What Makes You Uncomfortable? On “Anaconda” and What I Learned About Myself

I know I shouldn’t even be talking about it. The minute my man said he saw it, I knew I should have just let.it.go.  I shouldn’t have watched it, I should have just set my Pandora to my New Wave/90s Lesbian Hits mix and called it a day.

But I watched it, because much like any car crash or Real Housewives episode, I fall prey to looking at things that stay with me and haunt me.

There are a couple of things about the Nicki Minaj video for Anaconda that shouldn’t surprise me. 1-I cannot stand the song. I never liked “Baby Got Back.” Yeah I said it. I was like 9 or so when it came out, I thought it was stupid then, I think it’s stupid now.2- I have a perfectly nice ass, but I’m a size 0, so songs telling women that men love to fantasize about their curves do nothing for me. I actually one of those bean pole things in the magazines. And I think I am it, Miss Thang. I am confident about my body and I don’t need a song telling me to feel otherwise. Even as a kid, I thought “why are we talking about this? It’s still objectifying a body, just a certain type of body I don’t have.” I still danced to it at parties, but like, you know, so what.

Fast forward. There’s that stupid f!cking song again. This time, it’s a, like rap guy’s girlfriend/rapper/feminist, faux-feminist and anti-feminist nightmare person called Nicki Minaj. I’ve never really had much to say about her. I don’t like her music so it’s easy for me to write her off as a general nuisance I can easily ignore (unlike Chris Brown who for some unGODly reason I always find myself moving my tiny ass to his songs). I’m outside, and my man just blurts out “you see that Anaconda video?”

“No. That was an Ice Cube movie?”

“No, the Nicki Minaj song.”

“No.”

“Don’t watch it. You won’t like it.”

Why not? I thought. Why can he watch it, but I can’t? I knew immediately that meant the slut factor had been ramped way up to where my delicate little eyes and sensitive feminine would go straight into horrified shock mode. After all, women hate other women. Especially women who act provocatively for attention, right?

I guess. I mean, women can be jealous creatures, much the glee of men. They love knowing it angers us when they find something arousing other than them. Jealousy goes into overdrive and all of the sudden YOUR man cannot control himself. Well…there’s something to be said about that.

I watched the music video. The song was bad, but I knew it would be. I mean, she didn’t even try to change the song at all. She aggressively argues we must all celebrate her body and “fuck those skinny bitches in the mother fucking club.”  Why so glum, Nicki? Maybe we could have been friends if you weren’t so rude about it all.

If you’ve not seen the video, it’s nearly 5 minutes of fleshy women with arrow signs on their butts. Seriously. Just butt after butt after big butt in your face bouncing, wiggling, clapping and flapping. There’s also a lap dance. Drake is seriously just a hideous-looking dude, do we agree? I digress. If Seth Rogen weren’t so afraid of the anti-women backlash he’d sure ensue, the video would be hilarious with him and James Franco reinterpreting the dances and making fart noises.

I am honestly not sure if Nicki wondered if people wouldn’t find it offensive. The video, as I type this, has 164,915,125 views so plenty of people either like or came to express their outrage, or just came. Watching women bounce and jiggle around for 5 minutes is not the most evil thing in the world, but people sure are judgey about it.

Including myself, I suppose. The first thing any parent will think is extremely instinctive. You do kinda have to be a parent to understand. If you have a daughter, all you can do is see your daughter. That’s weird. It’s like I’m already pre-judging my daughter for something she has no control over. Society already wants to throw a shroud over a young girl’s head and lock her away from such depravity anytime a women receives praise for “vulgar” sexual behavior. My kid is three. Give her a break already! If you have a son, you want to make damn sure he doesn’t see anything like that lest his three-year-old penis need to impregnate someone.

Really. These are the absurd thoughts parents have. If you’re in your late 20s or early 30s, you have NOT forgotten you booty shaking days (if they are even gone). You have NOT forgotten that once upon a time you wanted people to find you alluring in the most base ways, maybe you ladies threw out those super skintight black pants (still have mine!). Maybe if you’re a man, you no longer listen to that Eminem CD at the highest bass level. I mean, it’s hard to eke out of pop culture-some remain in it, some never deigned themselves, some weren’t allowed due to religious or personal reasons. For me, I never wanted to be Madonna. But I sure wouldn’t have minded being a girl who was talked about the way they used to talk about Britney. I was so jealous of the way men talked about Britney 10 years ago. Now I kinda realize they talk that way about every woman at some point in their beer consumption. Sex is so captivating. Minaj has simply pushed it further.

