Trying something new to align with my new e-thot title of wartime art hoe. In an effort to flush out my writing pipes, I’m going to attempt to get some short-form pieces out weekly-ish.

Before we begin, Summer Yuki is a new friend and in addition to being an extraordinarily good human being, is amazingly talented. Her substack gives real authenticity and her music has forced me out of my binary genre affinity of EDM and sugary hyperpop, which is quite the accomplishment. Please read her words and listen to her beats.

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I was at a retreat a few years ago, and was talking to some Clubhouse friends about life and associated things as we watched bustling activity from a secluded porch. Conversation naturally drifted to my journey of transition and some of the extraordinary circumstances that we shared.

My friend C said something that has really stuck with me.

Ivy, you’re like…. Courtney Love. You show up in ripped fishnets and smeared lipstick and don’t give a fuck what people think.

It is one of the most affirming and powerful things anyone has ever said to me. That it came from an exceptionally accomplished feminist storyteller made it even better. If you’ve consumed popular princess media in the last 5-10 years, you’ve probably seen one of her creations.

Ironically it’s something I think I have struggled to embody for a while. Despite my best efforts, the Courtney Love era continues. The parties get bigger, my outfits get bolder, but I’ve noticed something.

There are moments with people in places that are just… different. I’ve used words like surreal and magical, but I don’t think they do them justice. It feels a little like getting sucked into a movie and seeing the 4th wall being reconstructed behind you.

Often, in those moments, when I should be filled with confidence set to the tune of Celebrity Skin, I have a record skip in my head. I know generally why it happens: Insecurity. Going from feeling like you’re on the VIP list to being terrified you’re about to get carded and asked to leave.

Despite my desire to be present and share in the communal energy with one of the many magical humans who are in my life, my internal record skips. I worry if I’m saying the right words, if I didn’t mask enough and am coming across as dergatory-weird, or if I’ve committed some unknown (to me) faux-pas.

Few things are as terrifying for me as an approaching moment of connection. I think it’s obvious that currently I am more cerebral than somatic, and those moments are often wordless. Talking with some trans friends recently, I realized how much of transition is approval.

I don’t quite consider myself early in transition anymore, but waiting for approval or rejection (especially when it comes from other women) is like being on a space walk if that approval was oxygen.

So, my record skips back to an earlier song: I do some namedropping, talk about which party I was invited to or how I’m totally not Hole-era Courtney anymore. If I’m really hard up for indulging my kinks, the cringe from the worst of those kind of moments satisfies.

I think I’m getting better at not doing it, I don’t worry about being carded anymore (most of the time). I’ve been wondering what exactly did it, and I think it was getting to the first few positive feedback loops.

With a few humans that silence is now eagerly anticipated, not avoided. I’m able to share in that moment of connection, and let the dance of imperceptible interactions go on between my conversation partner and I.

If you happen to notice that my needle skips, feel free to give me a physical nudge to fix it.

The Art Hoe Diaries: Record Skips