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broodpeas · 4 months

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A List of Books I read.

Unlike years before, where I'd normally make a list of fave records or artists, this year I decided that I am no longer the 2012 version of me who was obsessed in never missing out new artists, albums and list that recommended best new music.

My apple music wrapped showed me that since 2016 my most listen song is the same (it's Cranes in the Sky by Solange, because A Seat at the Table is probably one of my favorite records of all times, so much so, it became the soundtrack of my masters thesis) and Beyoncé is still my favorite artist (has been since 2013). And because graduating from my masters gave me the break I needed to go back to reading stuff I care and like, I decided to simply write here the books I read this year. Some were good, some were really fucking good, and some were...well, they were books written by people with far more talent than I'll ever have, and thye got published.

In any case, the truth of the matter is that 2023 was the year of reading for me. I've been a Reader since I was a kid, but with academic work, for many years I didn't have the time or the energy to read what I really cared about- I had to write thesis and papers and essays and they all required I focused on reading what I needed to write those papers and essays and thesis. In addition to Academia, being depressed and having serious bouts of sadness and suicidal thoughts for many years -it hasn't stopped, although therapy has help a bit- also caused that for many years I could barely read things, and that includes many books I was suppose to read during college but didn't- not that I care much about this, but sometimes I do feel guilty about people reading Kant and me pretending I was and that I actually understood what that german hellman was writing about.

However, when I realized I could pick up books that I thought would give me comfort, joy, or simply piked my interest, then I decided I simply had to read, and since 2021, I've given myself the chance to do just that. It no longer matters to me if read a few pages, or read obsessively one book in a matter of hours, at the end, what matters to me, is to read (although when I read on my ipad I do have a 20 minute timer thingy and I do have a focus mode that doesn't allow any apps to interrupt my reading). This has allowed me to feel more comfortable with the fact I realized reading (like writing) is a political act. About 5/6 years ago I decided I would not read academic books unless it was strictly necessary, and if for research I needed to find bibliography, I would make sure I would have a diverse set of voices and not just white, western, cishet male writers. This didn't please most of my professors, especially the male ones, who consider most of my sources to be unrealiable because they weren't men. Some pointed out that as Colombian, I was suppose to choose only spanish writers, and when I did, they got upset because they weren't men. But, in the end, because I learnt that I couldn't sit down to wait for them to catch up to me, I forced my authors in, and I do not regret this decision. I owe the education I have to myself, and myself only. So, in the wise words of Snoop Dogg, I wanna thank me. This has made me a very good reader and an okay Academic.

I also decided that, if I was going to read fiction and non fiction, poetry and essays; then I had to think carefully what authors I wanted to read. Because I wasn't the audience male writers wanted: I am not a man, nor I am white, and as I currently struggle to label my gender, I realized I wanted to read the so-called outside of the canon, peripheral writers/voices/narratives/stories. That decision has proven to be difficult, because I have to constantly check not only what I'm reading but who I'm reading. At the same time, from time to time -especially this year, as this is the year I read many books-, I stop, check myself, and after I realize I'm not following my rules, I re-calibrate my reads and make sure I find my way back to the voices and stories I want to support, engage with, and care about.

Finally, someone on Mastodon pointed out the following questions, that made me realized my decision to read authours outside the so-called canon should be more thoughtful, more political. The questions I paraphrased here for the simple reason of leaving them here, in case anyone finds them: why aren't voices outisde the priviledge that narrate stories that white voices can narrate [from a place, with a voice, about whom and which contexts...]? If they do exist, why aren't those voices published? And if they are published, why aren't we reading them. "I believe it is important to question more who can become writers, who is published and what do we read".

Here's my list of books read in 2023*.

Books I bought because the cover was cute, interesting, or tumblr aesthetic inspired.

Las palabras que confiamos al viento, by Laura Imai Messina.

La clase de griego, by Han Kang.

Books I bought that I got because the title sounded interesting and they fucking were.

Milk fed, by Melissa Broder.

Today, Tonight Tomorrow, by Rachel Lynn Salomon.

Good Material, by Dolly Alderton.

The women of Troy, by Pat Barker.

Books I read and when I was done, I actually wanted to throw my ipad, my kindle or the book out the window.

Happy place, by Emily Henry.

A perfect vintage, by Chelsea Fagan.

The roughest draft, by Emily Wibberley and Agustin Siegmund-Broka.

Crazy Stupid Bromance, by Lyssa Kay Adams.

To Sir with love, by Lauren Layne.

Spare, by Prince Harry.

Plot twist, by Erin de la Rosa.

How to fake it in Hollywood, by Ava Wilder.

Next of Kin, by Hannah Bonam-Young.

Books I really didn't understand, but I know they were good.

La encomienda, by Margarita García Robayo.

History books I read that I wasn't sure why I got them, but they were okay (I guess).

Piratas: Una historia desde los vikingos hasta hoy, by Peter Lerh.

The Last million: Europe's displaced persons from World War II, by David Nasaw.

Imperial Twilight: The Opium War and the End of China's Last Golden Age, by Stephen R. Platt.

Non-fiction books that fucked me up (the good way).

How to read, by Elaine Castillo.

You Could Make this Place Beautiful, by Maggie Smith.

Seventeen, by Joe Gibson.

Against White Feminism: Notes on Disruption, by Rafia Zakaria.

Hijab Butch Blues, by Lamya H.

Romantic Comedies or simply Romance books that were a nice read but lacked a bit of complexity, although such fun read they still got my 4/5 stars on Goodreads and Apple Books.

Nora Goes Off Script, by Annabel Monaghan.

Romantic Comedy, Curtis Sttenfeld.

The Bride Test, by Helen Hoang.

The Heart Principle, by Helen Hoang.

Once more with Feeling, by Elissa Sussman.

The Fastest Way to Fall, by Denise Williams.

Weather Girl, by Rachel Lynn Solomon.

The Ex Talk, by Rachel Lynn Solomon.

Authors that wrote seriously great books and I don't think the 5 stars on Goodreads and Apple books was enough.

Matrix, by Lauren Groff.

Woman, Eating; by Claire Khoda.

Mucho Ado about Nada, by Uzma Jalalauddin.

Ayesha at Last, by Uzma Jalalauddin.

A Shot in the Dark, by Victoria Lee.

Hamnet, by Maggie O'Farrell.

Business or Pleasure, by Rachel Lynn Solomon.

You, Again; by Kate Goldbeck.

Hamnet, by Maggie O'Farrell.

Eligible: A Modern Retelling of Pride & Prejudice, by Curtis Sittenfeld.

For 2024, there's a really long list of pre-ordered books (some are essays, some are memoirs, some are romcoms). I also have a respectable list of books that I was suppose to read this year but I couldn't because I didn't want to, or I started it but I switch it and I'll get back to them. I don't know what next year will have in store for me- this year was so difficult, so painful, that has made me realized I still am in a crossroad whether I want to stay alive or not; but at least I had books, and I was able to find in the reading hours time to rest from my own feelings and thoughts. If 2024 is the year where something happens, I hope at least it has books. And maybe some more writing in this blog.

*Please keep in mind that some weren't published in the present year, and some others were readings I started in 2022 and only finished this year.

#pazcual__#books2023

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broodpeas · 8 months

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sobre re-leer romcoms.

Mi terapeuta me pidió un ejercicio de escritura. Decidí que, en vez de escribir sobre el tema de terapia, era mejor masticar un tema que empecé a pensar mientras hablaba sobre rom-coms y el uso de una fórmula literaria para desarrollar un género, una escritura, y unas historias.

La cosa llegó porque estabámos hablando sobre el ejercicio de escribir, y el hecho de que llevó varias semanas escribiendo un borrador de algo. Mientras escribo lo mio, estoy releyendo algunas rom-coms, que se han vuelto uno de mis géneros nuevos a explorar, no sólo porque es donde más aparenta tener presencia de autorxs (raramente se encuentra literatura rom-com contemporánea escrita por hombres cis y a esto quizás vale la pena hacerle una anotación por aquí...) sino también porque el género rom-com no es un nuevo, ni reciente, y va de la mano con Women's fiction. La WW una especie de categoría, que se inventó -me parece a mi- como una con intención diferenciadora, y en donde aparecen las novelas de romance (en específico las rom-com, osea, romantic comedies) escritas por cualquiera que no sea un man hetero, cuya audiencia principal son cualquiera persona que no son manes heteros. En alguna clase de literatura discutíamos que siempre ha existido una especie de rechazo hacia este género, no sólo por la audiencia y lxs autorxs, sino por el hecho de que tienen como centro una exploración, propuesta o idea del amor romántico (ya sea hetero o no, y esto es otra cosa que también merece otra anotación).