BUT. If parents and just, you know, citizens, are outraged that a woman is popping her ass in a video, they have the right to be concerned, and that doesn’t make them losers.  I can read. I see what people are writing about her. And, yeah, it’s mean. After all, no one likes the slutty girl, not even the men when it’s all said and…done. Basically, I’m concerned by all the hatred it causes. Should you burn someone at the stake for twerking? Should we be morally outraged that Miley isn’t the little girl we always wanted her to be? Eh. Yes and No. All I’m saying is, I get it. The power to arouse people is very arousing. You can’t exactly be mad at someone for making a buck that way.

But what I’ve learned about myself is that if I  get too focused on being upset by pop culture, I have fallen victim to my own stupidity. Can I shield myself from jealousy? Nah. Can I shield my husband from breasts and butts better than my own? Nope. Can I shield my daughter from idealizing those who use their bodies to sell us more than a song? I can try, but if I shield her too hard, she’ll turn out weird. The world has always celebrated the vulgar and base. If you don’t believe me, you are completely naive. It’s sex. It makes people crazy.

But it’s hypocritical to forget that at one point in time YOU KNOW you wanted all the lust in the world and somehow, you survived. And if you’re a really good parent, you’ll show your kid that video, and then you’ll put on Sam Cooke or Robert Johnson or Vivaldi or Nina Simone or Edith Piaf and ask them which they preferred. You already know the answer. Hell, I’m going to go put some Nina Simone on right now, thanks ME for reminding myself.

No Facebook for Lent (this post is also about nudity so bear/bare with me)

I gave up on Facebook for Lent. It has been utterly traumatic and I’m only one week in. I have so many stupid things to say and no one to say them to. For example, when the radio dj was talking abou the DMX reunion concert, I had this amazing, pithy, under-150-characters-joke (at DMX’s expense). But no one was in the car with me. My husband finds my OMG LOLZ texts annoying. My mom doesn’t understand them. Normally, I would use the facebook platform and get a few “likes” out of it and feel completely satisfied that I made someone say “that Sarah Nester always jokes about the 90s to brink back warm fuzzy memories of youth. Clever girl.”

But. I gave up Facebook for Lent. The constant urge to self-aggrandize has been quelled by Jesus and I couldn’t be more annoyed.And so, I dusted off the blog. Because I can’t go five minutes without discussing my life to the Internet.

ps-don’t ask me what was the joke. The moment has passed.

****I was watching Fox News this morning. My husband likes it. He likes the boobs and the blond hair and the CAN YOU BELIEVE HOW SHITTY THIS COUNTRY HAS BECOME “news” segments delivered by boobs (both male and female) and blondes. He is not a stupid man by any stretch of the means. He’s always going on and on abou things like Locke and Rousseau…andI tend to focus more on things like Hall and Oates. But for some reason, he LOVES Fox News. Today I figured it out. His love for philosophy and well-formed sentence structure is not nearly as strong as his love for upskirt shots.

This morning, inbetween the news segments telling me that the world IS ending because of Obamacare, they made the female presenter do a (what I can only describe as) HILARIOUS segment discussing the importance of olive oil-based candle making with Ricky Shroder’s wife. That’s right Little Ricky Shroder’s wife makes olive oil-based candles and Fox News thought you should know about it. I noticed the blondes were both wearing nice dresses with black stockings. Looked cute. Unbelievably stupid segment.

Cut to commercial. Blah blah blah Invest your money in Belize blah blah BUY GOLD blah blah have you been a victim of Obama’s health care disaster?

Back to studio. Blonde reporter is on the couched wedged between two really ugly men. So unfair, but again, this is a morning show. Hot men are not allowed to do morning shows because they are too busy actually reading a real paper.
I noticed the blonde reporter had the same dress on and NO STOCKINGS. She took her stockings off during the commercial break! Oh you sneaky Aryan siren. I could see straight up her skirt. I wasn’t sure if she was wearing a Mitt Romney mirken, but I can only imagine.

