Wild . . . life?
a friend of mine is having a wildlife themed party this evening. i.e. wolf shirts and that kind of thing. I don't have any wildlife clothing, but I do have a nice wolf pillow that I keep in the backseat of my car. I also have a small toy chicken that LadyByron thoughtfully gave me. If I go, I will probably tie it to a string and wear it around my neck. Perhaps I should draw some blood on it to ensure its status as poultry as opposed to a "wild" form of life.
The only question left is should I go? I have an essay pending in the near future on, of all topics, masculinity and commerce. I have learned that victorian masculinity is all about self-denial and dandiacal bodies. Do I submit to these regimental constructions of masculinity and deny myself the gratutities of social life? Or do I enter the sphere of what is apparently the feminine and submit to getting drunk as fuck and adorning myself with chicken blood? A question that only such esteemed gender theorists such as Judith Butler and James Eli Adams could possibly answer. What is a being of conflicted gender identity to do?
The only question left is should I go? I have an essay pending in the near future on, of all topics, masculinity and commerce. I have learned that victorian masculinity is all about self-denial and dandiacal bodies. Do I submit to these regimental constructions of masculinity and deny myself the gratutities of social life? Or do I enter the sphere of what is apparently the feminine and submit to getting drunk as fuck and adorning myself with chicken blood? A question that only such esteemed gender theorists such as Judith Butler and James Eli Adams could possibly answer. What is a being of conflicted gender identity to do?