Man in the Mirror
When cleaning out a closet, I found the first speedo that I’d ever purchased. I haven’t worn it in years, and debated on whether to donate it to Goodwill, save it for a future costume, or keep it solely as a memento. I’ve gotten rid of most of my old clothes, so I wondered, why was I holding on to this one?
Even though a beefy man in a speedo was something I was always attracted to, it wasn’t something younger me had ever pictured myself wearing. Then one day, after a working a cheer competition in Houston, Texas, my openly gay coworker David took me to a gay underwear store. We got there pretty late, but the kindly older gay man running the store let us stay after the store had technically closed to help me with the purchase. They just kept bringing swimsuit after swimsuit to my dressing room where I’d model each for them and processed their feedback. I know it’s stupid, but I felt like a star in a movie montage. There were SO many of speedos that I felt were far too revealing, but I eventually settled on one that made my bulge appear like a formless blob (which met my modesty requirements at that time in my life). A few weeks later, I went to Lake Travis in Austin, Texas for SPLASH, an annual gay day on the lake where gay men from all over congregate on the lake shore and in boats that they tie together in lines facing the rocky shore. I remember being irrationally nervous. What if I got a boner? What if it tore and my butt was exposed? I distinctly recall a twink calling me out for the hair on my back which he called a “back beard” (I started shaving my back after that, lol), but eventually, the fears subsided and I was left with a surge of pride in my body (my abs were a great source of my confidence). I associated speedos with this source of power.
In hindsight, I see that power stemmed from finally shrugging off the shame that American Christianity had instilled in me. I’d believed an exposed body was immodest and sinful, so my own body was a source of shame. Since that time, I’ve bought a number of “gay swimsuits” (or more accurately “European Swimsuits” as I recall a Disney Store in France that sold children’s Mickey Mouse Speedos). I started wearing tights and shorty shorts to dodgeball, going to clothing optional hot springs and beaches, and even love going to Korean Spas in my neighborhood (at which I recall a young boy excitedly asking his father if it was “naked time yet?!” because nudity is accepted, natural, and normal in many other cultures.)
I decided to try on the ancient, out of fashion speedo to help make my decision whether to keep it or donate it, and when I stood in front of the mirror, I was initially disgusted. My head hair was thinner, my shoulder hair was thicker, my lower belly was softer: I wan’t the same and it was unnerving. I claim to love myself, and yet I was having trouble looking at myself, so I refused to accept these judgmental thoughts. I decided to stand in front of the mirror until I was happy with what I saw. I lifted my chin, adjusted my shoulders, stood up straighter, and looked over the plethora of scars on my skin (I’m somewhat clumsy and often mostly naked, so have no shortage of them). It wasn’t long until I saw myself with kinder eyes. I took the attached picture to remind myself that I’m a spiritual being having this human experience, and that this body has served me well and as still as beautiful as it was when I was born into it.
I decided that, even though I’d probably never wear it to the beach again and even though the Roman Soldiers on it made it unlikely to ever work for a future costume, I would keep it because it still brings me nostalgic joy and serves as a reminder that I must find a way to love myself and the body I’m in no matter what is initially reflected back in the mirror.