Seriously? This is what the news has become? At 7 am I am taunted with crotch shots? This world has gotten so creepy.

But I really may invest in gold and buy land in Belize. That does sound pretty nice. Me on an island in Belize covered in blocks of gold. Thanks Foxy News!

Since School Has Begun…

I wrote this article ages ago (2006!!!!!!!) for Philly Play, but hey, looks like nobody read it, as fashions still sadly apply.
Pop Addicts Anonymous
SARAH SMITH
Contributing Writer
08/30/2006
You’re not wearing that to class, are you?

You wouldn’t wear a negligee to class, right? Right? The one thing that kills me about college students is that they dress great for the frat party, fug for class.

What’s the matter? That 10 a.m. class just too hard to get to? The student center isn’t cool enough for your Seven jeans? You only break out the good clothes for parties? It’s pretty bad when students are too lazy to put on jeans for class. But I draw the line at pajama pants.

Come on. I see both guys and gals sporting pj’s, bed head and what appears to be a hangover on the campuses of every college. It’s like the proverbial size XL has taken over the university system.

Think of it this way: many people meet their future husbands and wives at college. You could pass buy that super-hot lacrosse player or sorority girl one day, and I guarantee you, if you’re wearing your SpongeBob SquarePants pajama bottoms, you won’t be scoring any digits.

Some tips for not looking the fool at school:

The undershirts go under the shirt. Men, I cannot stress this enough. To me, wearing a tank top or white undershirt and nothing else is the equivalent to a woman wearing nothing but a bra to class. But you’d like that, now wouldn’t you? Perv.

Do not, I repeat, do not pop that collar. So, y’all boys are flipping that collar up to look cool again? Not cool. In an attempt to look effortless, you’ll just end up look faux casual—and nothing, except pajama bottoms, is lamer than looking like you tried too hard. Same with the unfastened cuff look, the only guy who can do that is Johnny Depp.

Buy jeans that fit. I know I said trying too hard is bad, but one area 90 percent of people need to work at is the jean area. Ladies, you’re wearing your jeans too tight and low if I can see your back tattoo and thong. Ugh. Guys, you’re more than likely wearing your jeans too loose. Trust me. I’m not saying you have to look like a tight-pant-wearing, Eurotrash wannabe, but you don’t have to look like Eminem either. (See undershirt gripe above.)

I get it, you’re funny. Love the free-speech T-shirts, I have several myself, but you can only wear your “I’m Too Pretty to Do Math” or your “Will Work For Porn” shirt so many times before you piss people off.

Have some decency. I once had a conversation with a guy who was a straight-A student at his all-boys high school, but once he got to college, he flunked out within two semesters. His excuses? Beer (of course), and skimpy clothes. He said the girls would dress so skimpily for class at Florida State University that he couldn’t concentrate on what the teachers were saying. So, sexy ladies, be nice, and keep in mind how much flesh you’re showing. Wouldn’t you feel bad knowing five years later he’s working as a toll collector because of you?

Oh yeah, a non-fashion-related tip: if you really need to ask a question, please don’t do it 2 minutes before class ends. And don’t ask the teacher if you can do a really super extra credit project during class. It’s obnoxious.

As I said, many people meet the loves of their lives in college. I, too, have suffered greatly because of a college fashion faux-pas.

I have always been known as one who dresses up, whether it’s class or a trip to Wachovia, but the first day of school, I was feeling sick and threw on a University of Tennessee sweatshirt and massive grey sweatpants hoping to God I wouldn’t meet anyone remotely interesting. It’s not like I really cared to, anyway. I was there to learn! To expand my mind on the Modernists!

I sported a ponytail (in a scrunchie, no less), and propped on my desk an enormous box of Kleenex.

My now-boyfriend still makes fun of me for that.

