#fei: my infinite variety

[spindleprick]

described as wearing more perfume than clothing,

on Marchesa Luisa Casati, Infinite Variety by Michael Orlando Yaccarino & Scott D. Ryersson

#words #marchesa luisa casati #luisa casati #michael orlando yaccarino #scott d. ryersson #fei: my infinite variety #marguerite: my abandoned glitter #henriette: my beautiful age #dominique: my dangerous girlhood #infinite variety #vaelena: my oyster sickness

[outofangband]

I wanted to repost one of my older rambles so it’s somewhat more coherent

It’s about Morwen being accused of being a witch, naturally

I am of course still very fixated with Morwen being called Witchwife and the witchcraft accusations in general 

One idea I’ve been thinking about is that the accusations against Morwen of being strange or fey or witchy originated in Dor-lómin prior to the Nírnaeth and were picked up on by Morgoth’s human allies

I’ve always felt Morwen’s likening to the elves by her own and Húrin’s people, while certainly not inherently malicious, had the potential to be othering and at worst, outright dehumanizing.

And of course it later is. It’s Brodda’s momentary fear that Morwen is an elf (coupled with the rumors of her being a witch) that causes him to flee in terror of her.

I think the talk in Dor-lómin was far less malicious but a variety of things are interesting to think about  

Like I do think at least most of Morgoth’s human allies did believe Morwen was a witch and were legitimately scared of her but at least some of them probably were also smart enough to use this talk for their own advantage to further isolate her and her  household

Also I find it infinitely fascinating that the servants of the literal god of evil sound like a combination of inquisitors, puritans, and angry WASP parents at the school board meeting

Anyways I think about this literally all the time, as I’ve rambled on about way too much, it’s really fascinating sociologically and it’s also so dread inducing for me, it does not bode well for her household at all

I apologize I’m so fixated, my tag for this is word ran among them if anyone wants to filter it

It’s 1:24am

I made a mini masterlist for this here by the way on the first linked post 

#the silmarillion #the children of húrin #Morwen #word ran among them #musing and meta

[the-primordialburst]

The FeyBorne

the Fey squinted while looking down at the tiny creature. "so small.. but there lays power inside you" he mumbled while squatting down, to get an actual good look at veigar. "shrouded in darkness and not ashamed of it.. you are quiet impressive aren't you? but how does it all fit into this tiny body?" (Rose @rough-crowd)

Now to be a Grand Magus was no easy feat. To comprehend all forms of power, all infinite varieties of magic, to master all there is was justifiably quite rare. Including himself Veigar could most likely count their numbers on his own hand. Arcane, Fire, Ice, Necromancer, and nature, there were all just mirrors of a single font of energy, the endless springs of reality, it was there that Veigar was The Sole Lord. None could fold the universe to their whim as he, but that left weaknesses to even him. The powers that surpassed reality. The Void was commonly known to be such a force that it laid beyond, but the Fae Wilds and their endless thorns and vines, they were a mold that festered between reality, a cosmic antithesis to the void’s destruction and death, and a power that Veigar was more than willing to exploit. Now usually this involved rather thoughtful processes of manipulation and lying to the Fae Witch of Bandle, but when a towering beast that emanated the same magic appeared figuratively right at the Dark Lord’s feet, well who was he to complain. Veigar was walking the forests of Bandle, searching for the fabled lost connection that Lulu had fallen into so long ago, but this was a much better discovery. “My my...” Veigar spoke lowly, pulling the brim of his hat up and inspecting the other. “Am I too assume you have heard of me then? For quite a shame I have not heard of a creature such as you. I am Lord Veigar, and the body you see before you contains much more power than it might seem.”

