 When I was 17, I was driving with my at-the-time boyfriend. I was (obviously) picking the music and (obviously) belting at the top of my lungs. It was the summer of 2016, and I was in a pop mood, so I played the laundry list of hits from that summer:
And OF COURSE Into You by the tiny icon herself, Ariana Grande. My boyfriend and I had listened to that song 300 times at that point in the summer, so when it came on I said, “I love this song!”. Usually, that would have been the end of the conversation, however, this time my boyfriend decided to make the side comment of: “You only like this song because it makes you feel hot.” Immediately I felt myself recoil. I turned the music down and tried to justify why I liked the song for reasons other than feeling hot. I talked about the production and her voice and that it was just a fun song. I wanted more than anything to validate my love for the song in a way that wasn’t “It makes me feel hot”. Granted I haven’t spoken to this boy in a hot minute, but I can guarantee that if I brought this moment up, he wouldn’t remember it at all. For him it was likely nothing more than a passing comment. But it stuck with me. It’s 5 years later and I’m still thinking about it. I wish I could go back and say, “Yeah, what’s your point?”. But I didn’t say that. I remember feeling really gross when he said that. His comment made me feel self-absorbed because God’s honest truth is he was right. I liked Into You because it made me feel hot. It made me feel powerful and confident in a way that I was unfamiliar with. When I was 17, despite being a size 4, 6ft tall and having great boobs, I hated the way I looked. Like many teenage girls, I was grossly dissatisfied when I looked in the mirror, and for 4 minutes and 4 seconds, Ariana Grande made that feeling go away.
unattainable standard for me to achieve. It felt like my Everest, and I became frustrated that nobody saw me that way. On the other hand, I desperately didn’t want to be seen that way. All the girls I had known who had been called “hot”, had also been called “slut”, “skank” and “whore”.
It became a lose-lose situation. I wanted to feel like a goddamn smoke show, but I lived in fear of appearing slutty. I had associated the positive confident feeling of feeling sexy, with the negative name-calling of being slut-shamed. I didn’t know how to have one without the other. When my at-the-time boyfriend called me out for feeling hot, all I heard was the negative connotation that I had associated with the word. Now, at the wise old age of 22, I understand that feeling sexy isn’t just about the way you interact with the people you’re attracted to, but it’s about the way you interact with yourself. How do you interpret your own sexuality? How do you carry yourself? How do you portray your confidence? You can feel like a sex symbol and never hop into bed with anyone, or you can hop into bed with everyone. The point it, you get to play out “sexy” in the way that you deem fit. Into You is still in my heavy rotation of songs. It’s a kitchen dance party, highway driving, getting ready for a date kind of song. And do you know why? BECAUSE IT MAKES ME FEELING FUCKING HOT. And there’s nothing wrong with that feeling. There’s nothing wrong with feeling desirable, despite what I previously believed. I still don’t get called “hot” that often, it happens sometimes but not regularly. I still get “pretty” and “cute” and “beautiful” more than I get “hot”. And I’ve come to terms with that. It doesn’t really matter how other people interpret my appearance, what matters is how I feel. From me, with love, to you, -Victoria Growing up, I was a proud, born and bred Canadian. There are these old photos of my sisters and I, covered head to toe in Canada-Day-themed temporary tattoos. I love Canada, my family is here, my home is here, I’ve travelled this country more than anywhere else in the world. But I’m really privileged to have this viewpoint, to look at my country and see it with rose-coloured glasses. A do-good country in which people are seen as equal, because it’s not true. We are not a unicorn-country, built upon equity. Canada, my home, is flawed. From it’s conception it could never be equal. It’s not that this country has fallen so far from the place that I saw as a child, it is simply that the country I saw as I child never existed.
And I’m disappointed in Canada. I’m disappointed in my education surrounding the indigenous communities. That my education was diluted to make Canadians feel better about the atrocities committed by the people that came before us. I’m disappointed in the systems built that benefit me and people that look like me, while not being equal for marginalised communities. I’m disappointed in a lot of things, but most importantly I’m disappointed in myself. That I didn’t get involved in the conversation sooner. All those times I didn’t ask more questions or work to learn more about the peoples my country had villainized. I’m disappointed that I didn’t want to feel uncomfortable about the nation I identified with, so I didn’t engage in the conversation as much as I should have. Because it’s uncomfortable to admit that you are wrong. And it is uncomfortable to admit that the country you live in is not the same for everyone. That my experiences, not matter how great and opportunistic, are not equal to those around me. I should be uncomfortable. I should sit in the discomfort and use it to motivate change, use it to motivate education. Use it to be an ally for others. I am a Canadian. I was born here, and my family is here. I love the flavour of maple syrup, I eat poutine probably too often, and I make jokes aboot hockey and moose. But I don’t get to be that person, that Canadian, if other people don’t get to be too. I don’t get to act like the world around me is equal, because it isn’t. Every week, I run past 215 pairs of shoes on the ground outside the provincial parliament building to remind me of this. And I don’t know how to fix all these problems. I’m not going to come out here and say I know the solutions because I don’t. Better people than me have tried and continue to do so. But I want to be in the conversation, I want to be part of the solution. I want to work towards that fictional country I loved as a kid. I am Canadian, and I want to find a way to be proud of that again. From me, with love, to you, -Victoria  My Oma is fucking hilarious. She is this teeny tiny German woman who despite moving to Canada in 1960, still has an accent. She tells us stories about when she moved and she was a young woman living in Toronto, learning to adjust to the culture and just trying to make a wage. She worked a couple jobs when she moved, but the job I hear the most about was her time as a waitress at the El Mocambo.
