So, 3 days ago, the Huffington Post ran an article about the newest body modification that’s hitting Japan like a tidal wave (bad bad pun, I know). BAGEL HEAD.
And as much as I’m just going to comment on this quickly (because I’m sure that fellow Offender Phil will have much more to say about this), I’m fascinated.
Seriously fascinated by the need to modify our bodies.
Because our bodies aren’t beautiful enough? Because despite the widow’s peak, the naturally crooked nose, my twisted left leg (oh, the fun that was on the elementary playground!)… somehow, the bodies we were naturally given are just NOT ENOUGH.
Oh I understand when we are made fun of… why some kind of surgery would lead to a more ‘normal’ life (for example, those ads of kids in third world countries that are looking for cleft lip operations), I get that. A little.
But I just don’t get body art. I guess I’m just not hip that way. I have a couple of piercings, but the only ones I really have now are the ear piercings my mom gave me when I was 6 months old; all the other piercings have disappeared because let’s face it, keeping all those holes clean was a pain and the jewelry became tedious to upkeep. I don’t have tattoos and I know people look at my untouched canvas and crave to drop some ink on it. I know that tattoos are the ‘thing’ that people do nowadays; I know I’m in the minority on that.
I just don’t get it.
I like scars. They tell interesting stories about people.
But they tell a story of something way out of personal control; they are things that were done to someone. They were not done to themselves. (For the most part. I’m not talking about scarification body art.) And as much as I don’t want to see evidence of spousal abuse, or fire damage, bad bike crashes, or things like Napalm burn… they tell a story. And in more times than not, to me, the scars whisper ‘survival’.
But someone please enlighten me, what high on body art am I missing? Am I just old-fashioned or just a weenie????