This Guy…

photo credit: The Sartorialist

photo credit: The Sartorialist

Milan is the most intimidating place on earth.
I’ve seen some stylish people. I’ve seen the effortlessly pretty Parisian girls whose red lipstick never gets on their teeth.  I’ve dined at Lotus, and seen the trying-very-hard-but-looking-good-model-types avec Vueve Cliquot. You know, I’ve seen hot people. But Milan is it’s own breed.
Look at this guy. Really stare.  As you can see from the cell phone, this is not a picture from the 1950s. This picture was taken last year, it is not an ad, he is not a model. This is what your Average Joe looks like in Milan. Apparently, Milan doesn’t have Old Navy.
I am captivated by this photo for so many reasons. Men (of today) aren’t often captured for their beauty and style, unless it’s in an advertisement with an oiled-up, perfect-looking David Beckham-selling-underwear-exploitation. The other side of the coin is that a man cannot and should be a point of reference for beauty, because that’s what ladies do.
Not so. This guy is just chillin’ in Milan, smoking a cigarette, wearing a string tie.
I’ve heard that fashion is for indecisive girls, but style is for self-assured women. Guess what, the same rule applies to men. Bravo,  Signore Bello!

Web 2.0 and Me

Just in case you didn’t already know, since I am a manager of communications, I am using every opportunity to socially network myself (aka make friends who might someday give me money or advance my lifestyle). So why not befriend, follow, tweet etc me on Facebook or Twitter?

twitter.com/sarahnester

faceboook: Sarah Smith Nester

I also have a myspace account but it seems as though that’s going the way of the birds…

Love, peace, and chicken grease,

SSN

My old column-part one

I used to have a column, I don’t think a lot of people read it but dammit I was proud of it. I decided to dust off a few old columns that were published and put them here. This one is about breasts. Yay!

Pop Addicts Anonymous
SARAH SMITH
Contributing Writer
10/18/2006
Big breasts aren’t everything (no, really)

It came to me yesterday, while I was flattening my hair and pumping up my bra size.

Am I a phony?

I’m a relatively natural girl. I don’t tan. I don’t dye my hair; I think big fake lips look stupid on white girls. I detest plastic surgery and comment on those MTV plastic surgery shows with the generic, “Wooah, those people are crazy!”

But I’m not being completely honest. The truth is, I have my phony ways. I get my nails done, wear makeup and I straighten my hated, hated curls constantly. And I admit to succumbing to the phoniest of all phony things: I give “my girls” a little false advertising.

Less than six months ago, you couldn’t have paid me to wear a push-up bra. I used to love my smaller breasts, because, well, they’re cute and darling. But one night, I was at a bar, and I turned into a monster all because of one look. (Please forgive me, dear boyfriend, for what I write).

I caught him catching a peek at a big rack. Quelle horreur!

Now, before you think I’m here to slam men for looking at boobs, take note: I looked too. It was hard not to. This wasn’t a particularly attractive woman, and I, being sharp as a hawk when it comes to these things, knew they were not real. But right as I thought that, boyfriend had the gall to whisper in my ear, “So, do ya think they’re real?” (That’s none of your concern, mister.) There they were, all pushed out and up, and suddenly, I felt like the Chairman and CEO of the Littlest Angels Training Bra Committee.

I looked down at my at-least-three-cup-sizes-smaller, and flew into a tailspin of self-consciousness. I literally went crazy. I started thinking ludicrous thoughts like, “oh my God, men really do like me for my personality,” and, “I need to find me one of those ‘ass’ guys.” Except I don’t have much down there, either, and I don’t think women have the right to break up with a guy for noticing the same thing.

I then took a trip to Victoria’s Secret. This is not the place for women to go to when feeling insecure about their breast size, it’s like holding a sex addicts anonymous meeting in Bangkok. They have gigantic-sized cutouts of models posing in their underwear. Ten-feet tall women, five feet of that is breast.

I bought four expensive Miracle Bras (I think “miracle” is a rather insulting noun, but I digress). As I put on my first major push-up bra ever in my 26 years of life (quite a feat for an American woman), I felt…

Big. Impressive.

Big is something I’ve never felt. I’m petite all over. I wear four-inch heels and can still be the tiniest person at a party. It can be a great thing, mind you, but all of the sudden I realized what it felt like to be big. And it was totally awesome.