The El Mocambo is an old live music venue in Toronto, it opened in 1948. My Oma waitressed there when she was younger, and my god does she have stories. Additionally, my Oma was (and still is) a very beautiful woman. More importantly, my Oma knew she was a very beautiful woman. All the waitresses had to wear little black dresses and according to my mom, for the day and age they were pretty scandalous. I was about 14 or 15 when I started hearing about my Oma’s time as a waitress and she would tell me that she earned a lot of money working there because she was pretty. And then she would turn to my cousins and me and to tell us that we were also pretty girls, and we should know that. We should act like we’re pretty, because it will get us farther. Being a snot-nosed teenager, I was very unsure about my Oma’s proclamation. First and foremost, my Oma is blind as a bat, so her judgement of appearance is…questionable. But also, what did it mean to “act like a pretty girl”. It kind of felt gross to think about. Act like I’m pretty? Ich verstehe nicht. (cc: I don’t understand). However, hindsight being 20/20, I’ve realised what my Oma tried to (and continues to) tell me: Be a little obsessed with yourself. I’m not saying be a narcissist, but be a little bit of a narcissist. Fuck, I’m a bit of a narcissist all the time. I want to be a musician, I need to assume that people find me interesting and talented enough to spend money on me, to spend time on me, to invest in me. I post photos of my food on social media. I make the assumption that I am so important, that people want to see what I eat. I have a blog, I assume that my opinions are so important that people will want to read them. Little bit of narcissism. We’ve talked about it before, but you have to be a little bit into yourself to get through life. You are going to spend the rest of your life with yourself, you may as well enjoy your own company. Be able to watch movies and take photos and eat by yourself. Enjoy yourself enough that alone-time feels valuable. Moreover, it’s okay to be a little obsessed with the way you look. You don’t need to love your body every second of everyday, that’s an unrealistic standard to set. But love yourself more than you don’t. Every now and then look in the mirror and go “Damn, who’s she?”. 1000% my Oma still looks in the mirror and goes “Wow I look good”, and my Oma is blind. Be obsessed with your skills. When someone asks you “what is something you’re good at?” tell them. Don’t be the person who sits in the corner of the room and says “nothing”. Be bold about the things you’re good at; I know I’m a good songwriter, a good baker, a good skier. It’s not a bad thing for me to know those things or say those things out loud. Particularly, because those skills are the result of hard work. I’ve been skiing since I was three, my parents put me in lessons and I worked hard to learn to ski. There have been many baking incidents over the years that have resulted in tears (the Christmas cinnamon bun incident of 2015). I work with other people and practise writing songs. I’m proud of those skills so why wouldn’t I admit that? Now, it’s important not to put others down. Don’t prop yourself up on the backs of others. That’s when confidence becomes arrogance and *vomit*. It’s important to love spending time with yourself, but don’t avoid spending time with other people. Remember to love the way you look, but don’t compare your looks to other peoples’. Know your strengths and be proud of them, but don’t use those skills to belittle other people. If anything, use them to help and teach other people. Be confident, be a little bit self-obsessed. Just don’t be an asshole. When my Oma says “act like you’re pretty”, she means to be confident. My Oma is an objectively nice looking woman, she’s blind and deaf and has a language barrier, but she was stunning and has aged really well. And there is not a thing in the world wrong with my Oma being confident about her looks, with her taking pride in her appearance. My Oma wants my cousins and I to be confident. To take pride in the things we know to be true. She wants us to enjoy the person we live life as. Sie möchte, dass wir wissen, dass wir sind „damn treats“. From me, with love, to you, -Victoria Today is a big day. AS OF TODAY, I have worked out every week, at least twice a week, for a full year. This is a major accomplishment for me. I have never, never, gone a full year working out. This is the first time in 22 years that I have had any consistency when it comes to physical activity. And in coming to be a more physically active person, I’ve learned people love to talk about numbers. Everything is quantitative. How many reps can you do? How many pounds can you lift? How many kilometres can you run? And the answers to all those questions are: what exercise are we doing? I don’t know but probably not a lot, and I can run 10 km. But those aren’t even the most insidious numbers. What’s your BMI? What are your measurements? How much do you weigh? How much weight have you lost? How many calories do you eat? Each of those questions are vicious but thriving in conversations about healthy lifestyle. It is important to note that all of them can be answered with a simple, “None of your business”. When it comes to this more active lifestyle I’ve taken on, there is only one number I consider important. The number 4. Over the last year, I have only had 4 panic attacks. I’m actually smiling right now, I know you can’t see it because this is a blog and not a YouTube video or a Tik Tok, but I’m smiling. I have two different anxiety disorders and a long history of panic attacks. If you’ve never had one before, it feels like your heart is going to explode, your skin is on fire, and your brain is made of lava. Additionally, despite having around 8 years of experience with panic attacks, they don’t get better. They are just as terrifying, unsettling, and uncomfortable every single time. I don’t know the last time I had less than 10 panic attacks in a year.
