Hey Kim Kardashian, you forgot your clothes.

1415768120250_Image_galleryImage_nypost_cover_kk_02_jpgYes I’m talking about THAT photo.

If you click on the hashtag there are probably 750 000 people trying to tell her to wear more clothes, to think about what her kid would think, and they’re doing this with creative memes and clever writing in an attempt to trend and even if they do the truth is she probably won’t read a single one. I bet Kim K has stacks of friends and those friends are probably telling her to ignore the haters. Those are good friends.

When the picture of her butt got released, I too thought of a funny tweet, I chatted about it a few times, liked a few statuses. I wanted to be part of the conversation.

But then I wanted to take it all back. Not because I thought I was adding to the big fat heap of noise, or because I was ‘cyber-bullying’ but because even though I felt included and people had cheered me on for my witty humor the truth is I had blood all over my hands. Kim’s blood. The moment I used her to get to that place. I had turned into something I never wanted to become. A hypocrite.

I sat there behind my computer and acted like I’m perfect and that never for a second thought my body too was an object. The truth is that I’m just like Kim, but luckier. My life’s not documented my moments aren’t pictured.

She’s not a mess.

She’s not some disease. She’s not a train wreck. She’s a woman (with a nice ass) who chose to be pictured and she chose to receive money for those pictures. So I’m not going to write a Dear Kim K letter or pretend to understand all the things this dirty industry has taught her. I’m not going to write a letter to a daughter I’ve not yet had about how she should be so much more than this. I’m not going to tell women to hug their daughters and be grateful they aren’t like Kim.

If I had a little girl I would tell her that I would try my very best to understand all of her moments, the great ones as well as the empty ones. Try to understand when she moulds and contains herself for men or the world or when she arrives and parks herself in places which make her feel so much smaller than she really is. I will try my very best to understand it all. I will always give her the benefit of the doubt. I will remind her to ignore the whispered lie that her body is just a tool she can use as leverage. And I will tell her this only because I too have been there and I’ve visited all of these emotions and I’ve used all of those ‘powers’, just not in magazine articles and not in front of thousands of subscribers. And so have so many others because culture tells us, it shouts it over and over on a megaphone that we should. And so sometimes we do.

It took me a million little lifetimes to try to understand myself, try to understand my body. And its going to take me a million more. But I’ve learnt that I’m not just legs and lashes and leverage. And that even though the world will keep singing about my hips that never lied it will never for a second speak about my wells of depth and my endless dreams. I will just need to hum those songs to myself daily, the songs that matter.

Now get me. I’m not on the sideline rooting her along with banners and handmade “Go Kim” Tees but I’m definitely not treating her like she’s some tragedy that has ruined our innocent youth. She’s a woman. Like me. Who every so often forgets she is so much more than dat ass and her boobs and impeccable thighs. She is made to be valued and that her worth is so far from ankle deep, its a well. And that well will overflow…. if we let it.

Jenna Jay x

I’m bringing sexy back.

Those lies the world keeps feeding you. Spit them out.

I’ve been there, we all have. We get caught up and sometimes romanced by a world that would only want us if we took up less space. I spent too much time dreading the front door because to open it meant to face the world. To face the world meant interactions. To have interactions meant I was expected to speak. And if I was honest I was afraid. Afraid that you would listen then laugh, stare, mock and tell me that I was not good enough. Not pretty enough. Not smart enough. Not skinny enough.

I wanted to be sexy.

I have sparred with my body and defeated a world that whispers untruths about my love handles and wonky teeth.

I refused to stay. Stay in that place of fear, visit with those lies and drink tea with my sadness. Stay in the valley of untruth, mingle with the naysayers, chit chat with my faults.

You see, if we always stay well then, we never move.

And when I moved, I realized that actually we serve the world far better in Larger portions and that maybe, I was sexy.

Sexy is something you learn and come to understand as you grow inward and then project outward. As you take bigger risks, make bigger plans.

Sexiness has nothing to do with the skin tight skirts that make reptiles cringe.

Sexy is waking up and getting to work early. Its not the stilettos you can barely walk in, its the mountains of challenges you climb.

Sexy is having no apologies for living, for taking up space and making a ruckus.

Sexy is not letting that (too short) pencil skirt speak for you but rather your actions. Its letting the shoulder you offer to your friend speak. The hand that stirs the ladle at soup kitchen. The words that offer encouragement.

Sexy is not about stealing looks and hearts, it’s about stealing advice, stealing stars to hitch your dreams onto.

Sexy is looking after your things: your stories, your dreams. Its not about spoon-feeding them to every guy who buys you a drink at the bar but leaving some stories for candlelight and the one who knows you well enough to get watermelon and wine after a dreadful day.

Jenna Jay.

because GIFs.

Oh how I have failed. Over and over again.

But its ok. It’s my gift to you. Its my gift to myself.
These are the things those sexy mistakes have told me…

1. When I choose to let fear win and don’t step out, someone else will.

And they’ll probably have an awesome time. And laugh. And Prospur. And Be rich.

2. Sometimes you can get tired of caring.

Immigration, pollution, child abuse, drug abuse, the war against poverty, the war on crime, the war on terror. There’s so much going on. It’s overwhelming. It’s confusing. It’s paralyzing. BUT….Know what breaks your heart. What angers you. And if you don’t yet get out there and find it.

Once you do – Attach your time to it. Give your soul to it.

Thinking about something is not the same as doing something. We all need a little more tending and a lot less intending.


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