Wanna Be Bodybuilder; Gonna Be Figure Girl

I won’t be your blog slut anymore. That’s right. I hereby refuse to blog day and night. For God’s sake, I have posted almost 50 times since August! Don’t get me wrong; I like writing, and I like you. I like you a lot. But I feel that we are moving too quickly. Look, it’s my fault and I take full responsibility. I am going to slow down and withhold my posts, giving them up only once a week, spacing them out evenly. You will enjoy the anticipation. I promise. I also promise to intersperse my more academic discussions with sillier ones. Since I regaled you with Foucault last week, it is time for a fun-filled romp through the banalities of my everyday life. There. Don’t you feel better? Now dry those salty lady tears and let’s go…     Continue reading

What Would Derrida Think of My Supplements?

I realize that you are itching to hear what the amazing Jacques thinks about bodybuilding, but I have to share something else first. I regularly check the stats on the Feminist Figure Girl blog, which tell me how many hits my site receives per day, and which entry has been the most popular with readers. Wordpress also lists the different search terms that have guided people to my writing, however unwittingly. Some are obvious, like figure girl, figure competition, feminist bodybuilding. Others are hilarious. I give you: ‘obese black thong’ (no comment necessary), ‘why women kick testicles’ (I imagine a creepy guy clasping an ice pack to his crotch with one hand and gingerly typing this query with the other), ‘locker room women naked’ (I hope they were directed to my discussion of 1970s porno bushes), and ‘girl bent elbow armpit’ (ugh, does someone consider my bicep header erotic, even pornographic?). I also like ‘why did my ex become such an asshole?’ Now I don’t doubt that your ex did become an asshole, but is google really the place to figure out why? I think my favourite search term, however, is ‘speedo shame feminist.’ What was that person hoping to find? An image of Gloria Steinem looking sheepish in a lime green banana hammock? I might actually pay a small fee to see that. ‘Lingering hot sexy model man.’ Oh yeah, I want a hot man but I do not want him to be lingering. Bad odours linger, unpleasant experiences linger, unwanted house guests linger. And shadowy stalkers who were once hot male models might also linger…just outside of the 20 foot restraining order limit.  

On to Jacques Derrida and his supplements. Here is what he probably ingested on a daily basis to bolster his man power: coffee, cigarettes, viagra, red wine, creme fraiche. Okay so he had an old French bad breath nervous energy kind of manliness. Still, I heard that ‘JD’ was quite a ladies’ man and could dance. That is what one of my theory professors used to call the effusive French philosopher, as if they were close friends. During class this taut German would have an unlit smoke stuck to her lip, and would pound the table with her fist while shouting ‘HEGEL JA!’ Seriously. Do you think I could make this shit up? I drank quite a bit of JD—the brown liquid kind—before writing a Heidegger versus Mothra paper on ‘the handiness of the hand’ for her course. Got an A. Then when she asked me to discuss it with her while sober I reread the essay but could no longer understand my own argument. 

Supplements simultaneously overcome and draw attention to lack; they are both a surplus and necessary addition, and are thus central to approaching the vicissitudes of bodybuilding. Derrida discusses writing as a supplement, but he also explains the relationship between writing and the body: ‘in what one calls the real life of these existences “of flesh and bone”…there has never been anything but writing; there have never been anything but supplements, substitutive significations which could only come forth in a chain of differential references’ (Of Grammatology). Hell yes, and the Feminist Figure Girl project, which attempts to convey bodily experiences in textual form only reinforces that point, albeit in a literal rather than mind boggling fashion. Are protein powders, fat burners, and vitamins in any way like writing, or like this blog? I have included photos of my own supplementation regimen, though some of it has been placed under erasure. 

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Perky Ass/Water Torture

‘Your ass has definitely perked up,’ commented my delightful young trainer–from now on I will call her DYT–as she aimed a camera at my backside. I was standing against the wall of the small consultation room at the gym. It was a little cold in my bare feet and pink 1950s rhinestone incrusted bikini. You know the one. I am wearing it as I relax on the beach…just look to the right. Today, however, I was standing up and trying to flare my lats instead of lying down and sucking in my gut. By the way, if you have tips for learning how to expand one’s lats without hunching forward like quasimodo, I would be pleased to hear them. Continue reading

Learning How to Breathe

I just altered my ‘About’ page to change my age. It was my birthday this week and I am now a ’43-year-old female professor.’ Around 12 friends joined me for dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant–my favourite kind of food–and drinks afterward. The celebrations had begun earlier in the day however. First I had had a bath instead of a shower (what time wasting luxury!) and then I did a yoga class at the gym, following the advice of several women who had said that the instructor was extra hot eye candy. I quite liked him, for both his focus on technique and the way he corrected me by grabbing and then lowering my hips (thanks!), but he is not really my type.  Continue reading

My Body, Right Now Redux

A friend recently pointed out that I am not living up to my description of FFG. In the ‘About’ section I explicitly claim that this blog will be devoted to exploring my own embodiment. Instead, she noted, I have been undertaking sociological interpretations of gym and fitness culture. How true. I think that I am more comfortable with analyzing things in a slightly abstract way than with blathering on about myself. Does anyone really want to read about boring old me and my boring old flesh? Apparently they do. Well, at least one person does.

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