriousness), some of us spoke of the magic trick of invisibility accompanying a visit to a gay bar, when the affected gaze of the audience to only detect certain bodies, denied the existence of our own.

We all blamed our bodies at some point for all kinds of events and misfortunes: ‘if only my body would do or be such and such, then such and such would be easier’. As a result, at times when our bodies needed the most compassion, in times of ill health or disease, we confessed to subjecting them to all manner of insults and scolding for their ‘lack of perfection’.

Ultimately, all of these experiences converged to instil in us an unbearable low self-esteem. Some of us were so distraught by our embodiment, that we actively retreated into disembodiment, or of taking notions of the energetic body to extremes by inhabiting them as a defensive alternative to being our bodies as material.

Some of us reflected on how all kinds of sexual practices and fetishes were explored as a way of coping with having a different body: how swim wear, leather and sports gear (not exhaustive) allow us to engage sexually and provocatively but to also hide our skins (well, at least partially). The significance of the dark-room in gay sex spaces was not lost on us.

Finally, we closed our section in realising how, whilst being so neurotic in our fear of rejection from others, we spend most of our waking day rejecting our embodied selves.

  • Where do our body anxieties stem from? Whose idealistic and normative prescriptions of the body are we trying to live up to? And where do they come from?

This section ran for another 10-15mins and was another open session. The intention here was to grasp some of the social factors that inform and influence the context for our bodies and our experience of them.

Courtesy of Luke Beachey
Courtesy of Luke Beachey

An interesting insight was into our similar experience as queers as growing up in a straight (white) man’s world: and how, our bodies would ‘betray’ us from an early age, appearing too effeminate or not masculine enough. This would provide the early context for a deep distrust of our bodies and sow the seeds for our delight or retreat into disembodiment. Or perhaps our love of costume and drag – to hide our skins of shame. Our ‘bodies as betrayal’ extends to the bodies expression of natural sexual interest and expression too – how we psychically punish our bodies as youngsters for exhibiting arousal for our same-sex attractors. Shame was recognised as a common emotion and experience for us all and a primary factor in distorting our own body-image.

Some of us commented on the unrealistic portrayals of the body in the media and in fashion especially. Some of us had worked specifically in this industry and reassured everyone of how much of a hot mess models look before being pampered, preened and photoshopped. All of us recognised the damaging effects of this propaganda. All of us felt beleaguered by the trend of a new style for assessing the validity and worth of bodies on ‘the scene’ by ‘rating them’. How our magnificence and complexity had now been reduced to two, three or four stars if-you-should-be-so-lucky.

Many of us felt this phenomena to be fascinating and relevant in the context of our capitalist and consumer culture: how our bodies have been reduced to commodities and forced to operate by the instrumental and transactional logic of capitalism. Dating apps like Grindr have only confounded this problem: we now ‘shop for cock’ and scroll menus of flesh completely disembodied from their human and spiritual realities. Grindr is commodity-fetishism at its zenith.

Further, categorisations and labeling of our bodies (most predominately on that gay scene) excluded those that aren’t deemed to fit and further inflamed the commodification frenzy of them. Not to mention, the fact that the idea of the solid, smooth, athletic body of prowess that is the now everywhere standard, especially within our LGBTQI communities, leaves no room for the visibility and compassion for bodies affected and depleted by a whole spectrum of social issues that affect us disproportionately (chronic and mental health conditions, drug abuse, domestic violence, homelessness and poverty etc).

Some of us commented on how the lack of representation of bodies that are different from the mainstream accepted and celebrated types only bolsters our collective desensitization to bodies deemed ‘other’ or ‘out of control’. In particular, categorisations and labeling of our bodies (most predominately on the gay scene) excluded those that aren’t deemed fit and / or desirable and further inflame the commodification frenzy of them.

It was agreed that the situation has reached fever pitch: an ever narrowing self-perpetuating cycle of exclusion and shame accompanies the media-orgy and fetishisation of the body beautiful. We all acknowledged that non of us belonged to any such ‘boys club’ – and yet recognized that whilst those bodies weren’t represented amongst us, how their particular body issues were unique, significant and valid in their own right.

  • Yet, even in a state of some prescribed ‘non-perfection’, sickness or ill-health – what do our bodies allow? What are our bodies really, beyond biased and corrupt notions of beauty, capability and worth?

Another ten minute open session. Here we discussed ideas of what the body signified or represented ‘authentically’ (to us as disruptive, open-minded and spiritual queers). Here we enjoyed the notion that our bodies were vessels / vehicles / platforms from which to enjoy and celebrate the world and each other. Beyond the above reductivism, we smiled at our bodies as conferring gifts and abilities, such as our innate drive for creativity: our small circle for example, boasted dancers, gardeners, writers, artists, healers, actors, singers and songwriters, musicians and poets.