The next day, I put on my Miracle and a low-cut top. Immediately, my boyfriend asked me I was really going to work “like that,” and put wrapped a scarf around my upper half.

“You once asked me why I never show more cleavage,” I pouted.

“Um, I asked why you never showed more cleavage around me, not everyone else,” he explained.

I see! If he was looking at the woman in the bar showing off her missiles, he knew other guys would undoubtedly be staring at mine. That was a threat to his territory, as my breasts were his possession. (Again, dear boyfriend, forgive me.) Damn, these things are powerful!

I asked some girls to weigh in on the Big Breast spectacle. My friend Sarah is probably the most natural, minimalist-type girlfriend I have. She carries a wallet because purses make no sense to her. I asked her if she would ever consider implants. She, of all people, said, “Maybe, if it weren’t so insanely expensive to a poor chick out of grad school.” My friend Kate, who is already endowed quite well, said, “I definitely would consider it, they are already starting to sag a bit. I waited 18 years to grow boobs, and believe me, bigger is better.”

What? Surely two attractive girls with advanced degrees and good jobs wouldn’t feel the pressure to purchase breasts.

But it was my friend who works in the adult entertainment industry who actually made me feel better. She works as a photographer and porn web site moderator, and is pretty used to talking about anal sex in normal conversation.

And how does she feel about photographing women with implants?

“As a photographer, the need for implants isn’t about changing the size, it’s about changing the shape. Small, firm breasts are much more aesthetically pleasing than saggy ones of any size. Of course, if a girl goes too big, the new shape will look unnatural and it will limit the girls amount of work she can get,” she said.

So now I know if I ever want to be a porn actress, there IS such a thing as “too big.”

I asked her what guys on her chat site had to say about implants.

“Actually, the fans hate breast implants. They call implants bolt-ons. They start threads talking the girl out of her decision,” she said. She also mentioned that only one film star had gotten a thumbs-up for getting implants because her breasts had been very misshapen before.

So there you have it. If it doesn’t matter so much to men who spend hours a day looking at porn stars, it probably doesn’t matter to my boyfriend or countless other non-lecherous boyfriends out there. I guess I’ve realized that looking at big breasts for men is like looking at big diamonds for women. Oh sure, they’re nice, and we may even want to touch them, but we don’t have to have them, and if we do, then we’re pretty shallow.

My friend Sarah summed it up even better than I could: “I think guys just like to touch any kind of boobs.”

Indeed. In that case, I’m tired of being a phony. It makes me totally paranoid.

There Doesn’t Seem to Be Anybody Who Agrees With ME: Discussing the Miss California USA Scandal

“We live in a land where you can choose same-sex marriage or opposite. And you know what, I think in my country, in my family, I think that I believe that a marriage should be between a man and a woman. No offense to anybody out there, but that’s how I was raised.” –Miss California USA’s answer to whether or not she agrees with gay marriage

Miss California USA has shown me the light.

For years, this ex-pageant girl (me) struggled with the topic of debate. I always got really nervous in debate class in high school, because nine times out of 10 I can see both sides and my passion generally only lies in meeting in the middle like a spineless flounder. What can I say; I really do like world peace.

There was a time when I used to hide my pageant past like a dark secret. The reason behind it was not because I thought I’d be associated with being a dumb blonde, I’m not dumb and I’m not blonde, so physically I don’t really have to worry about looking too much the part. The reason was that I saw the decline of the pageantry world, fueled by the media’s insatiable need to expose attractive, polite, socially-conscious young women for what they really are: demons. To be fair, I have criticized the pageant world for a long time now, separating it into two worlds: those who did Miss America, and those who did Miss USA. As a former Miss America Organization (MAO) competitor, I looked down on the Trump Corporation-owned Miss USA/Universe as nothing short of a T and A-fest. (Really, who the hell is Trump to judge physical beauty?) Whether that’s true or not doesn’t really matter in this article.

I write this as an insider, a mole. I write this as a person who has really been there, on stage, sweating and smiling and singing Andrew Lloyd Webber. I have stood there while old people judged my 20-year-old body from one to 10. Do I think it was a good experience? Absolutely. Do I see why people hate pageants? Yes.

