I have just started working on my creative project: I am art.
The idea was to portray different women who have suffered in one way or another from societal stereotypes through fine art nude photography.

For this shoot, I decided to explore the theme of plastic surgery. Initially, I didn't have a clear idea of what I wanted to convey. I knew I wanted to use bandages (yes, I find them very aesthetic) and a bathtub. We were having a great time with my muse when I dropped a pink bath bomb into the water. The water turned very red, as you can see in the pictures, and I blurted out: "It looks like you're menstruating."

But as I looked at this bloody water, so many thoughts ran through my mind. I reflected on all the women who butcher themselves daily in various parts of the world to conform to unrealistic beauty standards.

Hey, here I am, four plastic surgeries later and I'm afraid to admit that it seems like I'm still counting. No, I don't have body dysmorphia (well, I hope not!), each subsequent surgery in my case is a correction of the previous one. Fortunately, my recoveries have never been painful or troublesome, but I can't stop thinking about the time and money I've spent in six years to achieve two similarly decent-looking breasts. Will the fifth time be the charm? I don't know!

I know so many women who have had similar unfortunate experiences as me, and as I photographed this red water, I thought of all of us as victims of patriarchal brainwashing and stereotypes.

What's the moral of this story? There isn't one. I mean, as a front-row victim of beauty standards, I certainly have no right to be moralistic. I suppose I just feel sorry for us women engaging in all this crazy shit to fit into some nonexistent ideal.

I once saw a poster on a city wall: We blame the society, but we are the society. By working on this project, I hope to free myself (and hopefully a few more women) even just a little from the terror of youth and perfectionism. A small step at a time.

Truly yours,
K.xx