Mi gusto por este género empezó cuando, en una depressed season, solamente podía leer estos libros. Había comprado uno porque la portada me pareció curiosa, y descubrí una novela ligera, divertida, que no me pedía ponerle mucha cabeza, sino sencillamente leerla. Por el break que tuve en mis clases de maestría decidí que no quería leer nada que me exigiera pensar (y también por mi salud mental), y esos libros reactivaron un ritmo de lectura que no tenía desde hace años. Alcancé a leer 5/6 y a final de año, cuando volví al parón de clases y de tesis, retomé 3 libros más. Entre más leía, más me era evidente una fórmula: personaje principal, con alguna situación personal, conoce a personaje principal 2. Se conocieron por primera vez, o antes, y se reúnen, y se conocen (o pretenden conocerse, depende de quién escribe) y tienen sexo -que siempre es bueno, o mágico, y si es hetero, se concentra en la experiencia de placer desde el punto de vista de la mujer, que rompe con la propuesta del romance escrito por manes heteros- y luego pasa algo, todo se va a la mierda, pero logran volver de dicha mierda y se quedan juntos, aparentemente en una felicidad idilica. La fórmula no es nueva, y todes que hemos leído a los Antiguos sabemos que esa fórmula viene por ahí, y nos peleamos entre todes para decidir si Shakespeare lo hizo mejor que los Antiguos (no, pero Sueño de una noche de verano es la rom-com cumbre de la literatura inglesa. Me dirán quiénes hayan leído en castellano cuál es la que corresponde, porque de eso debo admitir que me interesa más bien poco). La fórmula se repetía en cada libro, y era (¿sigue?) un poco frustrante porque en esas primeras lectures noté una ausencia de complejidad, que me llevó a cuestionar qué entiendo por "complejidad" y cómo el filtro de leer a manes heteros afecta cuando se lee este género.

La pregunta sobre la complejidad sigue presente, porque no la he resuelto. Como en televisión, los personajes deben sentirse, para el lector, como personas reales. Deben tener un universo interior. Los personajes de las rom-com siempre parten de un diálogo interno, en primera y tecera persona, y narran sus emociones y experiencias pero siempre parece que hace falta algo. No es una experiencia traumática, ni tampoco humor. Los personajes en novelas como Happy Place (publicada en 2023), Funny you should ask (2022), Honey & Spice (2022), The proposal (2018), The Kiss Quotient (2018) o The Friend Zone (2019) siguen la misma fórmula, con personajes femeninos similares en personalidad, experiencias de vida, y relaciones con personas de otros géneros, pero terminan siendo personajes planos porque pareciera que cuando se trata del amor, todo parece suceder en un plano donde el amor aparece y simplemente sucede (o sucedió, y se reactiva, como si fuera la lámpara de un cuarto). Sus universos internos, que parten de unas experiencias que quieren ser singulares -pero no lo son, o al menos, se quedan cortas- de estar en el mundo, no parecen alterados ante el hecho que es encontrar al ser amado. Sucede y aún con una situación que parece descarrilar por un momento su relación, encuentran la manera de que todo funcione. Hay duda, pero no hay cuestionamiento (no al ser amado, sino al hecho de encontrar el ser amado, ósea, digo yo que se puede ser muy calmado en la vida, ¡pero el amor!). Hay rabia, enojo, frustración, pero no hay una exigencia a que el personaje cuestione el amor, y lo que significa el amor más allá de expresar que es complicado, o que da miedo, o que nos coloca en una posición vulnerable/frágil (y hay una distinción entre uno y otro, pero ese cuento es quizás para otro post). Que además ese amor pase filtrado siempre por unas relaciones de poder que emergen porque estamos sumergidos en un patriarcado que sigue vivo, campante, y que por tanto determina esas relaciones (y que algunes intentamos deconstruir, pero el sólo hecho de que se estén deconstruyendo, demuestran la influencia que tienen).

Uno de los libros (se llama Reinventar el amor) que estoy leyendo ahora de no-ficción explora el amor como concepto, y como objeto de estudio en la sociedad contemporánea. La autora, -Mona Chollet- una feminista que ofrece unas reflexiones muy buenas sobre la manera en cómo a las mujeres se nos ha enseñado a comprender el amor; y a su vez, esto me ha permitido darme reflexionar que la complejidad del personaje no pasa por hacerlo misterioso, o por hacerlo complicado, sino por cuestionarse la manera en cómo se acepta el amor. Como acepta el ser amado, y como se supone que transforma su vida pero al mismo tiempo, permanece inalterable (de nuevo, pero con otras palabras, la alteración del amor, ¿cómo la entendemos?). En las novelas mencionadas, con la excepción de Honey & Spice, no hay un cuestionamiento en los roles de género, y no hay personajes protagonistas que cuestionen realmente el amor, como un acto de valentía, de vulnerabilidad. Es el acto de enamorarse lo que proponen lxs autorxs, pero no el amor, como una emoción humana, singular para cada quién de acuerdo a nuestras historias. ¿Será que esto sucede por el apego a la fórmula?.

Por otro lado, el filtro de los manes heteros también afecta la lectura y la comprensión de estos personajes, de sus historias, de la premisa general de estas novelas. No sólo hay un prejuicio inicial (¡leer libros de amor y romance escritos por personas que no sean manes! ¡se revuelca Nabokov, Vargas Llosa y García Márquez en su tumba!), sino que también se espera que esos personajes sigan una fórmula patriarcal. A pesar de que los hombres, como personajes principales, aparecen como arquetipos más sensibles, más abiertos a sus emociones, en apariencia cómodos con mujeres que parecen no ser perfectas -pero en su gran mayoría lo son, porque (como bien lo menciona Chalet) el arquetipo de la diosa sobre la humana permanece en nuestra cabeza de una manera que debería asustanos más-, son ellos quiénes toman un rol dominante para que la relación avance. En The Friend Zone, el personaje principal pone reglas para que la mujer pueda tener una experiencia placentera (!), en Happy Place el personaje elige cuándo y cómo acercarse a su ser amado (y es extremedamente incómodo notar cómo Emily Henry parece no notar esto en su propia escritura) y en The Proposal el personaje no sólo obliga al otro personaje a hacer cosas como cuándo comer sino que también cuando se descubre un embarazo, decide el estado emocional con que se debe recibir la noticia. Sus diálogos internos, si aparecen, es de personas/personajes que parecen siempre en una lucha eterna por aceptar que han encontrado un ser amado, y prefieren rehuir de ellos porque -y aquí traigo de nuevo el libro de la autora francesa- entendemos el amor como una debilidad, y no como un acto de pura valentía, una evidencia de nuestra humanidad, y también de nuestras propias emociones básicas, salvajes, crueles.

