BY TEN EVERYONE HAD LEFT. I CLEANED UP THEN PICKED UP MY PHONE TO call Jared, who would have just gotten off work, but before I dialed, I was distracted by a new email notification:
Hey Miss B
Of course I’d be willing to add to your project. You can find me here or on my direct line: (416) XXX-XXXX
I’ve seen your movement online and let me just say that I’m super proud of your dedication and drive to greatness. You’ve always had it in you.
Positive vibes only:)
Mark
I hate to admit this, but it felt great to hear from Mark again. In some ways loving someone is like riding an old bike, even if you know the bike has two flat tires. So, with the sour taste of dread on my tongue and more excuses for why I shouldn’t go through with this than I’d care to admit, I phoned Mark the next day.
He picked up after a few rings. “Hello?”
“Hey Mark, long time. How are you?”
“Oh, Miss B! Hey, how are you? The caller ID said this is a Beverly Hills number, fancy you!”
He sounded like it had been minutes not years since we had last spoken. But most of all, he sounded hella Canadian. I don’t know when I became the snooty American who pointed out the long vowels and slow speech of my people, but I do know I hear it like a dog whistle!
We did the small talk, I told him about my project, explained the philosophy, then asked the question, “So in short, where did I come up short when we were together?”
He started to talk about our relationship and blamed our demise on the old, cliché cause: poor communication (clearly he didn’t do the workbook or else he would have had a less vague response, like we differed in apology languages or turn-on triggers). I listened for a bit then politely redirected him by explaining that this call wasn’t about us or him; it was strictly about my wrongs and what I could learn from them. That’s when things got interesting.
“Oh, I mean, I don’t know if you’re like this now, I’m sure you’re not, but you were just a very raw person. Like really raw and very blunt, which I’m not saying is a bad thing, but you seemed to lack a sensitivity. And for me I needed that soft side because I’m a guy who likes to talk about feelings and be in touch with my emotions.”
On his end I’m sure he thought my silence was a sign that I was listening intently but in reality, I had to place a Kung-Fu grip on my tongue. I like to be in touch with my feelings?! How could the guy I loved who suddenly decided to ignore my texts and screen my calls with no explanation pull the I’m-an-open-book card? But on the other hand, maybe he didn’t communicate his feelings with me because I didn’t present myself as someone capable of holding that kind of conversation. Damn.
“I don’t think we ever even had the dialogue of what we were or how we felt about each other. I mean, I knew you liked me, and you knew I liked you, but did we ever even say that once in those five years? I just felt like I couldn’t share my feelings with you, and I could be wrong, but I always got a sense you were talking to other guys. So, it just seemed easy to accept things for what they were.
“And . . .” He hesitated for a second. “Sometimes, you had BO.”
I nodded. He was dead ass right on both accounts. First, I did keep other men around in the background as a crutch during our on/off tenure, I guess in case he broke my theoretical love legs along with my heart. But it turns out that through my attempts to protect myself, I had created a self-fulfilling prophecy. Double damn.
Second, I wasn’t even going to attempt to dispute his BO claim. It’s probably a genetic trait, since hell, sometimes my parents have it (sorry you had to find out this way, Mom and Dad). But DNA aside, it’s no secret to people who know me that personal grooming is not my strongest suit. Those who love me have to give space for that. Don’t get me wrong, I eventually learned how to play the game: I own a specific wash for practically every part of my body, I keep a bar of deodorant in my car, I’ve gotten laser hair removal and I’ve even learned to love doing laundry all in the name of the attraction game. But if I’m honest these are choices I have to consciously make, they certainly do not come natural to me. Thus, my romantic partners have to be aware that while I’m known for being cute and spunky, sometimes I’m gonna be dressed down and a lil funky.
And I suppose that is the asterisk that this exercise needs: *Of course we can learn from our past on how to improve, but sometimes it’s our stubborn yet magical imperfections that make us special and different. The trick is to make a clear distinction between the qualities that just need the right beholder and the ones that Jesus himself would’ve struggled to vibe with.
I ended the call with Mark and we agreed to keep in touch, even though I doubted that would happen. Afterward, I sat on the balcony in the sun for a long stretch of time just thinking, feeling and checking in with myself. Although that call was nothing but ancient history, the fact that I closed the chapter gave me peace of mind. Most wounds do heal over, but we may not realize that for some, the cut underneath is still fresh.
Maybe an hour later, Jared got home from work and joined me. I held on to him and buried my face in his hair. He smelled like me, a beautiful by-product of living with each other and using identical hair products.
“I called Mark,” I shared.
“And how did it go?”
“He basically said that I lacked sensitivity, like a soft side, and that I was too raw. Also, that he couldn’t emotionally connect with me . . . oh, and that I tended to smell.”
Jared smiled and nodded. “You’re not surprised by any of that, though, right?”
I shrugged. “Not really but still, that’s not exactly what you expect the person who once stomped on your heart to say about you.”
