POP FEMINIST PERBLOG

sl33pcr33p:

I spend large chunks of my time a) on the Internet (where I encounter scores of photos of Spaces) and b) Presenting and preparing for self presentation (buying makeup, buying/making clothes, talking about it, reading about it, researching it, analyzing it) and not very much time CLEANING but what I find in the intersection of those two is that MY Space, despite being perpetually chaotic, always looks poised to me. When I wake up and sit up and look at this space, I see a tumblr photograph of some enviable Space. I see a Presentation and a reflection of self. The desk where I both work and put on makeup is, in itself, an assertion of makeup AS work, and underneath it the overflowing bucket of mixed fabrics feels SO intentionally posed, one curl of rouched lace wriggling out from under a pile of black tulle while 2 metallic fabrics frame the bin symmetrically. There’s records everywhere but they are ALWAYS stacked upright. That’s suspicious. If this room is really a careless mess, why so much evidence of care? My clothes spill out of a dresser that is never shut, off kilter in some way that seems purposefully quirky but is really because it’s an old ass hand me down dresser. The floor looks like my closet vomited on it. Maybe it did. Condom wrappers grace various unseen corners, an incriminating crinkle when you put your hand down or lift a dress off the floor. My Sonic Youth poster fell down but fuck it cause that poster was on Gossip Girl and that wall is more important. (But really! A poster designed by one friend and printed by another on Gossip Girl! And I had it first, trendy tv show set designer.) You CAN’T GET MORE POISED THAN THIS. I don’t show this space to people when it is like this. I don’t fuck in an unmade bed and I don’t share space in an unmade room… Unless we are besties, so tumblr, we are now besties. But what I’m saying is, the Space is a reflection of Self and when the Self is a Peformance, so is the Space. Where’s a DSLR to document the trinkets on my dresser because I think this belongs in some archive of artsy bedroom photographs. The honesty of it is, I think, far more interesting than the alternative.

(Source: persephonette)