Courtesy of Luke Beachey
Courtesy of Luke Beachey

We agreed that our bodies, ultimately, are vehicles for connection, for love and intimacy and for building community – the notion that disability, disease or a failure to achieve or possess a certain body type should disqualify us from such bounty, are abstract and destructive concepts born of an abstract and destructive culture.

Some of us enjoyed the idea, inspired by our own journeying with medicine plants and otherwise, that our bodies are but magnificent containers for our consciousness. That what we perceive as individuality is a confusion and a distraction – that this is a momentary, transient and permeable experience: consciousness is eternal and our embodied lives are an experience. We rested together in the miracle and awesomeness of our bodies, the mystery and mystical nature of them. We found solace in reconnecting with their fundamental interdependence with and interconnection with the world around us – how our lives are a perfect symbiosis from the microbial and beyond.

We encouraged together a sense of gratefulness for this realisation and reflected at how easily these understandings were forgotten in the nexus of bodily-symbolic violence and commodification. We connected with the promise of our bodies for our personal development – our facing of fears, our learning and our embracing of the strange, unknown and of each other. We took refuge in the ability of our bodies to transform and for us to act upon our bodies in the pursuit of our personal transformations. A touching story came to the circle, when in her parting moments, one of our Mother’s declared: ‘I am not my body’. Closing, we all nodded in recognition of this familiar experience and knowledge of similar realisations.

  • Moving forward, what are our strategies for resisting commodification of our bodies? For celebrating the glory of our bodies and resisting mainstream prescriptions for allure and beauty?

A twenty minute session by accident. We first dealt with some conflict around what these strategies were and should be. We agreed that what they are not is yet more prescriptions for ‘what we should do’ to our bodies, or how we should be in them. We agreed that the cycle of violence must stop by learning to accept and love our bodies how they are in the moment, without change or regime on the route to some notion of perfection.

All of us pledged to investing in future co-created space where we could safely enjoy our bodies as they are, to be heard and seen in our vulnerability and to see and touch other bodies free from constraining bodily-ideals. We agreed to work to create spaces where we can progress in grappling with and ultimately transcending limiting and damaging ideas of what constitutes an acceptable and/or desirable body: to ‘fuck gender’ and do it anyway. Integral to this is to compliment the intellectual with ‘heart space’ – to bring love into our relationship with our own bodies and to approach other bodies with love too. To ‘be the change’ and to impact on culture by limiting our personal indulgence in reductive and exclusive desires.

Courtesy of Luke Beachey
Courtesy of Luke Beachey

We suggested that restricting our exposure to portrayals of the body beautiful via mainstream media would be nourishing for us: the TV must be sacrificed for our freedom. At the same time to ‘treat our bodies well’ by doing whatever it is to them that brings us nourishment, happiness, contentment or support: to indulge frequently in self-care and to reward ourselves continuously for the courageousness of just ‘being in the body’ and living out our embodied lives.

We promised to smile more, at our bodies and at others too – as a way of signalling our respect, adoration and acceptance of them. But we also recognised the importance of ‘being okay with not being okay’, to give space for sorrow when our bodies are not performing as we would have them, or when looking a certain way – whilst importantly, remembering our discussions and lessons here to guide us again to a place of ease and contentment.

Finally and in recognition that our time together put a limit on the diversity and infinite number of ways we can celebrate our bodies consistently as a way of being, we also set out to challenge ourselves. To step into vulnerability, safely – to celebrate our bodies from within, to allow them to be seen and celebrated more by others.

This process was undertaken on the day of the solstice and I can say that I saw some courageous celebrations of our bodies that evening – and it was beautiful. We were beautiful x

To: Faunalicious, Queever, Big Sister, Brunelle, Brother Sun, Marlena, Stan, Pink Dalek, Hagbard, Badger, Cunty and Swallow.

From my body to yours, Octopus x


DarkMatter Burn in Brighton

Eaten up by both your fire and inflamed by it,
Left dancing with this ache of an insight,
And a tremble of an echo at a kind of embodiment I can never know,
But then that I know profoundly through my own bodily investment.

I can only burn inward.
Burning outward only by allowance.
Hearing only through exposure.
Seeing only by a kind of craft wrought in the screams muffled to us.

I’d of manage more than ‘it was really good’ if I could have bared all in that moment the weight of that space and circumstances between us,
If I could have breathed more with your eyes upon me,
If I could have been ’emotional in public’,
If I could have stopped trying to explain away my sadness,
And stepped out of a world that denies the foundation of yours.