En la discusión sobre esa fórmula, le comenté a S. sobre una autora que había vuelto a leer, Curtis Sittenfeld. Le dije que había leído su adaptación de Orgullo y Prejuicio de Jane Austen, llamada Eligible, y había quedado enganchada, no sólo porque no parece una especie de remodelación de Austen, sino que toma la premisa de O&P y la vuelve suya: encuentra su voz, y le da a los personajes humor, duda, rabia, compasión, ingenuidad y desilusión. Todos los personajes saltan a la vida, son defectuosos, son desagradables. Su Darcy es quizás el único que parece suavizarse: no aparece arrogante, sino más bien rígido, y es tremendamente observador y pragmático, tal y como lo es el Darcy de Austen. Los demás, incluyendo por supuesto Elizabeth, son personas multidimensionales, y aun con un final feliz, puedes sospechar que su final feliz siempre vendrá con problemas que los pondrán a prueba, que implosione y que tal vez los lleve a buscar nuevos horizontes (o cuerpos). Sittenfeld es atrevida con la premisa del libro: incluye un personaje trans, menciona casualmente el racismo en su familia, hace de Bingley un pendejo con pelo bonito, y de Wickham, que en este libro es aún peor que en la versión de Austen. Ursula K Le Guin considera que nada de lo que menciono existe, y ciertamente Le Guin sabe más de escritura y literatura que yo, pero a mi parecer Sittenfeld realmente hace un esfuerzo por una propuesta contemporánea que tiene defectos (Mary es desagradable porque la autora la arquetipa como una feminista enojada, lo cual me hace preguntarme si Sittenfeld ha conocido alguna feminista en su vida) pero que también propone que sus personajes femeninos sean mediocres, imbéciles, groseras, ingenuas. No son un arquetipo, y esa es la razón por la cual en las re-lecturas que he hecho, insisto en que vale la pena considerarlo una propuesta interesante para una Austen a la que siempre se le ha anhelado algo que no puede darnos.

El contrapeso de esta misma propuesta -una relectura a Austen y su premisa de O&P- es Ayesha at last de Uzma Jalaluddin. SIguiendo la idea de reinterpretar la historia de Austen, Jalaluddin parte de su experiencia como mujer musulmana y propone una historia de amor que le da a los personajes defectos y problemas, pero también un anhelo por el amor como raramente se encuentra en Women's Fiction. Ayesha, su madre y su abuela son personajes que se mueven en el mundo sabiendo que se impuso sobre ellas una condición (el ser mujer) y cada una lidia con esa condición como pueden. Mientras la Elizabeth de Sittenfeld parece la única sensata (no lo es, pero ella quiere creer que sí lo es), Ayesha se reafirma en sus convicciones y sus valores. Mientras el Darcy de Sittenfeld se suaviza para complacer al posible lector, Khalid es un hombre devoto que aprende de su prejuicio y admite su toxicidad como hombre (osea el man se empieza a deconstruir).

Volviendo al uso de la fórmula para el género, Sittenfeld se subestima a si misma con Romantic Comedy (2023). Es un libro terrible. En los agradecimientos, Sittenfeld admite una obsesión por Saturday Night Live y más del 50% del libro es la autora explicandole a su lectore, por medio de la voz del personaje principal, como funciona SNL. Y creo que esto lo entendía como novedoso, pero para mí fue aburrido y un poco absurdo. En últimas, creo que pretendía querer volver el trabajo como comediante del personaje principal como una señal de su personalidad, o como un personaje más del libro, pero termina siendo el centro, la premisa, del libro, que se diluye y luego desaparece completamente y salta a la fórmula del amor entre los dos personajes de una manera tan apresurada y mal hecha que fastidia (el final de Eligible también es horriblemente apresurado). Mientras que en Elegible los personajes, ya sea por el hecho de que están desarrollados por Austen, son humanos, en Romantic Comedy el personaje femenino es una mujer profundamente insegura, que hace comentarios fuera de lugar y que parece incapaz de reflexionar sobre su propia responsabilidad emocional, y el personaje masculino es una especie de fantasma que da serenatas y luego aparece 4 años después para invitar a una desconocida a su casa en plena pandemia. Y aún cuando Sittenfeld desarma la premisa del personaje femenino como ua mujer real (aquella que va el baño, eructa, menstrúa, en fin), sigue siendo un personaje plano porque su universo pasa, se construye, existe en función del man cantante.

Los manes cis han escrito sobre el amor. No conozco alguno que haya escrito alguna rom-com y me reservo mi prejuicio al respecto. Hay una diferencia muy importante sobre escribir acerca del amor, especialmente en autores que se consideran hegemónicos, y otra escribir dentro del género del Women's writing. Y esa diferencia no es cosa mía, sino que es de los manes, de esos autores hegemónicos, sus instituciones patriarcales, sus críticos misóginos, y sus lectores intelectuales posudos que se la pasan determinando sobre la buena literatura. Quizás en los programas de literatura y de escritura creativa algunas cosas hayan cambiado, pero nunca he encontrado un man que sea capaz de escribir con la misma ligereza, agudeza y humor una rom-com. Aun Shakespeare, a quién le guardó mucho cariño porque Sueño de una Noche de Verano es una de mis comedias favoritas de todos los tiempos, se queda corto cuando se trata de presentar personajes -especialmente los femeninos- que sean humanos.

El rechazo que se tiene al género rom-com es evidentemente misógino. Viene de desdeñar y considerar que las emociones no son parte del arquetipo masculino que desafortunadamente muchos manes aprenden (y algunos siguen des-aprendiendo, pero si esperan una felicitación, vuelvan al paso 1 de deconstrucción de género) y se les exige. En mis propias relaciones con manes heterosexuales (y como persona casada con un man hetero) me produce irritación tener que hablar de mis gustos y mis preferencias porque muchas veces terminan en una mainspleanada soberbia sobre lo que debería leer, y porque Women's writing no debería considerarse una categoría diferenciadora y porque autoras como Clarice Lispector y Marvel Moreno sí merecen respeto (porque quiénes las aclamaron fueron manes y han perdido su brillo y estelaridad desde que las feministas propusieron nuevas lecturas a sus obras, antologías, y al hecho de ser autoras) pero autoras como Jane Austen no.

Vale la pena preguntarse qué autoras se leen y bajo qué géneros se guardan. De nuevo, el género rom-com es específico al Women's Writing, pero hay una distinción importante entre Annie Ernaux, Anne Carson y autoras como Curtis Sittenfeld y Jenny Hanh. Quiénes merecen respeto, quiénes merecen crítica, quiénes merecen atención sigue en el centro de esta discusión, donde las voces de los manes siguen teniendo relevancia para que consideremos a unos géneros sobre otros más relevantes, atractivos, interesantes, y dignos de ser reflexionados.

En mi lista de lecturas pendientes tengo a Zadie Smith, Lamya H, Annie Ernaux, Melissa Broder, Maggie O'Farrell, bell hooks y J. Vanessa Lyons.

Desde hace años tengo goodreads, pero nunca lo he usado para ningún challenge y desde hace años dice que estoy leyendo 3 libros que nunca terminé de leer.

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broodpeas · 10 months

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some thoughts on rachel tashjian's sunday newsletter

Domingo es el día de los newsletters. Aquello que reemplazó los blogs es el newsletter, donde escritores e influencers han encontrado una forma mucho menos directa y más reflexiva de no sólo presentar productos, sino también para deshilar ideas propias. Estoy suscrita a varias (roxane gay siendo la mejor, la más aburrida es la de chrissy ford pero es quizás porque a mi poco me interesa la astrología), pero no a la de Rachel Tashjian Weiss, una crítica de moda que lleva años produciendo su newsletter y es quizás el secreto mejor guardado -no es cliché- porque para acceder a ella hay que escribir a Tashjian y justificar el porqué debemos hacer parte de la "codiciada" lista que recibe su newsletter. Yo nunca he encontrado razones para justificar su lectura, y aunque considero que su voz es necesaria para la industria y para la crítica de moda, encuentro un poco absurdo tener que xplicar para leer algo- es una restricción que entiendo absurda: se justifica bajo la idea de "exclusivo" (y, por tanto, importante, valioso, singular, en fin) pero en últimas, es más excluyente.

Tal vez sea díficil entender para las personas que no saben mucho de moda porque este tipo de newsletters existen y porque tienen tanta audiencia. Como comentaba, Tashjian es quizás una de las críticas de moda más prolíficas de la contemporaneidad, alguien que entiende la moda como algo más que un adorno, y que sabe de su influencia y las posibilidades que la moda, no sólo como industria, sino acto del ser para -valga la redudancia- ser y existir en el mundo. Y se lo toma con toda la seriedad y gravedad, cosa que es novedosa, porque sigue existiendo un estigma muy absurdo alrededor de la moda y quiénes escriben y reflexionan en torno a ella como objeto de estudio.

