Intersections – Naked Pictures of Me
By Nicki Salcedo
When I saw a headline about another celebrity exposed for naked photos, I looked at my feet. I wear wool socks nearly year round. I have poor circulation, and this is why I don’t have any naked pictures of myself floating around the internet. I literally and figuratively have cold feet.
I envy the naked selfie people. I grew up swimming in a tee-shirt over my swimsuit. Even my mother thought this was ridiculous. She was from the mini-skirt generation, and I was the baggy-saggy pants generation. We wore our jeans two sizes too big and our flannel shirts with a hoodie, even in the summer. Back then, I never wanted my photo taken with my clothes on. It never occurred to me to take naked pictures. Think about the damage my ex-boyfriend could do with that Polaroid. Tape it inside his locker?
These days naked pictures travel fast. Almost as fast as funny cat videos. I wish I could embrace my inner naked. I should take some naked pictures of myself. We should all take naked pictures of ourselves, so naked celebrity photos stop being newsworthy. Then no one can hold power over someone else just for being in her own skin.
I have a feminist rant about these pictures being used against women.
I have a puritanical rant about why the heck women are taking so many naked pictures of themselves.
I have an equality rant about the lack of naked male pictures. Remember, the one with Brad Pitt? I do. I’ll save those rants for another day.
I’m not judging the naked pictures. Do whatever works for you, but aren’t there professional naked people? People who get paid to be naked? I love these people. I thank these people. They exist so I never have to get naked.
There is beautiful art with naked people. Thank you Botticelli and Michelangelo. I’m not sure why it has to be a secret dirty thing.
This weekend I had to take some fatty pictures of myself for a fitness challenge. Yes, I said fatty, even though it’s really excess skin. No one believes me. I’ve had four kids. After baby number three, the skin decided, “Why go back?” I want to change the definition of skinny to mean too much skin, but no. Semantics.
I was not happy taking the fatty pictures. At the end of the challenge, my after picture will be a picture of me with my gut sucked in and better posture. If I decide to be an overachiever, I’ll add fake eyelashes which are better than weight-loss anyway. If you are staring at my eyeballs, you will not notice my belly skin.
Now I have my not-quite-naked, not-quite-selfie. In the olden days, other people took pictures for you. And I realize the thrill isn’t the nudity at all, but the danger of being exposed. There is a thrill in being sexy.
Get down on all fours? That’s how you find the missing LEGOs. Twerk? That’s how you reduce labor pain. Nudity? It gets you pregnant. Then pregnant gets you naked in front of a long line of doctors and midwives and breastfeeding coaches. Breastfeeding means naked breasts at the sushi restaurant in the square, but at least your baby isn’t crying.
I have mixed feelings about being naked. My friends want me to go to that naked spa, which is really a lovely Korean bath house. Guess what? I can’t go. I’m not ready yet. I’m not even scared of the naked photos of me. I’m scared because I have cold feet. They won’t let you wear wool socks. I know. I called. I asked.
Nicki Salcedo is a Decatur resident and Atlanta native. She is a novelist, blogger, and a working mom. Her column, Intersections, runs every Wednesday morning.