#rp #veigar the dark lord #rose the fey #sorry it took soo looong hope ya dont miind

[engl699readingjournal-blog]

Mateja was from Nürnberg and had been scouted as a model in her mid-teens. Like most slim male models with androgynous faces and slender figures, her entire career had been from the very beginning sculpted by her agency as informed by the archetypes she could already be placed into, prefabricated and predestined, as laid out for her as the clothing items themselves. She had done H&M campaigns in effete floral blouses, clad in bell-bottom pants and donning Quentin-Crisp-esque scarves and broad-brimmed hats, round sunglasses, ethereal photoshoots standing in meadows, wreathed in lavender. Tresses intertwined with leaves and open shirts slipping off of pale bony shoulders, a glamorous pastoral in which a certain suspended belief in the existence of masculinity was engineered by an industry presently dominated by Andreja Pejić pre-transition. At the height of Mateja’s career, the industry had only just realized that androgyny was lucrative, apparently, because even before I had met her I knew her. Pictures of her crossed my Tumblr dashboard from time to time. She blended in with the other thousands of models being styled exactly as she was, but she was there nonetheless, a part of this bizarre vision someone was curating, the ultra-wispy waifish male model clothed in these strange Little Lord Fauntleroy outfits as if he had himself been dressed by some Victorian nanny, given dissolute-1920s-schoolboy floppy haircuts. At one point I felt like a day couldn’t pass by without me seeing someone reblog a picture of one of these models in a sheer button down that showcased his ribs and collarbones, one blue eye peeking at the camera because the other was covered by the hair flop, a boater hat perched on top of that, cultivating the kind of gossamer construct Thomas Mann might have chased through Venice in a 1913 fantasy. Spindly hands, hollow cheeks, emphasized undereye circles that reiterated the eternal toxic marriage between the anemic image and the marketable queer one. The only way to be androgynous: rail thin, white as Christmas in Finland, consumptive. Models were scouted, packaged this way, then disposed of once they had aged out of the fey aesthetic. Something about seeing them years later on Instagram, sloppy, weird, greasy, chainsmoking, partying, was satisfying, the shedding of the artificial skin and the assumption of the unmarketable identity, the inundation of the Instagram account with memes instead of photoshoot outtakes, the gaining of weight and the growing of patchy beards, the eschewing of the sheer blouse in favor of kitschy t-shirts with stock photos of European-Union-themed nail art silkscreened across the front. High-waters paired with dirty running shoes. If Thomas Mann had seen them all now he may never have written Der Tod in Venedig. This is what his Tadzio would become? A smelly Prenzlauer Berg hipster in Dahmer glasses? Good.

Mateja was of a slightly different variety of industry pariahs, though. Once she left her representing agency, she grew her hair out, started wearing PVC skirts over black leotards, changed her name, started her own modeling agency for trans, genderqueer, nonbinary, and otherwise non-cisgender people. That was how we met. “The agency is called Das Modell,” she said as we sat at Südblock, casually inhaling an entire Flammkuchen while we talked about her work. “With two L’s. You know, like a concept, a theory, not like a person. And das, because it’s neutrisch. So is das Model, but the meanings are not quite the same.” I thought about the song by Kraftwerk and its rudimentary lyrics – “she is a model and she’s looking good / I’d like to take her home, that’s understood” – and how I had seen the German title of that song spelled both ways, with and without the extra L at the end. Of course, obsessed with all things robotic and scientific as they were, it would have made sense if the same wordplay had been intended there. “I just got sick of many things in this mainstream fashion industry,” she went on. “I left this agency because I told them I was not a male and they didn’t know what to do about that. They wanted to make me like Andreja, but I wasn’t like her. She knew she was a woman for many years, you know. She just didn’t come out because she knew she could make more money as a male model who looked like a woman than she could doing the same thing but identifying as a woman. Her whole career was relying on this one difference. I told them I was not this. They had no use for me. So I started my own agency.”