When I look at you.

I used to know you were in the kitchen before I entered. Not because I could hear you.

Picked at each string in hesitation of your heat and heavyweight.

Took interest in your rage at it all – not all unjustified.


The dining chairs were always more present, more uncomfortable.

I felt the delicate fold of my fingers, and the flow of my downcast gaze,

Felt my own frailty like I was meant to.


I think I hoped my language would touch you in fellowship,

But you were deaf to it.

I signified only weakness and you echoed at my stare.


When we laughed together, I saw a boy in you.

At the time, it was to much to ask, for you to see the girl in me.

The ‘chav’ battle – some closing words.

Chav night @ Revenge.

In my view, some of you fell on the wrong side of the chav debate this last week. Some of you ‘liked’ supporting or mocking comments. Some of you even chipped in your own away from my feed.

Some of you seemed unable to grasp why such a fuss had been made over a seemingly benign themed night. Some of you said that we all need to relax, that political correctness is reaching levels of the absurd. Some of you were able to totally reject the voices of working class people, and reams of research on the nature of classist stereotyping, to say a few of us were just over sensitive and imagining things. Some of you very easily, too easily assumed, we were all talking from the same place – that our objection was some ridiculous middle class stunt, or that we were after a quick fifteen minutes of fame.

Some of you got very angry at us and attacked us. Some of you tried to shame us, to tell us we were in the wrong and that for even entertaining a debate on social justice, we deserved to be ostracized – we didn’t belong in your group, you all just wanted to carry on having fun.

I understand some of this came from loyalty and allegiances – I get that Revenge is very important for some people: for some people it’s their work, for others it’s their sense of community and fun. I understand that no maliciousness was meant by the club promoters, and that they didn’t foresee the potential social and political consequences of the event. I also understand that the topic was ‘heavy’ and that the drudgery of debate and learning can be a right mood killer.

I understand some of this came from the fact we come from different backgrounds, that we’ve had different experiences and most definitely that we’ve had a different education. I even understand that perhaps those trying to make a point didn’t make that point in the most accessible way, and continue to fall over our own language and delivery in trying to make the case.

But nevertheless I feel sorry that obvious truths haven’t made it easier for us to have a more productive discussion. The truth that we live in a classist and highly unequal society. The truth that there are people in our society who live in poverty: that lack access to the basic resources (material, social and cultural) and opportunities that just seem self evident to most of us. The truth that the dominating political narrative at the moment is that somehow, to be poor is a failure of the imagination or of character – that if people would just sort their shit out and take some responsibility, they can progress and succeed to. The truth that, to justify this narrative, an idea of poor people is needed – that poor people are somehow deserving: that they are lazy, stupid, ignorant, violent and reckless for no other reason that they just are. The truth that it’s very easy for us to accept that nothing can be done to help people like this, and even if it could – why would we want to anyway? The truth that, the chav stereotype, alongside specific styles and tastes, is seen to very much embody these characteristics in the popular consciousness. And the ultimate truth that, the stereotype of the chav is seen (and in many cases made) to relate, consciously or not, as a fitting description for every poor person, in every poor community across the land.

I feel very sorry, that we’ve been unable to turn around and just recognize these simple truths – and as a community embattled by negative, inappropriate and ill-fitting stereotypes ourselves – to have been able to find another way to channel our fun and expression, and to not play with stereotypes that are even tangentially linked to the oppression of other social groups: indeed, in this case, a social group that many of us call our own.

So even if you don’t agree, I hope at least, you can give a quiet inner nod to the reasons that the issue was raised.

And even if you’re not that bovverred either way – I understand that too, but please: Let people have their say.

Chav night at Revenge – ‘tongue in cheek’ or recruitment to class war?

Brighton’s biggest ‘gay and lesbian’ club is hosting a ‘chav night’ on the 22nd January. The advertisement floated on my facebook feed a week before the event, complete with Burberry background and a picture of the renowned and grotesque character of Vicky Pollard from Little Britain. The accompanying tag lines read ‘how chav will you go’ and ‘all chav’s welcomed at FOMO’, with another post promising proper ‘chav anthems’ all night. Sounds a right treat, innit?

'Tongue in Cheek' or class war?
‘Tongue in Cheek’ or class war?

My initial response was one of discomfort – I’ve come across enough to understand that playing with or appropriating this particular stereotype (or any for that matter) amounts to more than harmless fun. In that spirit, I challenged the post on facebook. Revenge responded that they recommend I google ‘tongue-in-cheek’. I didn’t.