The Q and A segment is terrifying but it teaches you about society, at least in my experience in the MAO circuit. I was asked everything from how I felt about unions to whether or not schools should distribute condoms. But the most inane question I was ever asked stuck with me the most. A judge asked me, “If you win Miss Knoxville would you cut your hair if we told you to?” How incredibly stupid, I thought. So I answered, “If someone asked me to cut my hair the way they wanted just because I wear their crown, I’d probably shave it off.”

I did not win Miss Knoxville.

Everything in life is a performance. Whether you’re an anarchist or a conservative analyst, we ALL put on a show. When people get all hot and bothered about pageants, I explain this. I explain that wanting your son to be a star football player is exploitation. Wanting your child to be a successful lawyer is exploitation. It’s all about presentation, and whether or not your family is going to brag about you during the holidays.

How you choose to answer difficult questions, whether on stage in front of thousands (sweating, oh the sweat) or during a meeting with your boss, also must be carefully calculated. You must know your audience, you must assess their comfort level and you must perform. But wait, that isn’t free speech, is it?

Poor Carrie Prejean. She was stuck in a no-win situation by a bully. A bully, carefully guised as a supporter of civil rights. When Perez Hilton asked Prejean her thoughts on gay marriage, he had no intention of actually hearing her opinion, much like most people do when talking to someone: he only wanted confirmation that his opinion was correct. And he judged her, literally and figuratively, for her HONEST opinion. After the show, the openly gay blogger/judge implied that he was outraged that she would answer a question as such.

Honestly. He didn’t want her to answer honestly. He wanted her to answer correctly, politely, and prettily. He wanted her to lie, to win a prize, like a puppy. Oh he judged her all right, he has made no bones about it that her question affected her final score.

I’m not so sure if it’s appropriate to interject my personal opinions into this matter, but since everyone else is doing it, I will. First, I support gay marriage. I am a Christian. Lots of people think I’m a hypocrite for this. But as Prejean said, she lives in “her America” and I live in mine. Second, as a pageant follower, I don’t think she answered the question that well. It is impressive that she held to her convictions without reservation or hesitation, but from a technical standpoint, she could have done better (yep, I’m judging). For one thing, you should never say “no offense to so and so.” You’re going to say it anyway, so that’s just bunk. Also, I don’t think she meant to sound high and mighty, but when dealing with a controversial issue, it’s always best to avoid coming across that you were raised properly and those who disagree with you were not.

I do not write this to lambast her. It is easy for me to formulate these opinions after the fact, but lord knows I have stood on that stage and vomited some of the most ridiculous drivel known to man, because I’ve not only had a time and word limit, but I realized that I needed to make sure that that every single judge understood and agreed with me. An impossible task. In fact, I write this to applaud Prejean. I completely disagree with her, but I know that she had a choice to make and she chose what was in her heart, she chose what she believed her family and her church wanted to hear, and that’s OK.

Miss California USA has shown me the light, but it’s a grainy, dim one indeed. She has shown me that depending on what current civil state you live in, if you don’t say what is deemed appropriate at the time, people will not crown you Miss USA. A lot of people will not like you (I’m looking at you MSNBC). Some will like you so much that they make you into a celebrity for their “cause” (I’m looking at you Fox News). And something Perez Hilton needs to remember is that gay people are not the only people who are ridiculed and taunted. Hot blondes in bikinis? Definitely ridiculed for being nothing more than a piece of ass. I’ll bet you her whole life Prejean has fought that stereotype…and of course, by being a contestant in Miss USA she has given in, but it’s her body, it’s her opinion, and yes, even a hot blonde in a bikini professing her faith has the opportunity to say what’s on her mind. Call her a hypocrite, but Mr. “Equality for All” Hilton showed that he really isn’t all about equal opinions.

So now, when faced with the spotlight, I know that I will not be able to win. I know that I can answer a question honestly, or I can answer it to be rewarded.

I blog, therefore I am.

To capitalize on the trend over overexposure and flagrant narcissism, I now am a bloggeroo too. I love to write. I used to be a journalist before the entire industry went down the toilet.  Perhaps sometime I’ll post some of my old articles. For now, my purpose is to rant and rave to all 10 of you reading this.

Kisses,

SSN