A lo que voy es que el domingo pasado salió su newsletter y pude ver algunos snipets del post que hizo. Al parecer el post iba sobre el estilo y la manera en que redes como tiktok sólo han evidenciado que el estilo personal (" personal style") es un concepto/acción perdido en la generación que se aproxima al vestir como un acto voyeur, o de admiración a través de una pantalla (esto es un argumento mío, no de Tashjian). Tashjian escribe: "personal style is a skill, a talent, a passion, a special kind of genius. The average person scrolling through tiktok is never going to be on that level. I suppose this is all bubbling up because young people don't how to LIKE stuff anymore. They don't know how to to DEVELOP TASTE. The algorithm has ENCASED THEIR BRAINS and atrophied the muscle for discovering what is special and unusual and unique." (las mayúsculas son de ellas).

La razón para escribir esto es para tratar de re-hilar un poco lo que pensé y barbotee en instagram. Por un lado, lo que propone aquí Tashjian tiene un núcleo de verdad: tiktok ha cambiado no sólo la manera en cómo consumimos la cultura (en su sentido más literal) sino también en la forma en cómo la moda se ha re-aproximado a las personas, volviéndose no sólo popular y masificada, sino un signo mucho más claro de homogeneidad. El estilo personal, no obstante, es una construcción que -a mi parecer- pasa por una experiencia física, política, cultural y económica del cuerpo: a saber, es interseccional al espacio que ocupo y la forma en que mi cuerpo ocupa ese espacio y se mueve en el. Como concepto, es sencillo definir el personal style como algo abstracto (porque lo es), que refiere en últimas a la identidad o da signo de ella. Pero, al mismo tiempo, la influencia que el espacio tiene sobre uno hace que el personal style sea una cuestión que parece de genios y que no todo el mundo puede -o le interesa- lograr -y viceversa-. El acceso que las personas tienen a la ropa (y, por tanto, las marcas), que se entiende como una necesidad en la sociedad capitalista, siempre ha ido ligado al estatus y al gusto. Lo segundo, que viene de la estética, es lo que hace que el personal style se comprenda o asocie con la noción de "vestirse bien" y los cuestionamientos alrededor de lo que significa esto. Entonces, ¿el personal style es vestirse bien, cumpliendo con normas sociales y políticas? ¿O es ir en contra de ellas? ¿Y de qué forma? ¿Quién impone y mantiene estas normas y esta noción del buen vestir? ¿El personal style si se refiere a lo único, singular y especial, es entonces una manera de confrontar lo homogéneo, a saber, lo que es socialmente aceptable?.

El ejemplo que siempre traigo en colación es la manera en que ciertos diseñadores transmiten un personal style a colecciones que se masifican: Alessandro Michele (ex creativo de Gucci), Daniel Roseberry (creativo de Schiaparelli), Pier Paolo Passolini (Valentino), J.W. Anderson (Loewe), Rei Kawakubo (Comess des garçons), Dries Van Noten, y si nos vamos a poner más históricos, Elsa Schiaparelli. La contracara es como la cultura toma sus diseños y los reintepreta para su cuerpo, y para el lugar que ocupan en el mundo, con especial atención señalo aquí la comunidad LGTBQI+ que lleva haciéndolo por décadas y son quiénes realmente han revolucionado la noción del personal style. Porque, por un lado, los diseñadores -de la mano con su equipo- dialogan con unas ideas y unas nociones que se transmiten a la construcción de una colección que pasa a ser consumida y reproducida, y que van de la mano con una identidad de marca que los compradores reconocen y se apropian porque se mueve en los valores estéticos que los compradores tienen (o quieren tener, la aspiración siempre es clave). Y, por otro lado, cuando esas colecciones se masifican, y llegan a "lo popular" se reinterpretan porque no todos pueden usar estas piezas -no sólo por el factor económico sino también porque cuando se diseñan para talla 0 y no todos los cuerpos somos estas tallas, díficil ponerse la cosa-. En este sentido, las personas queer y trans no sólo han transformado piezas icónicas como una cuestión de resistencia, sino también porque hacerlo ha permitido demostrar que el personal style va más allá de la idea de genialidad y "uniqueness" que suele venderse en torno a esta idea (porque necesitan vestir el cuerpo como santo y seña de su identidad).

Por otro lado, mi crítica aquí es quizás la noción -un poco elitista a mi parecer- de que apps como tiktok han vaciado de creatividad, y se ha olvidado del gusto, por la necesidad de homogenizar la experiencia del vestir. De nuevo: es innegable que, cuando se explora el algoritmo de moda, la sensación original es que o hay quienes lo intentan (Tashjian los llama "real fashion victims") y otros que no lo logran y lo que hacen es explicarle a los demás como intentar para homogenizarse -a sense of belonging-. Pero, tampoco puede negarse que en estas aplicaciones hay quiénes están re-pensando la idea del personal style y que comprenden que esto no sólo va de la mano con una noción tradicional (kantiana quizás, me corregirán quiénes saben de Kant, yo sé lo mínimo y con eso vivo bien) del gusto y del estilo. Que los "average people" -en las que me incluyo- no podamos "desarrollar" el "buen gusto" evidencia una ausencia muy grave de comprensión del existir de un cuerpo sujeto a unas normas y que está en un lugar, en un espacio al que está obligado a existir en el, y en el que su movimiento depende de la interseccionalidad. Lo que soy va de la mano con lo que se me exige ser, y la resistencia y las concesiones que mi identidad ha tenido es una cuestión mucho más compleja que no se puede entender sólo desde la perspectiva de la influencia de redes como tiktok y los influencers. De nuevo: un cuerpo -gordo, flaco, mediano, ancho, corto, tatuado, porque un cuerpo es también una serie de etiquetas/categorías auto impuestas y/o asumidas por los demás- está en un lugar y allí relaciona unas relaciones de poder que no son sólo semánticas, sino que hay una lógica, una lingüística y una acción (aquí hago referencia a Byung-Hul Chan y su ensayo "sobre el poder", que aunque extremdamente conservador es muy bueno para reflexionar -valga la redundancia- sobre el poder).

Tashjian escribe también: "what should people who do not have personal style do????? HONESTLY??? I think there should be a government funded clothing brand that uses union labor to make incredible simple and straightforward clothing". Más allá del chiste extraño, lo cierto es que Tashjian misma se estrella -de forma cómica- con la incomprensión de tiktok y lo que algunas pseudo influencers de moda hacen cuando hacen contenido explicando cómo combinar piezas, cómo vestirse para eventos, qué es un armario cápsula (esta idea me parece rídicula porque te invita a consumir más) y como combinar piezas existentes para evitar el consumo. Y si bien esto homogeniza el vestir, perdiendo -al parece- una identidad en la moda, lo cierto es que permite desarrollar una confianza en el personal style que lleve a un vestir más cercano a la comodidad del cuerpo, que a las exigencias que se hacen de el.

En últimas, el personal style ya no es una cuestión exclusivamente subjetiva, y es más una noción que tiene, más que perspectivas, fuertes implicaciones y variaciones en unas personas más que en otras.

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broodpeas · 10 months

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random thoughts Ugly Betty, tv adaptations and colombian tv

Early on the year I saw Betty la Fea. I had never seen it, so I thought that what better way to feed my depression than watching a novela and eating a big bag of candies my husband got me? And so I watched it....well tried. I watched all something hundred episodes but I had to speed up a lot. I was amazed by how terrible it was, and surprised that they let this novela turn into a current pop culture moment. Sure, it has some funny moments (Freddy dancing and singing are the only funny moments) but overall, who needs GOT when you have rape, thief, aesthetic, physical and verbal abuse and assault all wrapped up in 30 minutes episode?

To be fair with myself, I kinda suspected this ever since Betty came into the colombian zeitgeist, between 2001 and 2002. It became a powerful bullying tool (still used today in workplaces to justify work assault and abuse, how nice!) but also an influential tv show where even the president had a cameo (a president that needed that because he was going through some political bullshit when you find out you gonna understand nothing because this country is a circus!). My husband told me Betty really broke the mold of colombian television, the same way narcovelas did some decades later. But anyway, the point here is: every adaptation of Betty I heard off, I decided it was terrible and not worth watching, so when Ugly Betty came out, I was like 16 years old and I said hell no. I skipped it, preferring other tv shows like Grey's Anatomy.