We had done a few photoshoots, all of which involved me in all black with my silver-blond hair, gaunt face, and crooked left ear front-and-center. I was not shaping up to be a Tadzio. I was 5’6”, my personal brand of androgyny was more evocative of clear and present illness than of foppish wastrel, my head was the size of a jovian planet, I had tattoos that I didn’t feel like showing, I wore drapey clothing that managed to convey the suggestion that I had a body somewhere without actually having to show it. My hair, which had held the same side-part for my entire life, would not do anything except lay exactly the way it wanted to. Mateja had been putting me in all-black turtlenecks for our shoots because they apparently emphasized my jawline. I hated turtlenecks enthusiastically, but I liked Mateja, so I endured. By the time we were halfway through one of our photoshoots, a roll of film in an empty room at the Neue Schule für Fotografie, filled with cracked mirrors that refracted the late-afternoon sunlight across the distinctly DDR parquet flooring, I was ready to shave my hair off and go around for the next months wearing a scarf-wig, Little Edie in Grey Gardens style, clad in a monk’s robe. I had seen myself standing in every unflattering angle I could possibly achieve in every cracked mirror that shot beams of Minority Report lighting across my face and washed out my nose. I sat on a dinosaur of a desk that had been pushed to the wall while Mateja changed a film roll, squinting out at the sunset over a particularly dingy part of Mitte. I had shown up to the photoshoot with only the clothes I was wearing, an attempt to avoid the bringing-up of a tight black turtleneck. The shirt I had chosen had a band collar and was loose. She did not express disapproval of it, but it was most likely not what she would have chosen, either.

“I think what we concentrate on the most is your face and your hands,” Mateja said. She began to take photos of me as I sat on the desk. “These are your best features.” My hands? They were German Expressionist monstrosities disproportionate to the rest of my body, but I did like them. My face, though? At times I was at peace with it, at other times I wanted to take my fingernails and gore it into unrecognizability. I had strong bone structure because I was sick, not because I was effortlessly beautiful like the Tadzios. None of this would have been interesting to Mateja, who simply commented on how good I was at sitting still and catching the best light with the slightest inclinations of my head. I was just trying to hide that damn ear.

Later that summer, Mateja asked me if I was interested in doing a group photo series for a fashion publication called Achtung, shot by a Köln-based photographer named Eva, centered around Mateja’s fashion endeavor and showcasing some of the agency’s talent. As it happened, the photoshoot was to be the day Sam and I left Berlin for our overnight through-the-whole-Czech-Republic odyssey to Vienna. “Eva says she wants to do some shots of us individually, then as groups, just in the apartment, then at night to go out and photograph us at some bars,” Mateja said. “I explained to her and the magazine what we expected of pronouns, proper language, things like this. They told us to bring several pieces of clothing that we feel the most comfortable in, our favorite things to wear.” I agreed to the daytime photoshoot, noting that I would not make the evening half of the project because I had a bus to catch with a friend.

It was July and a massive heat-wave was preparing to seize all of Germany by the throat and hold it fast all the way until the end of August. It was already smoldering in Bavaria and Austria, but had not yet crept up to Berlin. I could still comfortably spend a day outdoors in black shitkicker Docs, heavy black knee-socks, black schoolboy shorts, a white collared button-down, a crust punk neckerchief, and a black blazer with the lapels covered in buttons and brooches, inspired by Rik Mayall’s moody anarchist character from The Young Ones. In Berlin nobody looks twice if you wear the same outfit for a month. It felt only right that this should be the ensemble I brought along.

I think I was the most difficult to style. In attendance were Mateja, a young transwoman from München named Kim, Mateja’s genderqueer roommate whose name I don’t remember, a model and fashion designer named Leni with a look and backstory very similar to Mateja’s, and myself. The two stylists from the magazine looked at what I was wearing, evaluated my face, and made an executive decision: turtlenecks. Put him in turtlenecks. I wanted to scream. My foray into modeling was shaping up to be one backless infinite wardrobe filled with Hermès turtlenecks. “These make your face look incredible,” said the stylists to me in German. “Much more masculine jawline.” I didn’t want a masculine jawline. “Was für ein Gesicht,” Eva said as she snapped photos.

