Robot Positivity

I take a lot of inspiration from a friend of mine who is a punk musician with a taste for the extreme, and always says he doesn’t care whether he gets a very good reaction or a scathingly negative one – the worst thing would be to be ignored. Based on that, I am certainly not wasting my time as a would-be model reaction-wise, though there’s a certain science in having the will to go on when you log in to Suicide Girls to find the following comment on your most recent photo set …

“I’m not trying to be nasty, but please for the love of God, stop.”

… and the following collection of witty tags …

adams apple; it’s-a-dude; terrifying; buffalo bill; you’ll never sleep again; wtf; no, really, wtf; yourballsareshowing

… and I’d be a worse liar than “Mr I’m-not-trying-to-be-nasty” if I claimed that didn’t leave me feeling rather hollow, miserable, dysphoric, and wondering if I’m just being stupid and pig-headed and would be kinder on myself if I just granted their wish and gave up.

However, the logic of that would make an awful life for me, as if I decided I was just a burden on other people’s pity (except for the honestly nasty and pitiless, of course) I would have to give up a lot more than modelling, performance-wise. First and foremost would be burlesque, and they’ll have to prise my cold dead hands off my fans and pasties before that’s ever happening. Not only does it feel wonderful being on stage and getting applauded for my bizarre cosplay fantasies, but the people I’ve met through the scene have been a tremendous source of empathy and understanding, and a salient reminder that I am not alone in having my confidence attacked in these ways. Not to mention no-one ever seems to come to our shows for the pleasure of being an asshole (and if they tried, our emcee would eat them alive).

This shot is from a performance last week with Cardiff Cabaret Club in which I got to debut my third solo act, as a robot maid who discovers self-awareness and strips right down to her cybernetics (including LED pasties which thankfully did flash on cue and did not fall off in spite of their troubling weight, potentially exposing something all-too-organic). It was a blast dancing this one, enhanced by the fact that the obscure music I had chosen – “Dare” by Stan Bush and Vince DiCola from “Transformers: The Movie” (for its combination of cheesy Flashdancey 80s-ness and robot positivity) – was apparently well known to some of the audience, who enthusiastically clapped time. Goddess be praised for supportive nerds …


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