When I finished watching betty la fea, I decided that there was no way in hell I'd watch another colombian novela. That was enough and then I moved onto other tv shows. There's a lot to say on the relationship between good taste and television, and the fact that people consider novelas to be bad tv because only low class people watch it is still a valid argument- altho it's also true some people don't watch it because they follow a heteronormative and white portrayal of people. Novelas are believed to be ways to indoctrinate people and this is right (they do) but then again, they also portray society in a way no other tv show could do. It's like a snake biting its own tail, so the argument of taste has to be thought with care and attention because it will bite you in the damn ass. And because I'm catching up with a lot of tv, I decided that I had enough with all of this and put a stop and watch something light, something for a waiting room, or for falling asleep and because Disney+ only has cartoons and Ugly Betty you can see why I chose the second and not the first (I love toys but cartoons no longer make sense to me).

So far, I'm like 6 episodes in and I liked it. It's really good and extremely different from the original version, the only thing similarity is that the main character is called Betty and she has brackets. Everything else is different and yes it has its own flaws (there was no need for Salma Hayek to take her shirt off an elevator, and also Daniel needs therapy and to apologize to Amanda), but overall....it's great television. All characters are human and the mockery of fashion is hilarious (the joke of latex dress worn by kate moss that a baby could wear....mean spirited but so on point, my feminism left my body and I don't think it's coming back any time soon). Betty is a good person, but she's also selfish and she gives people a hard time and she is sassy. Her nephew Justin is a queer icon, as is Marc -played by Michael Urie, who's now in Shrinking, an apple tv sitcom that should get emmy noms- and the freedom they have to be themselves is just so good. I just like it and I hope it stays within these lines.

This very long babbling of words also works for me to think a bit about adaptions. TV is very good in adapting books and movies into long format series (like Fargo). Last year when it was announced sex and the city would had a reboot, I was amazed because it was different from an adaption, but it felt more like this than a reboot. the turn and the absences, the overall feel of the show, felt nothing like the original version and I don't know if this was intentional but proves my point adaption is a murky land, that can be very productive or can fuck something up. With the HP announcenment, apart form the obvious question of why giving a terf more money, the question of why making more adaptions about something that doesn't need any more content because it has nowhere to go kinda sprung on me. Let me put it like this: who needs to know more about that school and the peoples and whatever? Who asked for this? Who will be watching this? and well, I'm at it, so let me throw Tolkien in the fray, because I still think Rings of Power was fantastic but do we really needed a tv show about a mashup of short stories and the silmarillion (I'm not sure if they actually used this and I'm too lazy to look for it but if you know, let me know lol)? If you look closely, almost all tv show lately has been adaptations: from wednesday (which was, in my modest opinion, perfect and I'm excited for season 2) to house of dragons (of the dragon? sorry?)? Perhaps only sitcoms are the only tv area where creativity is happening, even when following a formula (abbot elementary, what we do in the shadows, it's always sunny in philadelphia, shrinking and for some reason, people think succession it's comedy, listen here this is later but huh?!) . Do we need all these adaptations, some presented as reboots and some that want to be a breaking point from the original concept? Is this it for us? Did we peak on creativity and ideas for the best way to entertain people?.

I love television. I have never believed we're in a golden age of television, but I do love the tv we have now, because it has freed itself from the kantian perception of "good aesthetic" and it's just a really nice way to distract yourself, to soothe in and to just be. TV actors are really the shit and the US writing striking currently happening now is only gonna help to make US television better. I wish colombian television would also go on a strike to strive for a variety of content, to break the monopoly they have on what kind of content is made and who gets to make it and why. The stories colombian pop culture has...they deserve to be told in a different format, with a better formula. They deserve to be adapted and rebooted. They deserve something more than the formula betty la fea and cafe and gaviota and pedro el escamoso has left us with.

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broodpeas · 11 months

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random thoughts on RHOBH

I'm watching Real Housewives of Beverly Hills again, in between watching other tv shows I didn't wanna watch until I knew I had the time to do so (watched Moon Knight, the best of two worlds: indiana jones and the mummy!). It has been, as usual, an experience to watch a pseudo-reality tv show about wealthy yt women who seem to enjoy tackling each other in the harshest way.

Because I jumped late on this ship, I'm sure later seasons the show tries to mend some of the things they have done so far that they consider to be bad (for example, highlighting in the worst possible way, how an addiction affects not only a personbut that person's family and make everyone a judge of the situation). With each season I wonder...well, basically, I wonder why. And, are people really like this in real life? Because, even if this is a heavily scripted tv show, we still are talking about people and I can't help but wonder if people are really doing things like doubting someone's disease (season 6), domestic abuse (season 1 and season 2), divorce (season 2 and season 3), and the privacy of minor and their right to exist without having a camera shoved in their faces. I wonder why presenting this on television? why making of this entertainment? and how this specific entertainment differentiates from the other ways we consume in pop culture? Ultimately, tv and movies -but especially tv- exploits this and we take it all, even when we think and believe it's done carefully, gracefully, or whatever (always good to ask ourselves what this implies). I think in the past I had writenn about this, but it's still nice to know that I enjoy watching it. I really do. I don't know what witchery this tv show has but it is good, it's so good. And with every season, aware of the "degradation", I still think they can't go far -and then, they do! So far, season 6 started with a man peeping a woman's underskirt and his wife saying it's her fault because she wasn't wearing any underwear! Ah, makes perfect sense!

At the same time, I think too this show is very telling of the upper class of entitled gringas that sometimes do come to this part of the continent and are amazed we have wifi. Which by the way, reminds me to tell to whomever reads this, please let's not find this shocking anymore. It's the year 2023 of our lord Beyoncé who's on tour currently -and giving you so many fashion references I don't think an academic paper will ever be enough-, and we know the condescending ways the gringos exist in the world. RHOBH simply let's you go a little deeper into this, to wonder how in hell did we let things go this far and how great it is because we find amusement. I have always wondered, when the cameras are gone, and they're just them, people living on earth, do they look at themselves and think "this is just a job"? Instead of a version of squid game that violently murders people, maybe this is the real squid game. A very nice one, because I will not stop watching it- must be said, it really doesn't make you a better person to put yourself in the position of judge here.

In any case, it will always be interesting to disssect the Real Housewives franchise from the ethics point of view, and especially from a feminist point of view. Because one could say that yes, tv shows like this makes us abandon all feminist flagpoles and shit, I honestly think this is a too hurried on position. There's a reason why this specific part of television and pop culture is viewed and appreciated by us. For so long gossip and cattiness has been understood as negative and even here, I understand them as negative values. RH has given permission to turn around this, to pose the question why are they bad? if you think carefully, ethics wasn't really built by so-called marginal groups, it was built by men. I mean, what's the first book of ethics I read on my philosophy BA? Aristotle! and Socrates was well, he was difficult, I don't think he'll ever admit how catty and dramatic he was (girl, you died drinking poison instead of escaping, do you think LVP would've done that hell no, she would've made dorit drink the poison!!!). And we all know this, and this isn't the exact place to discuss the implications or consequences this has, but it really does let you think with more attention and detail why these tv shows are considered "trash tv" instead of....culture. I don't think RH is bad tv, I think it's an specific form of entertainment that is so specific to our contemporary times we really have no way to compare it with anything else. This also lets us come close to what it means when a scripted television show starts to meddle with serious stuff, such as addiction, domestic abuse, harassment, and so on and on, and does so with not much care or tact. They just do it, they give it you raw.

But anyway, this was very random, like almost everything I write. Time to get back to work.

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broodpeas · 1 year

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A short post on Champion.

Random Thought Before I Begin:

I'm currently watching a judiciary audience of a Very Bad Man. You don't need to know his name, unless you're from Colombia, and if you are, well then you know whom I'm referring to.