Exactly none of the clothes I was put into were clothes I would wear in any setting ever. Giant 1970s flared pants with platform-heel boots and turtlenecks, awful leather pants and Gucci jean jackets and turtlenecks, everything shot from the front to avoid acknowledging that Sam and I had cut my hair the night before with what could have been a chainsaw and a cheese knife, the crooked ear front-and-center again. I wanted to demand to know why my own clothes didn’t suffice. No, it wasn’t sleek, but neither was punk, neither was queer. I thought about the crust punks who hung out around Warschauer Straße with their dogs and their witty cardboard signs, about the squatters who tromped around Kreuzberg in their boots and bandannas. Did the people from this magazine know nothing about this?

After the main shoot began wrapping up, I got back into my clothes while Mateja and everyone else suited up for their night out, choosing other clothes to bring along for wardrobe changes. Mateja’s first outfit was a slim-cut suit with no shirt underneath, and Leni put on a matching ensemble. Together they put on music and danced while Eva snapped photos, them waiting for it to get dark enough for phase two, me waiting for the right time to leave. They moved like cats, tossing their hair about and embracing each other. I stood to the side, watching and holding my backpack which held enough CLIF bars to last Sam and I through our entire Austrian trek in the coming 36 hours. At some point Eva noticed me, my buttons, my boots, and called me over to snap a picture of me, just standing there, still holding my backpack, in front of this wall, dance music still blaring. Somewhere out there that picture exists. Months later, when Mateja met up with me to give me a hard copy of the magazine, she sighed and simply said, “I don’t know if I’m happy with this series. Eva did very well shooting us, but I think the magazine missed the point.”

[buygunsonline-blog]

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[thefeynatics-blog]

Growing Up Fey

Alex Kuchnicki

     Character traits are developed through experience, and the things we experience in our youth tend to shape our characters greatly. Growing up, or overall maturing, occurs at all stages of our lives. From childhood we are constantly learning about the world as we find ourselves in wide varieties of situations. Of course, this journey is not always smooth, and lessons are learned along the way that help us to become better people. This topic is brought up by comedian Tina Fey across several of her works, including her memoir Bossypants and her movie Mean Girls. Bossypants, as implied by the title, is about being a female boss in a male-run world, specifically in her experiences in the comedic field, but contains some stories about the early years of her life and career, while Mean Girls follows Cady Heron through high school, in which she learns the consequences of conforming to society’s expectations. Fey, through her portrayal and discussion of the awkwardness of growing up, stresses how important it is to be yourself- to be your own boss.

     One of society’s flaws that Fey reveals is the inevitable “power pyramid” that forms (Bossypants, 71). In Mean Girls, Fey recognizes a hierarchy among all of the students, with the nerds and losers at the bottom and the plastics (led by Regina George) at the top. This cinematic representation of the power pyramid is mirrored by her real life experiences described in Bossypants. Throughout her miserable time working at a Young Men’s Christian Association, she came to see class distinctions among the people there. At the bottom were the childlike residents, followed by the women who did all the work, with all topped off by “two or three of the least-useful men you ever met” (Bossypants, 71). Fey is meaning to emphasize the fact that this pyramid can be found not only in high school and the workplace but everywhere. It seems to simply be in human nature for it to form based on conflicting personalities. There are always going to be the Regina Georges of the world who feel like they look down on the entire world because they have money or a reputation, but it is important to be able to be assertive, a Cady Heron. Most people in the middle and lower classes struggle with interactions with the upper class, tending to be uncomfortably one-sided, when they should be much more confident in themselves. At the end of the day, everyone is a human being. In a Time article, the author Mary Pols examines how Tina Fey has achieved so much success: “In a flourish of her own fierce brand of feminism, Fey has decided to claim that dismissive, girly label before anyone else gives it to her” (Time, paragraph 6). Taking control of the position that you are in leads to self-assurance and does a lot more than letting other people walk all over you. Using her own experiences and the dramatized events in Mean Girls to depict the power pyramid, Fey proves how assertiveness is the way to success in the world.

