Bodies are a secret the way that salaries are a secret. We don't talk about yearly earnings, and we definitely don't talk about cellulite or boob shape or stretch marks. And the more we don't talk about it, the more isolated we feel. It's oppressive. Because maybe if wages were common knowledge, we'd demand equal pay. And maybe if we REALLY saw the extent of cellulite in the world, we'd switch out our body loathing for rampant body positivity.
The Fremont Solstice Parade celebrates the first day of summer with a glorious naked bike ride, but I'd like to think it serves a dual purpose: celebrate the summer and the way your body is NOW. Wear the bikini, wear the shorts, the tank tops, the crop tops, the body paint, your birthday suit--whatever you want to stay sane in this infernal heat wave. You do you. Stretch marks, cellulite, and all.
Body love and acceptance and joy aside, the solstice celebration was everything I dreamed and more. I mean, besides celebrating summer, which I hate. But hey, if I have to live with summer, I'll take this as a kickoff. Besides being a fantastic study on the beauty and variations of the nude body, it was a freaky celebration of joy, art, and good vibes. I'd like to think Wayne Coyne would wildly approve, and I'd like to harass him on Twitter until he agrees to come next year. I'd also like to ride next year, though I'm going to have to heavily ponder my body paint strategy. I could paint a sensible pant suit and be Agent Scully? Or maybe Ziggy Stardust? Straight up, head-to-toe glitter? Decisions.
I was also v. pleased to see an abundance of Vanagons on the scene, several of which were showcased in the Art Car exhibit. Mayhaps when Lady Starship bites the dust, we'll paint her with a sweeping sunset like the one down below.
Here's to a freaky, naked summer of body love!