I’ve had people tell me that I look different, or even better. And those compliments are nice, I do appreciate them because I understand that there is value in appearance. But that cannot compare to the feeling of being happy. I ran into an old friend the other day, and she told me, “It makes me so happy to see that you’re happy”. And she’s right, I am. There are some important points to note here. Numero uno: I did not get rid of any of my other coping mechanisms. Working out did not replace anything, it is now something I do in addition to music and therapy and talking to friends and creating lists and the 3,000 other ways I have structured my life to manage anxiety. Numero dos: I still have anxiety. She rears her ugly head and makes me feel like a bag of garbage, but those periods are less frequent and more manageable (yay!). Numero tres: I do not know what will happen in a world post-vaccine. I have social anxiety and a lot of my triggers involve large groups of people, which hasn’t really been a problem over the last year. I’m aware that things could change. Numero cuatro: I did this for me. Working out (especially when you start) can suck. It makes your body hurt and you get sweaty and sore and uncomfortable. It can be defeating and demeaning and frustrating. So, you need to show up for yourself, and accept that some days just suck. There were days this year I ran 10 or 11 kilometres and felt like a goddamn icon. There were also days I ran 3 or 4 kilometres and STRUGGLED. My first run was 2 kilometres, and I walked a good portion of that. But I kept working because showing up for me felt good. It’s better to run 2km than 0km. I will never be a gym rat that can run 100km and lift a zillion pounds. I will never be super flexible or proficient at any sport. However, I show up for me and I take care of my mental health and that’s more than enough. And I can see that in the number 4. It shows strength and resilience. It tells me that I’m doing something right. That for a full year I loved myself enough to do something that I thought I couldn’t do. Over the last year, I have spent 183 days in lockdown, gone to 0 bars, eaten in 2 restaurants, gained 1,628 Instagram followers, got started on 1 new social media platform and worked out at least 104 times. But it’s all because of that last one, that I get to be most proud of the number 4. From me, with love, to you, -Victoria In December, my cousin and I went for a walk to celebrate the end of a shitty, shitty year, and celebrate the beginning of a shitty, shitty year. And while walking, we started talking about New Year’s resolutions (it was December). I’m not big on New Year’s resolutions, I much prefer “themes”, which is a term I stole from my older sister. New Year’s resolutions are usually arbitrary, unrealistic, and lead to disappointment. You cannot predict what is going to happen in a year, which is why I’m sure many of you threw out your 2020 resolutions around March 2020. But themes provide more flexibility, there are no hard and fast rules you set, no deadlines or metrics. It’s just understanding what you want your year to feel like. So, my cousin and I are walking, and I’m explaining that she should “theme” her year, because she too wasn’t keen on New Year’s resolutions. And almost immediately, she comes up with “setting the bar high”. And she says this: “I set the bar really high for myself, but I always let people act shitty and get away with it. I would never treat someone like that, so why do I let other people do it to me?” (Or something like that, I don’t remember verbatim, it was December). However, “setting the bar high” is important, not simply as a yearly theme, but as a general framework for your life. You should set a high bar for the people in your life. Your friends, your family, your significant others. The relationships you have should not be one sided, and they should not be your sole responsibility to maintain. Relationships (here comes the neuroscience) are transactional. And I will use my cousin as an example. My cousin provides me with humour, social support, a good drinking buddy and unconditional love. So, in return I provide her with humour, social support, a good drinking buddy and unconditional love. And these four things are not always equal in distribution, but what I give her and what she gives me, is equal. For example, if she stabs me with a pen and I continue to love her unconditionally, she can expect less social support, because my unconditional love has gone up. Does that make sense?
and receive in relationships is not always the same. For example, you provide your boss with a service and they ensure you get paid. There is still an exchange here. If you perform poorly, your boss will start reprimanding you and making your life more difficult. The “social etiquette” part of your relationship will decrease, because your quality of service (which is your primary value in the relationship) has decreased. Ta da. Neuroscience.
And some relationships will always be unbalanced and there is nothing you can do about it. Maybe your neighbour is an asshole and blasts Metallica at 3am. Maybe your co-worker is a really close talker during a pandemic and you have to keep yelling, “Back up Janet!”. Maybe your friend’s boyfriend smells like bologna. In that case, I suggest drinking wine straight out of the bottle whenever you get the chance. However, for the relationships you have control over in your life, make sure you’re not letting people walk all over you. You’re an icon. You’re a damn treat. Don’t let anyone act like you’re a mouldy zucchini when you’re actually a fresh baked cookie. You treat others with kindness and respect and that is the bar you should be expecting that from other people. Here are some questions you may want to ask yourself, just to check in.
Just some things to think about. You’re a fan-fucking-tastic person. You should know that. Make sure the other people in your life know that too. Set the bar high. From me, with love, to you, -Victoria |