So what’s all the fuss about? Well it’s simple really, the term and caricature of ‘chav’ is used in society to humiliate and deride poor people. It is rolled out on every media platform in the country as a way of legitimating the vast inequality at the heart of our system, by suggesting the poor are deserving of their situation, content in it and resistant to rescue.

The ‘chav’ embodies all the qualities seen as the antithesis to the values held up by our society – to play the game requires a certain frame of mind, and in this respect, the chav is found wanting. They are deliberately work shy and feckless, perpetuate a cycle of crime and disorder in their communities and exercise ‘chronic welfare dependance’ as a lifestyle choice. They are violent, illiterate, homophobic, racist, drug abusing criminals, boasting attire that screams of an ‘aesthetic impoverishment’, with Sports Direct as their collective wardrobe and over-sized hoop earrings as the signature piece of the mouthy chavette. The male variety, hands down trackies and grasping a fist-full of cock, leer on street corners with a can of ‘wife beater’ in hand – ultimately, they are the nemesis of the middle class sensibility of Britain. In short, rabid, tasteless, scum.

One concerned community member comments: So nice to see that after decades of fighting for equality and the right to not be derided the gay community are using their new position in society to mock the social group it's currently vogue to denigrate.
One concerned community member comments:
So nice to see that after decades of fighting for equality and the right to not be derided the gay community are using their new position in society to mock the social group it’s currently vogue to denigrate.

Superficially, the chav stereotype provokes an easy laugh. However, it is saturated with meaning and intention: the perceived characteristics of a small, underprivileged group are imposed on the working classes as a whole. Vicky Pollard’s ‘no but yeah but no but’ is a scream because it chimes with our anxieties around under-educated, angry and impoverished female youth. But it serves more than a comedic purpose: it generates a sense of shame, disgust and contempt for poor people in general, legitimating their social status and obscuring the structural and political reasons generative of a ‘chav underclass’ in the UK.

Am I being to sensitive? No. To have fun at playing chav aligns us with the agenda of the ruling classes and in the current political climate, that’s no joke.

Ultimately, the structural and political backdrop to the fate of poor people is stark: The UK is one of the most unequal countries in the developed world, with 8.1 million people too poor to participate fully in society. Nearly 1 million people relied on food handouts last year in order to survive. Meanwhile, the top 0.1% of the country enjoy an average take home of around 1.1million and corporations are unaccountable for tax to the tune of billions. This disparity is actively perpetuated by a political class who draw on popular conceptions of the chav as lazy, cheating, skyvers to legitimate the decimation of the public sector and welfare spending in favour of enriching their fat cat friends. The elite hand wringing at the mainstream success of poverty porn like C4’s ‘benefits street’ was cringeworthy, and a case in point.

The gay community should be particularly sensitive to the power of the stereotype and their effects: we’re denied simple liberties on shaky premise the world over – apparently we’re all drug addicted, promiscuous, disease-ridden, superficial, child abusing, sport-phobic, commitment-shy, deviants too……. remember?

So before you get all dragged up in your ‘chav finest’ tomorrow, think on eh? And maybe ask that the promoters do too?

I like my dancing without the poor bashing, thanks.







Unconvincing. Irreducible.

The complexity of a long-shadow rendered in the simplest terms,

is frustrating.

For all it’s obfuscation, you expect its murky tentacles, and the crevices they occupy, to remain unfound.

To persist as imperceptible.

Perhaps why, deconstructing the equation of its holding – once figured / once exposed,

Resists integration.

Prevents experience.

Patterns over against penetrating belief.

You still stand alone – disgusted at the easy dispersal of its magnitude / of its transparency.

Open / readable / agreeable.

Away from that theory-laden exchange,

Your transcendental moment dissipates like a whisp of an ink-shroud on the tide.

And the complexity litters again, like a dark-glitter at the circumference of your experience.

There’s something terrifying about that,

But also something like an old-lesson.

Like the Tempest wails: An everyday odyssey.

Inherited guilt-ghost.

So it’s here.

A burning scourge within through the most innocent of glances.

A disorientating fear on the edge of sleep, like a heavy weight on the mechanism of morning.

A sickness inherited.

A guilt-ghost of a broke-jekyyl but successful hyde.

Blinded to thoughts that aren’t my own – victim to a pelvis-bowl of illusions that perform like a futile test on a runaway innocent.

And despite solid-placing, true knowing and love keeping – I still wobble down the street under the weight of misplaced accusations.

Still sweat out thick his grease.

Still scratch out his presence on my skin, but in steps that feel fresh-as-my-own.

Steps that neatly erase my history.

Steps that make me him, without his shadow.

I see you.

And forgive you.