I haven't watched this audiences in a very long time. I used to, when it was my job, when I knew knowing this was necessary and I endure it. When it wasn't, I realized I felt too much and I just couldn't anymore. Maybe because I took so much distance (and dissasociation) that I can now watch this audience, and I actually told my sister I thought this man, who had done so much harm and pain, knowingly so, seems...very nice. It's kinda like what Hannah Arendt wrote about the Eichmann trial many years ago- she felt sorry for him because he was just a sad, little, scared man standing trial. This man however doesn't look sad or scared, he just looks like someone who's doing something bureacratic. But what he's saying is not bureacratic, it's relevant to hundreds of people who know this man is a monster- my sister said "above all, he's human", and I want to point out here how dissonant it is when we acknowledge the humanity of someone who took it away from so many people. Whose legacy is cruelty, violence, pain, evil.

Something to think about.

On "Champion. An opera in jazz". Champion is an opera by terence blanchard and michael griffith. It is the second balck opera ever presented in the MET history and blanchard's second work with the Met. I saw it a few weeks after its premiere in NYC, because one big movie company in Colombia has this streaming rights for the entire Met opera season and I finally have the money to afford to go to almost all the season. I didn't know this opera would happen because I'm not an expert in Opera, I just go because this is the best way to learn about classical music and performers and so on. This is why I was so blown away when I went to the first operas of the season and I saw a latina woman performing a leading role, with 30% of the cast that was black and asian. Black and asian people! On a stage! Performing the whitest of the arts! And like I have pointed out many times, I am almost always the only POC person in the audience, and even though I know I'm not the only one who understands the importance of seeing POC performing opera, it will never get old to sit down and see a damn opera where POC are actually performing.

And Champion is actually more than just a representation checklist opera. It's not just that the cast is 99% black, with drag queens and gay issues as part of the plot; or that the conductor is a queer person who not only loves classical music, but has fun and makes fun of it. It's also that behind the scenes POC had active roles and that the day of the premiere and the shows after this, POC have shown up, again and again, to support this opera, not because it's a black opera, but because it's really damn good.

I went that saturday knowing that the movie theater was going to be a bit empty, and it was. I had the entire row for me. I was the only brown person in that room- something that, I think, it doesn't mean much, unless something happens that reminds me that I am a brown person who has the means to afford tickets to opera and no one in that movie room questions why I'm there because they know I have the means to be there. It is not mind boggling. It's the reality of the privilege of being brown in this country and not fitting the racist notions people have about brown and black people in Colombia.

And so I sat, alone in a row, and the opera started and from scene 1 my heart did jumps and hoops and I thought well this was to be expected because I'm a sensible blob and I always feel everything too much. But when the final scene came, and the entire black cast came out, and the clapping began and everyone was kinda leaving the room, I just sat there and sobbed. Because in all my years watching opera, and going to white spaces knowing I wasn't white, I had never experience why representation matters, not at this level anyway. And even if this representation may fall short or be perceived as performative, to me it isn't. Champion made me cry because when I was growing up, in the 90's, I didn't had this. My dad used to play classical music where all composers and performers where white and european, and he only listened to this when he needed to focus or wanted to work. I never knew black and brown people could make, play and/or perform classical music. My only reference that wasn't white was....Bugs Bunny. So seeing this opera meant so much to me. And I left that theater crying my heart out because I am also wrapping up the document where I write about black representation in colombian art, knowing that this is jus the beginning for I am going to do in terms of not bringing a seat at the table, but to flip the table and see what happens.

black people really are stars.

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broodpeas · 1 year

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on pop music and coachella.

In the old tumblr times, Coachella was a cool festival. It had an indie ineup and most of us discovered music or listened to bands we liked if we couldn't afford to go. It was great. I still think it's great, except now I wouldn't go to a festival. Coachella has changed a lot since 2010: from rarely seeing women, POC, or LGTBQ+, now it has more diversity. It was time. It also has more pop music, which for me is also fun, because pop music will always be great.

I'm not sure when did pop music crept back for me in music festivals, but I can tell you not a single show will ever top Beyonce's homecoming. I will not be discussing this with anyone who argues against this. It's the reality of pop music: there are pop artists, and then there's Beyoncé. She is her own category. The idea of this post is not to discuss this -again: not opening for discussion-, is more to put some random thoughts in order about pop music, back when I was growing up and now that I am well into my 30's. Coachella somehow works to try to put some order into the thoughts. Let me dig in.

I remember the first time I saw a Britney Spears video. I was, like so many of us, enthralled. Then I saw Christina Aguilera, Mandy Moore, Destiny's Child, Aliyah. They were all....so perfect. So beyond cool, so comfortable in their bodies and their sexuality. They were all the type of peopleI thought it'd be great to be.

But, like many of us, I couldn't confess this. We grew up in a world that censored our love and devotion for pop music, especially for pop female performers- they were everything that everyone wanted, aspired or desired, which for some reason led to people to hate it. The looks you'd get when you admitted that you liked pop music, it haunts me. Of course, now I understand that behind this contradictory train of ideas was patriarchy and a big dosis of misoginy. Pop music in the early 2000's and very well into the late 2010's was understood as dumb music, and behind it, racism, clasism, imperialism and all the baddy -isms you can think of would thrive. And still, most of us secretely enjoyed pop music, and some who were braver than me, admitted and were quite happy to enjoy it sans guilt.

In 2023, pop music still has the same issues that had 30 years ago, but now it's easier to be critical and recognize when it's a valid critic and when it's the shitty system acting up. This has allowed many of us to enjoy pop music more freely, not just the "old" pop music, but the contemporary music. The fact pop music is now diverse and that some artists work to make sure they are not just producing bops, but also producing political comentary, will never cease to amaze me. They don't do it perfectly, but then again, who can make it? After all, they already make perfect bops, to demand more is not wrong but it's also ridiculous.

And yet, on sunday, while I was organizing stuff, I decided to watch a replay of Blackpink's coachella set. I don't know if they are the first kpop to headline a western festival, a fact we can google, but I was amazed by how annoyed I was: too much playblack, too much dancing and not so much talent. Then I realized I was displaying a classic pattern of thinking, where we judge these female artists of not beoing good enough artists because they're not what we expect them to be, even though they are. I certainly couldn't sing and dance in front of thousands of people. I can barely put one feet ahead of me, so me taking this position was not only surprising, but revealing- no matter how much time it goes by, we always have residues of thinking patterns that are harming and dangerous.

But...I still think it's important to put order into my ideas about Blackpink and the uncomfortable feelings they gave me. Mainly because it confronts a part of my feminism I always sit, which is the idea of hyper-feminity, and how it's demanded that some bodies are allowed and demanded to perform in a certain way. Performance in pop music is a necessity, pop requieres it so it can be relevant. The performance manages to attach some moral values, and there will always be the discussion of whether the performers can actually own their autonomy on their genders, sexualities and bodies if they fulfill the patterns that patriarchy forces on them. Because, whether we agree or not, their performers reinforces that pattern, and there seems to be a contradiction. Can they/we be free of those frameworks of thoughts if we decide to own them? to make them our sign of identity? Feminisms have taught us to not be critical of other people's bodies and ways to live- we don't know how those bodies live in the world, how they inhabit it. And yet, those apparently fragile bodies, abled bodies, they reinforce a way of being I, deep inside, know it's too similar of what people taught me to hate on pop performers.

And this way of thinking, it's not complex- it's toxic. The way it creeps into our understanding and enjoyment of pop music, it's insidous and subtle. You don't slam it, you drop the thoughts slowly- by being annoyed at how much playback, and how little singing they do on stage. By how much they reinforce what bodies are considered desirable and loved, and which ones are rejected. When you judge them by how they perform.

I don't know how to change this. It's just there. Whenever I feel it's there, I acknowledge it, and stay silent. I realize I'm not being fair nor just, that I'm letting the hate come out freely. I don't judge myself too hard, I am after all, a bad feminist and it's something I've come to be okay with it. I am critical of myself, but sometimes I do let the jealousy mixes with the admiration I feel- I'll never be that tall, that thin, I will never experience that objectification, commodification or exploitation. I will never experience that judgement in that massive way- it's not the same to exist when you're a regular person than when you're a celebrity. It is expected that you allowed certain things, because you're a celebrity. Everybody has an opinion about what you do, who you are, how you exist. It's....something to keep in mind.