“Well, maybe that’s it, you’re the most insensitive when you’re hurt, so maybe he had you hurting a lot of the time. It just sounds like you two were in a vicious cycle that brought out both of your flaws. But maybe that’s a good thing because it helped you to face them.” He slapped a hand on my knee and headed back inside.
It’s in these moments that I appreciate Jared the most. He understands my winding complex parts and knows where my potholes are, yet I still feel loved as a whole person by him. I also know this appreciation of being accepted is mutual.
About a year into us living together he pulled me in tight and said, “Thank you. I know I’m not an easy person to love, so thank you.”
This comment stunned me. In stark contrast to his belief, Jared has been an insanely simple person to love. But then, I also recognized how hard we both worked on ourselves independently with cooperative guidance, to make our connection run smoothly.
I thought about our relationship and realized we had been having conversations like the one I’d had with Mark for the entire duration. In the beginning when we were friends with benefits, we’d casually discuss over lunch things that the other did that rubbed us the wrong way: He pumped too fast. I bounced too hard. That one tongue trick was cool once in a while but chill. And the licking of the ear thing? Just stop. Since the very nature of fuck buddies is optimal pleasure, we never took it personally, we just applied these critiques to make our experience better each time. When Jared and I began to expand our relationship beyond the bedroom, we kept this trend up, but it stopped being about how to please the other and instead how to become our best selves for each other.
I have probably changed more in the past five years than I did in my first five on this planet. While the majority of that has to do with the decision I made to fully devote my life to the study of intimacy, I’m proud to say that having a partner who communicates my errors without awakening my ego has beyond helped too.
All relationships are filled with criticisms but seldom are these heard and understood. Too often our pride, emotional responses, insecurities, or lack of respect for the other person’s opinion get in the way of the message being received. But in order to change, you must give someone else’s truth a chance to possibly have some solid (albeit sour) p
oints. While it didn’t seem like a majority of the group outright received this message, I felt good about the seed that this exercise had planted and knew we would continue to work until something took root.
The end of this assignment brought Phase One of the program to a close. Now that they had begun to know their intimate selves, we could begin uncovering the lessons in their perceived losses, while setting them on course toward their rightful gains.
Phase Two: Change
PART ONE
Change the habits and perceptions that are holding you back. This includes changing your appearance—and changing your mind about your limits.
5
The Power of Bangs
Phase One had clearly been emotionally taxing for everyone, so I decided to give the group an extra couple of days off to reflect, while I did the same. At this point, the participants had uncovered more about who they were through the self-summary workbooks, next they gained insight on what behaviors may have been sabotaging their dating lives. And now, we had to tackle the why, when and how: why had bad habits like clinginess, passiveness and inflexibility turned into traits, when did they begin and how could I help them to shut that shit down.
Cracking this case reminded me of a plotline in HBO’s hit show Westworld. During season one, it was revealed that the engineers of the AI robots had embedded a unique tragic incident into each robot’s programming, referred to as their cornerstone memory. This manufactured memory was designed to keep the near-limitless AI under the engineer’s control through fear and emotional manipulation. But, when a robot realized that memory was BS they subsequently gained the power to override their cornerstone, defy their perceived limits and then, break free.
In order to help the group accomplish that same freedom, I had to pinpoint what each of their cornerstones might be, as well as what traits they’d since fused into. I combed through each of their workbooks a second time, then reflected on what I’d personally observed before identifying the following:
Deshawn believed she wasn’t as pretty or interesting as other people. In school she was bullied for her looks, so she thought she was ugly. At home if she spoke about science she was met with blank stares, so she thought she was boring. These beliefs woven together created the perfect material for her self-proclaimed awkwardness to take shape, then eventually take over.
Pricilla believed everything her mother told her. Unfortunately, this included awful statements like, “You are pathetic” and “You can’t do anything right!” Even more unfortunate, over time those words morphed into Pricilla’s complacent attitude, which stopped her from seizing opportunities to stand out, or up.
Cherise felt the world and those closest to her had turned their back on her. So, she simply returned the favor. With a shaved head and a flattened smile, she was committed to never allowing her kindness to be mistaken for weakness again. She held her shield up so high that it was near impossible to truly see the beauty she possessed behind it.
Courtney was bullied all throughout school, then in her early adulthood she was rejected by her church and found herself in an abusive relationship that almost destroyed her spirit entirely. By age 30, she had come to believe that she had to be blunt, cutthroat and reclusive in order to survive.
Maya described herself as not that pretty and not that smart, and had set low expectations for herself to accommodate that reality. With the help of her anxiety, that began in childhood and worsened in adulthood, she had convinced herself that it was futile to challenge her comfort zone. So, she bought a bunch of books and an awesome lawn chair then resigned herself to a life of watching from the sidelines.
Stephanie stuck out in all the wrong places growing up: she didn’t fit with many cultural norms in her community, she disagreed in church and felt ostracized by the beauty standard. Exhausted from years of feeling like an outsider, she clung to anyone that seemed to choose her, all the while counting the days until they rejected her.
