I knew I wanted to do a live presentation; there is something about the realness, the impromptu-ness, the live reaction-ness, that you can’t replicate with other mediums. A scene, with actors and costumes and props, was necessary for what I wanted to portray -- which was, as I came to realize only after rewriting my script with my 10 year old co-star, that beautiful, terrifying, deciding conversation between an LDS mother and her prepubescent daughter about modesty.
There were things I knew had to be included: the passive-aggression in the mother’s tone, the ignorance towards body image health, the incorrect and absurd reference to general conference talks. Those lines, along with the idea of the Mom applying ridiculous materials to her face and body as extreme makeup, made up the backbone We added in Barbara and the “I hate school” and other, more frivolous moments as character development much later on.
So, with all of the above formally delineated, Charlotte (my cousin, the 10 year old acting prodigy) and I created a scene almost too quickly. We basically scrapped my script and went off of what we knew to be familiar, and what we thought would be funny. Because yes, we thought it was funny. Perhaps I gave my humour too much credit, but I legitimately believed that audience members would be rolling on the floor, in tears, for laughing so hard.
But it’s not funny. Far from it. As my mom said over the phone, after I called and related the premise of the scene, “It’s heavy.” By quoting Sister Dalton, and using a line about “feeling the Spirit”, I not only poked fun at silly LDS culture phenomenon -- I attacked the entire Church. It was personal. And that...isn’t very funny, when considering the gravity of my fight. I mean, there is a reason why no one in the Nelke laughed. People don’t question it, but I did.
And, you know what, I’m not going to apologize for that.
I think I’m right. I think t is so incredibly hypocritical for us to sigh and waggle our manicured fingers at kids -- not only kids, but anyone not looking the part -- and criticize their faith, their character for being “immodest”, and in the same sentence, walk into the plastic surgeon for a third breast enhancement, or the tanning lounge, or the hair salon for the fourth time that month. Absurd. There is no contesting that. Absolutely, I’m right. Especially when those moms and dads and church leaders are in the midst of a prescription drug crisis. No, I’m not saying that legitimate illnesses like anxiety and depression are the Church’s fault; what I’m saying, is that if the cycle continues, those little girls who are told to be brave and look modest else they catalyze pornography and sexual assault will grow up to be just as self-conscious and uncomfortable and messed up as their mothers, and will then proceed to condemn their own daughters to the same fate.
I would go further to explain -- as I hinted at in my presentation -- that it is equally absurd for us to discuss matters of modesty as the sole responsibility of women. Rather than reinforce rape culture and teach women how to cover up their bodies for the sake of preserving their virtue or whatever the hell that means, why aren’t we teaching both girls and boys of the power and ability of their bodies as vehicles for good? It’s not that hard. Here, lemme ‘splain:
Instead of, “Hey, would you mind putting on a jacket? Your shoulders are just, you know…”
Try, “Isn’t this summer sun so beautiful? Let’s go for a walk!”
Or, “Wow, I love that band! That tank top is awesome! Do you play?”
Or even, “I hate wearing tank-tops because I have horrible back-acne, but you can wear whatever you want”
Or literally anything other than, “You should cover your shoulders so that boy over there doesn’t rape you.”
And I’m not even trying to be funny. Because it’s not funny. It’s heavy. It's absurd that it is, but it is nonetheless.
