I really thought I'd take longer to look at them, but I looked at them fairly immediately (well...after Anali looked at them first). It feels weird to say it this way, but I fucking LOVE the photos. I hate that the photos are of me. I don't particularly care for how I look, because hating myself is very en vogue and also I'm a fucking wad, but she did such a fucking great job of taking the photos. If I had a different body and a different head...well, wait. Now hang on, because that's how shitty Disney movies start, so my language should be VERY specific. If I had a SEXIER FEMALE BODY and a PRETTIER FEMALE HEAD, I am positive I would have better body image, and I would be able to look at these photos without tearing myself apart first, and chastising myself for my flaws. Cant have myself waking up tomorrow with like, some jacked and bullstrong male bodybuilder's body and the head of a kestrel, though that would be kind of amazing. Ugh, though even my specific language opens up so many loopholes. Like sexier according to whom? Maybe someone thinks the sexiest woman alive with the hottest body is someone who weighs 600 pounds (that fetish exists, don't ask me how I know), and the most gorgeous person alive is, like....someone I find wholly awful looking. It could get twisted and complicated and awful very quickly, and I mean, I get that that's the point. It's very Mrs. Piggle Wiggle. And it's also adorbs that I've broken this scenario down as if it MIGHT happen. Fuck me. Ugh.
Let's see which ones I have the nerve to post. It certainly won't be all of them.
Right off the bat, I think I look like an unwilling child bride in this photo (is there any other kind??), and it weirds me out that this is Derek's phone wallpaper.
That fucking jacket. Derek and I were at the PX, and I saw this jacket and knew I needed it. Thankfully, my vegan principles were hardly compromised, as Michael Kors swore off fur last year, and this is definitely a faux fur jacket (with muthafuckin' TINSEL in it!!!), so I had all of the luxury, none of the guilt. And only half the price tag! Because it was on sale! Instead of spending 400 dollars for a ridiculous coat, we only spent 200! Hooray! But also I'm still hearing about my frivolity from my husband. Can't win them all. Sidebar: one of the things that kind of blows about boudoir photo editing is all of the smoothing that goes into it. My skin looks smooth as fuck, which means my leg muscles aren't really all that noticeable. I've been doing squats and lunges like it's my fucking job, and it's definitely paying off, but my legs just look thick instead of their usual muscular.
I will never understand what makes thigh highs and garters sexy. They are a pain in the fucking ass. That's so much work and effort for a payoff you'd be getting ANYWAY, and I imagine that they are 100% theatrical, which makes them impractical, which makes them a waste. They're a pretty popular thing with our clients, and while I PERSONALLY have misgivings about wearing them, as I think they look silly, I kind of wanted to cover a typical boudoir base. So here we are. Thigh highs and a garter, while I pretend to be a sexy mop that is consumed by ecstasy.
Like, does that not look ridiculous?? My feet look ridiculous. My legs look ridiculous. Those straps look ridiculous. I. Am. Ridiculous.
Ugh, but there's my tummy. My stupid, PCOS tummy. I work out all the fucking time (have I mentioned in here that it's up to three times a day now?), and I cannot shake this tummy that my dumb dumb disorder has shackled me with. I'm hoping the three times a day, vegan keto (which is damn near IMPOSSIBLE, but I'm pretty determined to make it work for a few months. Now is not the time for the keto science, either. I know what it all say, and I'm doing it, anyway), and this supplement regimen I'll be starting on Monday make a difference, and I can get back to what I used to be before this ruined my body. But to get back to the point, THOSE FUCKING SHOES ARE A GOD DAMN DREAM.
I fucking TOLD YOU I had been doing squats and lunges like it was my fucking job. That booty is the proof. I HATE that little fold of fat under the bra thing, but eh. I'm chubby? Fat folds happen. WHERE ARE MY LEG MUSCLES, THOUGH. My calves legit pop out like angry veins. I've earned that definition, and it almost feels like muscles can't be sexy, so they have to be smoothed away. It's ultimately no big thing, because I look nice and smooth and touchable, it's only mildly irksome because I'm feeling like I have to explain that I definitely have muscular legs, not uselessly thick ones that are invitingly smooth.
Oh, just checking to make sure I got a super close shave. The way normal people do when they're in bed, alone, hanging out. Contemplating life, the universe, and everything. *Towel not pictured*
Oh, me. You're so cuddly and dreamy. My hair is looking AMAZING, though. I should have been cuddling my hair instead of my tiddies.
That window looks like a garbage chute, which is perfect for me, as I am a trash monster. Also, why do people wear g-strings as ACTUAL panties? They are so uncomfortable and I felt like I had some sort of tree branch wedged in the crevasse of my sizable booty. Maybe that's just me, and my ass crease would get used to the flossing feeling eventually, but I'm definitely not interested in finding out.
I sent this photo to my husband and said, "my face is so dark, you can pretend I'm someone else!" I really fucking hate that I have such a short torso and a high waist. Ugh, and such a chubbo tum tum.
I don't know about you, but I'm pretty confident that EVERYBODY lounges around their homes in a faux fur jacket covered in tinsel, tousling their hair and giving "fuck me" eyes to every corner. If I'm wrong there, I need to reconsider my life choices.
If this is sexy, I am a fucking GODDESS when I'm nursing a head cold, as this is what I look like 100% of the time when I'm ill.
I'm not ALWAYS grimacing! I smile sometimes, and I'll prove it.
See? I'm smiling! IT IS GENUINE AND NOT FORCED AT ALL I HOPE YOU BELIEVE THAT THIS IS A REAL SMILE AND IT ISN'T CANNED FOR THE CAMERA.
Oh, you know, just laying here, being coyly pensive, thinking about the nature of reality.
In my entire life, I don't think there's ever been a picture that has encapsulated me more than this one. This picture looks more like me than I do. I feel like I have a truly special gift in my ability to make what is supposed to be a sexy, soft photo look sardonic, but I think that's my approach to my own femininity in a nutshell. I've never really seen myself as soft, or sexy, or overly feminine, so I've never tried to be, and my mannerisms, while not rough around the edges 100% of the time, are more cutting than they are delicate. So here we are. The most accurate portrait of me there ever was ever.
Stormy did such an amazing job, she really did. I can barely stand how good the PHOTOS look. I'm another thing altogether, but her photos are killer.
Then why post them, you might be asking yourself, in a manner that would make the Talking Heads proud.
It annoys the fucking piss out of me when my clients don't share their boudoir photos. I can't even tell you how much it bothers me. I take it so personally, even though I'm sure it's because the photos are meant for private consumption, and not because they hate the photos. But I'm posting these because Stormy's work deserves to be everywhere.
If you need a photographer, obvs come to me, first, but if I'm unavailable, she's the one to go to. And if you have to travel to London to do it, she's worth the trip.
http://rebelandromance.com/
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