Understandably these traumatic experiences had hardened over time until they were no longer just experiences, they were a part of their characters. My job was to chip away at these reactionary personas, so I could uncover the boundless creators underneath. And in brainstorming how I could gently but effectively do so, I thought of my mentee, supermodel Winnie Harlow.
I MET WINNIE IN 2011 WHEN SHE WAS A HIGH SCHOOL DROPOUT LIVING IN Malton, Ontario. She friended me on Facebook, and when I saw her profile picture I thought, Wow, what an interesting way to do your makeup. However, when I clicked through her profile, it became evident that it wasn’t makeup at all, but a skin condition called vitiligo that resulted in the loss of melanin for 40 percent of her body. But what stuck out to me wasn’t her condition, it was how seemingly unaffected she was by it. Winnie had countless adoring selfies and pictures of herself, every shot more flawless and fuck-less than the last. Without hesitation I messaged this beautiful stranger and asked if I could photograph her (my pride would love to note I was the first person to ever do so).
When we met up, she told me between snaps that she wanted to be known by the world either through modeling or hosting. Both ideas seemed fantastic but also far-fetched, given that there was no one else in history who looked like her who had done those things, even on a local level. Eight years later and guess who has amassed over 5 million followers, a place on Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show, a spread in Sports Illustrated’s Swimsuit Edition, over twenty covers, including international Harper’s Bazaar and a solid hold on the fashion world’s it list.
Winnie was soaking her nails and having her hair done (of course) when I phoned. I explained what I had been working on, then got her aboard my current train of thought: What cornerstone memory had she broken free from in order to achieve the unimaginable success she enjoys today? As someone who developed a rare skin disease at age four and grew up in a low-income neighborhood where she was bullied to the point of dropping out of school, I expected her to respond along those lines. But, she took the question in a completely different direction.
“I honestly don’t have a direct answer to that,” said Winnie. “I mean, yes, I’ve had traumatic things happen, but I don’t look at them like defining moments. The thing is that ultimately, we all get to choose what changes us, so why would I choose something negative? I really don’t focus on the past or think about my skin the way everyone else does, or thinks that I do.”
She was right and furthermore, she wasn’t lying. In my years of working with Winnie, I witnessed how far one can go when they aren’t anchored by resentment. In 2014, after her season of America’s Next Top Model had aired, she booked an international campaign with Desigual and had practically every press outlet around the world buzzing about her. So, she took her portfolio around New York looking for representation, but not a single high-end agency took her seriously. Furious by this, I began venting to her about how stupid these people must be, but she stopped me to say, “I’m like a train, I know where I’m going and I know what I have to do to get there. If people want to get onboard, great, but if they don’t maybe they’ll show up at future stops.”
Perhaps she should’ve said she was a plane because that’s precisely what she boarded months later. Winnie moved to London to start building her career overseas before returning to live in America after becoming a bona fide supermodel. She is now signed to the very agency that once closed the door on her. Furthermore, in 2017 she vigorously campaigned for a spot in Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show, and when she didn’t get it, she was crushed. Thinking that I was being helpful, I asked if she planned on waging a war on social media or marching into their offices with her entourage in tow? She looked at me like I was half-baked then said without a hint of bitterness that her only plan was to get better and hope for a better outcome next year. In 2018, she walked in the show.
“Okay, I get that you don’t focus on the no’s in life,” I retorted. “But most people can’t do that, it’s like you have a superpower. So what advice would you give to the
women in my group who can’t fly yet?”
“That’s the thing, the way I see myself is not a superpower. It’s not at all like flying and that’s what I would tell those women: there is nothing that magical or extreme about having confidence in yourself. Confidence is less like a power and more like a skill. Kind of like whistling. It’s something that you know you want to do so you start practicing until one day you’re a whistling-ass motherfucker.”
“All right, how do you whistle?” I asked.
“I wake up and decide how I feel about myself based on who I am, not on what I’ve been through. That doesn’t mean every day I’m showering in self-love; some days I wake up and decide I’m not that cute. That’s okay too, that also takes confidence to admit.”
“And what do you do on those days?”
“Last week, for example, after I was finished with Fashion Week, I was just feeling so drained, my skin had broken out, my face looked tired—I was just not cute. So, I ordered myself pancakes and sausages, put on my wig even though I had nowhere to go and finished reading The Alchemist because it was getting on my nerves how long it was taking me to get through it. You know, I can’t always force myself to choose the best feelings but it’s always in my power to choose things that make me feel better.”
I hung up the phone with that wise young woman who has always been destined to fuck shit up in the most beautiful way.
My goal with Courtney, Deshawn, Maya, Cherise, Stephanie and Pricilla was to get them on Winnie’s winning level. To accomplish that, we had to start making some aggressive transformations of the body and mind. Phase Two would end with an intensive one-on-one where I planned to address the emotional baggage of their cornerstones head on. But first, I wanted to tackle the physical insecurities that left a sizable portion of the group feeling like less of a seductress than they were capable of becoming. Plus, nothing whets the appetite for change like seeing what a long way a lil sprucing up can do. Meaning, it was time for some makeovers.
The Game of Desire Page 9