Coachella, like I said, it's not what it was when I was 19. It has super stars that are vocal and brass, like Charlie XCX, whose set was so, so good, she's such good performer and she enjoys it. It has atists who perform knowing what they have to deliver and are also aware of the limits and boundaries and do not give in into the old ways, the ways we grew up accepting tacitly -rosalia, boygenius, kali uchis willow...-. It's our generation and the ones after us. It is also people that are located in places where they know the way they can be it's okay because they know it will not have serious consequence, or if it does, at least some justice might happen. I don't think many colombian people for example were kind with Shakira when she dropped her bops, even if feminists defended her and tried to change the discourse. many argued things that are relevant, but the world will never stop hating on people who decide to break off from the old ways, and find their own ways to be- that comfort, that freedom.

Like I said, pop music has changed, but at the same time, it's the same chew on and spit off to discard machine that it has always been.

The older I get, the easier it is for me to trust my gut when something doesn't add up. sometimes it's a fleeting thought, or something someone said or wrote. other times, is by reading and learning about how to identify when things don't add up. We are thankfully now in a time where it seems it's okay to enjoy whatever we want, without needing permission, but this I think is a big and dangerous façade. Our existence, interconnected with gender, race/ethnicity, social and economical class, culture and geography, history and memory....everything inflicts on us, it profoundly affects who we are now. To be aware of this has also helped me to understand the complexity, the ambivalence, the contradictions on what it all lies in.

Coachella is great and like most music festivals, I always find ways to enjoy it. I still think it's a cool way to find new artists to listen to, or to watch shows from artists you love. To see how much it has changed, to know it used to be something and now it's another, it's great.

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broodpeas · 1 year

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rambles on nostalgia

does anyone know (or care) that tumblr still exists?

The other day I remembered this line I read any years ago, when I was writing mt first thesis, about nostalgia. It explained that nostalgia is linked to memory and what we want to experience is the event itself, we can't, so all we have and what that lingers is a faded emotion, kind of dilluted ensemble of faces, places, words. Nostalgia is vital to memory and the hype around nostalgia is because, I believe, everyone wants to experience, with a romantic lense, a memory.

This has nothing to do with what I'm feeling. I am in what seems to be a writer's block. I was suppose to finish reading my books and start writing my third thesis chapter but the more I read, the more block I am. My concern is that no window will open where I can sneak in and write. Something's amiss, I'd like to know what, but I know poking that bear is dangerous.

Writing is an interesting exercise. I always find it relaxing, the best exercise. Writing for me has become central, it's what I do. I write notes for work, recipes, reminders, I write random ideas and thoughts, I write thesis and essays. I am not a writer, but I write. I trained myself to write, to make sure writing is always the thing I do. I don't understand people who say writing is difficult (although I do get symplathetic feelings when I have to use mathematics and I can't).

I often wonder if I feel nostalgic. There's a difference between nostalgia and melancholy, although explaining it now seems fruitless to me. I just know there's a difference, but the thing is the more I think about me feeling nostalgic, the more I realize I really don't. Going back to my hometown feels like a fresh hell, mainly because the city is in such disarray, it is impossible to feel something other than utter disappointment and despair. Looking on things on tiktok, how people seem to be desperate to bring 90's and early 00's back -nostalgia!-, seems ridiculous to me. I am terrified of the future, I am sad over the present, but I am fed up over the past. We weren't better. I don't miss waking up at 9 am to watch tv, nor I miss playground games, or hours on the library. I suspect it's because my childhood and teenage years are linked to trauma, but it's not for me to confirm or deny this (I am not a therapist). But I digress, because the point I'm making is if it's possible that the nostalgia everyone's feeling and talking about, as we contemporary understand it -through the manipulation of social media*- it's actually nostalgia, or it's just fear (of something, someone, who knows). I believe the second- it's not nostalgia, it's just fear. We are terrified. After all, extinction is right around the corner.

When I was writing the first pages of my thesis, I came to the realization that black art only has some sort of absentee nostalgia. We, black descendants, don't know what we are missing, because our history has been fragmented. We miss for pieces we can't put whole because there's no way. I suspect my project of a black art history is an exercise to make this evident, to say again what has been said with other (better) words: we can't never really know that nostalgia because they ripped apart the possibility of looking at our past, to trace our memories before slavery, before trasatlantic boats and big chains. I tried, very hard, to find clues to look into our representation in art, black bodies and lives, spirits and ideas, and I found them, but most of them come linked to whiteness and colonization. What is before is difficult to pinpoint because we don't have the links between then and now. This is, perhaps, confusing. Let me try to rephrase it. Black people have always existed, and art history has evidence of this. We have art that, for the traditional categories of artistic objects and artists, are considered as "ethnic" or "folklore" (today this notion has been dismissed). And colonization brought representation of black people. The thing is colonization is guilty that we can't find direct links of black art (objects, representation, production of the objets)- we know black people produced art, but unlike white artists, we don't know their names, their influences, their entire body of work. we also don't know how that art relates to us, beyond explaining it has a lot to do with what we -latinamericans- understand as racial constructions and all its implications. the relations are too hidden, almost gone, fading as time goes by. we don't have records and that's why tracing them seems urgen to me, because we are nostalgic of something we believe it must exist -it has to exist!- but we have no way to prove it.

While people miss 1998 and nickelodeon, I honestly don't understand the appeal for it. I was 8 in 1998. I used to feel like crap. I still feel like crap. What's there to miss? But when it comes to nostalgia and black art, well that's different for me. I wrote in the second chapter of my thesis, that like the artists I was examining, I was also trying to find my origins, with the painful reality no one in my family knows who are we. I have no grandparents to tell me, and the aunts and uncles that are now grandparents, are unwilling to accept we are of black descendants. I think this is common for all brown people in Colombia, who find the picture of a black relative and say well guess there's that, and we are forced to move on, because what else can you do? where do you trace it back? to whom?

Perhaps, I think, this then would be nostalgia, but is it? In my eyes, nostalgia is always linked to look at memories in a very romantic and very subjective way. We reorganize them so we enjoy them, so when we remember, we find a sweet taste instead of a bitter one. Perhaps because for me things still are bitter, it's because I refuse to take on nostalgia, to validate it and give it a space in my mind. Perhaps it's also why my thesis focuses on explaining that blackness used to be represented through whiteness, but thankfully, many contemporary artists realized it wasn't worth it anymore, and started to produce black art. It's not magical or excentric, it's not romantic or dreamy, it's art- complex, political, inserted in its contexts and particularities. Blackness and black art has always been complex, it's only now that white people are realizing that because black/black descendants are people too that we are given the category of "complex".

Anyway. This is what I have to write for now, on nostalgia.

*I may be 33 but I still write like a damn pretentious asshole, like in 2010!

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broodpeas · 3 years

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Wait for it, Mike Haddad

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broodpeas · 3 years

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18 (therapy writing)

this morning i woke up like i always do almost every weekend: annoyance. sometimes i’m annoyed because my boyfriend is a very loud person and it trips something inside me that i’ve started to connect it with my parents and their terrible loud way to wake me up every single day of my life. other times it’s because the morning light always finds a way to wake me up, or because i have a headache or because i’m hungry. and other times it’s just because my mood is getting more and more sour. but five minutes into the conscious process of being awake, my brain popped a question: why am I so angry and dissatisfied about?

A few weeks ago, some classmates added me to their whatsapp group and I thought that was cool. Because I rarely engage with people outside my boyfriend and my sisters I thought it was nice to be part of a group, but soon I found myself irritated and annoyed. They are young (some are actually 10 years younger than me) and they have serious mental health issues I can’t -and will never- relate to. They are used to social life, and some barely have support systems that can really help them when they need to. Some go to therapy, others drink and smoke, they have this long list of possibilities and dreams, of fears and expectations and frustrations...They are humans with lives I read and discuss but in the back of my head I am always wondering if I understand any of it, because most of the time I don’t.