     Tina Fey further discusses awkwardness along the path of maturity through learning about the importance of looks. In her personal experiences described in Bossypants as well as the setting created in Mean Girls, she portrays situations in which girls were naive about looks before being exposed to the world. In the chapter “All Girls Must Be Everything”, a young Tina Fey learns from her older cousins about society’s expectations of women when it comes to physical appearance. She writes out extremely long lists of all of the things that are considered to be unattractive before later listing out what is considered ideal- “Caucasian blue eyes, full spanish lips, a classic button nose….” (Bossypants, 23). The latter list consisted of impossibly high standards, and some of which even contradicted each other. Fey learned that there is an infinite number of things that could be wrong with one’s body, yet if you do not meet those standards, you should work to try to attain them. What she means to convey is the message that it does not matter what you look like, and that you should own your body, as she has learned to do over time. She illustrates this point in Mean Girls by showing how looks impact social standing. The Plastics are at the top of the power pyramid, due to their gift of good looks. When Cady first began high school, she had the same naivety that Fey had before being educated by her cousins. She did not know what clothes or personalities were attractive, but as she began to become plastic, she changed both of these things, becoming very unlikeable at the same time due to the way she treated others.

     Fey aligns attractiveness with this negative change in personality to put conforming to society in a bad light. Between this and her description of her youth experiences, she reveals that it is more important to simply be yourself instead of focusing on the physical expectations that society puts in place. Fey also broadens her perspective on this idea of conforming to society’s physical expectations to include the negative consequences of changing one’s morals and personality as a whole. In the chapter “Climbing Old Rag Mountain”, she talks about how she stooped in college when she was desperate for a relationship. She describes an experience with a “Handsome Robert Wuhl”, which ended up being a mistake- “Should it have been a red flag to me that these incidents would only take place under cover of night…? Absolutely… But I finally had my hands on a thin-lipped white boy” (Bossypants, 55). Despite having no true connection with him, Fey fell into a trap that many young people fall into as well. Although she knew that her relationship with him was something insubstantial, she lowered her expectations and forced herself to be ignorant to the fact that it was not a healthy relationship. Eventually, she woke up and realized she was only being used, but not before she climbed a mountain for no reason. In Mean Girls, Cady changed aspects of her life intentionally in order to provide opportunities to get with her crush, Aaron. She purposely failed math, and changed the way she acted, spoke, and dressed, becoming “plastic”- becoming a fake. When Aaron discovered Cady had failed math to have an excuse to be tutored and saw how she changed for the worse, he was angered and told her she should have just been herself. In both Fey’s real life and the reality she created in her movie, the girl’s choice to lower her personal standards for love, and in both cases, the situation ended badly.

    A review about Mean Girls from The Guardian by Priya Elan that discusses plot and themes states “This battle for ‘social acceptance by any means necessary’ is something that continues to be played out in real life” (paragraph 5). The power pyramid that forms in high schools is reflected out in the world. The physical characteristics that are determined as attractive by society that youth are exposed to from older siblings and the media help to create the power pyramid, as they establish looks as a determining factor of social standing. The changing of morals due to a certain situation can be found not only in high school and college but also in the adult world, in which people may maintain a false persona to appear more attractive (not only physically) to others. These topics that Tina Fey addresses in regard to the awkward journey of maturing are things that not only young people struggle with. They are problems that can be seen in the rest of the world as well. Yet her message remains the same- it is important to be yourself and to be wary of how society shapes you, because in her experiences and those of Cady Heron, conforming to society ended poorly.

Sources:

Mean Girls

Bossypants

Mean Girls Article:  Elan, Priya. “Why Tina Fey's Mean Girls is a movie classic.” The Guardian, Guardian News and Media, 29 Jan. 2013, www.theguardian.com/film/shortcuts/2013/jan/29/tina-feys-mean-girls-movie-classic.

Bossypants Article:  Pols, Mary. “You're Not the Boss of Her: Tina Fey's New Memoir.” Time, Time Inc., 4 Apr. 2011, content.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,2063866,00.html.