Last week I decided I was exhausted of talking with anyone except my sisters and my boyfriend so I exited the group and soon 2 people asked me why I left. I said I didn’t feel good and when I felt okay I’d be back, but since I left I’ve return to feel okay because I’m on my own. Or at least I think I’m okay, I really can’t tell. All of this circles back to the question I asked myself this morning because I can’t stop wondering why: why am I angry with my partner who goes above and beyond to make me happy? Why am I angry with the cards life dealt me if, in the large scheme of things, it’s actually really okay? Why am I so dissatisfied with myself if almost everything I do, I manage to do it well and when I don’t, I make sure I learn my lesson and try my best the next time?

I am not the most grateful person and I am always often writing on twitter how much I wish I was dead, which is really weird considering I have never had any serious suicide attempt or have never found myself deeply thinking about suicide as a solution to anything. I have learnt that life is terrible but also filled with joy and despite my constant fear to feel happy, I am currently able to enjoy the life me and my partner have built together because not everyone has the chance to do it, to face the challenges, to set up dreams, to support each other and build a present and a future together. And yet almost every day I wake up with the absolute dread of another day where I have to tend to my house, and go to class where I bored myself to death and watch the same tv shows I watch because nothing else appeals me enough to try it. I feel terrible because I try to feel joy amidst the horror we are in: black and brown people in Colombia are dying at a faster rate than any other population, we are also the poorest and hungriest, and we are barely acknowledged by the government and society in general. Every time i go out to walk the dog I see people sitting on the streets, asking for food, for money, for help- they are striped off their humanity because they are poor and they have to ask for something everyone should have but don’t. And I can’t forget their faces and their voices, because as much as I try thinking that there’s nothing I can do to make their situation better, it enrages me that we live in a country where poverty and hunger are so normal and common we think of them as part of the typical colombian landscape. It shouldn’t, but it is, because it is what it is. And when I remind myself that it’s okay I feel angry but life isn’t just that, that life is joy, that I am a brown woman who has the opportunity to experience joy, to share it, to have the space for it I wonder why I don’t allow myself to enjoy it fully- the horror is always there but horror isn’t who I am, and it’s not what my life is.

Maybe part of the human condition is the emptiness, that sometimes shrinks and hides, but it never really goes away. Therapy helps to ease into this, I think, but it also helps to examine the dissatisfaction, to explore it, to use it to find it a meaning, or to name it without forgetting we get to live a life that is terrible and hard, but there’s something else also: television, magazines, art, makeup, fashion, sex, pasta and there may also live joy. I do not get to control what’s going to happen and I am okay with that, but I do get to have some grasp on how I’m feeling, and I decide to validate it, go through it and see what happens next.

And yet, whenever I think of that whatsapp group I dread it. One the last thing I read was someone saying they wanted to talk like Cardi B does, which is code for “black ghetto”. I also had to read a jewish person make a very irresponsible and insensitive comment on the holocaust, excusing the comment because the person is jewish. It always makes me wonder if I am either too old or too disconnected from social interaction that I just can’t stand it and I find it better to just not engage and educate (but also, why are brown and black people always in the position to call out and educate others?). I am not a person easy to tolerate, or get along with and I always find myself leaving over the pretense that it’s better to leave than to be asked to leave. That has nothing to do with joy but it does have a lot to do with dissatisfaction and how miserable I feel when I am watching tv and I have no one to talk about what I’m watching and I selectively forget I am alone because I chose that instead of actually working on my social issues.

I think the point of this post got lost. I do feel better tho.

I know I said I wasn’t watching new television but that’s a lie because on friday i started a korean soap opera (”Romance is a bonus book”) that really makes me wonder how in hell women in south korea are not burning men and destroying buildings. the premise is a 37 year old divorced woman who lost her house after her ignorant and stupid ex husband lost all their money and cheated on her. so she is unemployed, homeless (!!!) and a single mother paying a very expensive school to her daughter in some other place. she has a friend who is like younger than her (he’s like 32? 34?) and the guy is in love with her and he’s rich! and he has a job! and he’s a big dick!! in one episode the woman calls him EIGHT TIMES because she needs somewhere to stay because she is HOMELESS and he rejects her call!! and then this man has the audacity to YELL at her because why didn’t she tell him about her situation?! And then this random man this woman meets on the street pretends to do comedy when she tells her, on their first date, she’s divorced (a big deal in Korea? in the 21st century? They don’t use keys but the bitches get mad over divorce?! it does not add up y’all!), has a kid and is living with his best friend and the excuses himself because “wrist issues” and whatever bullshit the script said. It’s just fucking enraging y’all!!! But the fashion, the costume design is actually good: Dior suits, Sacai sweaters, some very nice wearable twists to Gucci vests and heavy coats, Chloé bags, converse sneakers (I never thought I’d say this but I am ready to start my converse collection, please send recommendations)...It’s very neat and well styled, and I think in the hands of a even smarter costume designer it’d be absolute perfection (it looks too well put which makes me wonder if the person in charge examines carefully the actor and not the role the actor is playing).

I also found The Reagans documentary and I saved it to watch it. I am still wrapping up DS9, so once it’s done, there will be some posts about episodes, characters, story lines and some other nonsense I want to write down in case I ever need to write about Star Trek (which happened already, for an essay on, wait for it: Marx!).

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broodpeas · 3 years

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1. I read some essays recounting the long year 2020 was- I chose to ignore this because everything looks as if it were the same, but it’s not. we all know we have changed, that our situation have either improved or worsen, depending on how high we are in the scale of privilege. the world is not the same but every time you take a bath you’re never the same and you will never be that old self again. it’s good and it’s also bad- ridiculously philosophical in my opinion, but the greeks knew what was up before we knew what exactly was up.

2. i am about to wrap up DS9. It is an excellent tv show, perhaps the best star trek. i have so many things to say about it but know this: it’s what star trek needed to loosen up a bit, to play with characters and go beyond the sci-fi specter. of course it has flaws, some stories are absolute nonsense and others, in today’s standard of what we can call “good tv” (touchy concept, but I’ll get there one day), don’t sound so good, but overall, it’s great tv, written with intention and care and fun. i also watched the trilogy of the hobbit and I liked it even more- despite the stretching and some plot holes (Legolas’ mom...who are you? should we care? also, Tauriel girl what happened to you after Kili died? and how many people does it take to kill a damn Orc?) the film really captures why I love Tolkien, why i think Middle Earth’s stories are so fun and entertaining and why Peter Jackson cared so much in writing something for Tolkien but also for the fans. The story of a hobbit that goes on an adventure and comes back with PTSD and has to deal with the fragile masculinity of a dwarf that also has mental issues is something worth exploring too. But also Smaug is not scary, just creepy.

3. I painted my house. my study is now pink and I love it. it’s my ultimate love letter to my spaces, to the importance of having a place where you can write and read, do the things that are private without anyone interfering. when I first read Woolf’s book I thought my bedroom could count as a place of my own, but when I moved in with my boyfriend, I realized I didn’t have a space that was my own. Now that I have it, filled with posts it, posters and a messy desk (and no one telling me anything about the mess) I understand this is incredibly important so you can create freely and with no pressure. A woman’s place is really where she can feel safe to be herself, to do what she wants to do and do it freely and without anyone else sharing that space.

4. It’s frustrating that I can find the words in english and spanish to say almost everything, but in french I always have to stop myself and say “comment-te-dire...?” so my professor can tell me the words and I repeat them. It happens almost every day, and every time it happens my professor reminds me I’m still on early stages. Learning a new language, and doing it with the mindset that it doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be what it is, is challenging because we are used to wanting things to be a certain way (our way) and sometimes not knowing how to talk is a reminder that we are a constant effort on finding the ways to communicate.

5. On women’s day I wanted to write about what happened. I wrote it in my head, explaining how, when it happens, your perspective shifts into a survival mode so you can live or continue doing something similar to that. But as time goes by, and as you go back on it, over and over again, when you revise with what you’ve learnt, you realize it was never your fault and you learn that at some point, you will forgive yourself for it. You will learn that you are not a direct result of that, that it didn’t make you stronger or better, it didn’t lead you anywhere, or that you were destined to something or anything at all. You just take who you were then and make sure she knows one day you will wake up and love the life you have now. And so I didn’t write anything about it. I don’t know owe the telling to anyone.

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