Foot Fetish Fetish (warning: graphic material)

Okay, this is a weird one, folks, so get ready.

I'm reading this book I grabbed off one of the spinny-shelves at the library where I work, because I needed something to read on my lunch (and had left my short story book at home like a bonehead). Anyway, it's called Peony In Love, and it's about a teenage Chinese girl at the change of the Ming to Qing dynasties. She's betrothed to be married (one of those arranged marriages, you know), but she meets a romantic poet and falls in desperate love with him (as much as one can at the age of 15), and pines away, obsessed with the tragic romance opera Peony Pavilion and her lovesickness at marrying a total stranger. I won't give away the rest of the story, but I will just say it's not at all what I expected. There is a lot going on in this story with regard to feminism, cultural morality, etc.

Now, to my point. A great deal of attention in the novel is spent on the practice and procedures of "foot binding," which resulted in the sought-after tiny "Lily feet." I've become somewhat obsessed with this, because in general, I am a person who has problems with her feet, ankles, and knees, and this act of purposefully hobbling women is both horrifying and fascinating to me.

First of all, let's talk about the "foot binding" procedure. The appellation "bound foot" isn't even close to representing what was actually the aim of this practice. The smaller the foot, the better. The goal was a 3 to 3.5 inch foot.

Let that sink in a moment. Your foot. 3.5 inches long.

If you think about this for more than a few seconds, you start to realize that this can only be achieved by breaking the bones of the foot and reforming it (deforming it) into a nub. I am not going to put any graphic images up here, but if you really want to see what it looked like, just Google "foot binding" and make sure you have a strong constitution. I do not, alas, and have spent much of the day nauseated after looking at a few images of bound feet both in and out of their wrappings. The x-ray image is the most disturbing of all.

Okay. So now I'd like to talk about high heel shoes for a sec. Let's go with this one. Four inch heels. Most women my age and younger would find this shoe attractive. Most would say "cute" "adorable," even "fun." I, myself, would admire this shoe, even though I know my weak ankles would never tolerate walking in them. But just let your eye travel from the sweet little buckle down to the area where a woman's toes would reside. Walking on the ball of the foot. Now, if I measure the length of my big toe bone, from the ball to the tip, how many inches do you suppose it works out to be? That would be 3.5, my friends.

I'm not saying that wearing a pair of heels is anything even remotely like having one's feet mangled and bound. (If you really want to know the procedure, go to Google. I don't have the stomach for typing it out here). However, there are some noticeable similarities:

Both hobble women so that they cannot run. Both require women to walk in ways which are not normal or natural to our bone and musculature. Both damage women's bone and musculature, albeit with a huge difference in severity. Both hurt like hell to walk in. Both are prized (or were, before foot binding was outlawed in the early 20th century) by men as a symbol of erotic sexualized femininity (Chinese men would jerk off on the tiny lily feet. No, I am not kidding.). Both are/were also embraced and celebrated by women as symbols of their womanhood, sexuality, beauty, fashion sense, and social standing. Both practices are/were handed down mother to daughter.

Now. Tell me. HOW FUCKED UP IS THAT?

I have had to stop wearing any heels over an inch after the last round of ankle-spraining in '08, which at first made me sad (mainly because of my open-toed work shoes that I wore for summer teaching). To be fair, I also had to stop wearing them because they had no back straps, and therefore made my ankles work way too hard (flip-flops are totally out for me). I started looking at comfortable foot wear, and found that it is rather difficult to find such a thing that doesn't make me look like 1. an old woman 2. a hippie. I do have a sense of fashion pride, though admittedly it is my own version of things, and often I look clunky compared to some of my friends who are willowy and fashionable. But most of the time, I'm pretty comfortable with my look. And I've embraced the very thing I spurned and reviled through my thirties: sneakers.

Fuckin' A. Sneakers rock. Sneakers with my orthotics make me feel like a million bucks. I am now focused on a search for trainers/sneaks that can suit almost any occasion. Oh, don't worry (PMP), I still have one pair of "good shoes" for the rare occasions that demand them. But dudes, I teach screenwriting and I'm a writing tutor. I'm on my feet a lot, and I wear sneakers. I embrace my long, strong, talented feet. I celebrate them! I love being barefoot and can't wait to see those bare feet on a surf board one day soon.

Where am I going with all this? Today I celebrated my feet. I thanked them for carrying me through my life for 40 years. I appreciate my feet, and so should you. I gave myself a home-pedicure this afternoon, and I again thought about how fortunate I am to have been born when and where and to whom I was. "Auspicious birth" the Tibetans called it. E ma ho!

Now, go take your shoes and socks off (especially you women), and tell your feet, toes, heels, and ankles how much you love them. Cherish your feet, don't abuse them. If your shoes hurt, don't wear them! Find something that is comfortable and can still display your own sense of style. Don't wear heels because you think you have to, or you never really thought about it before and it's the default setting for work or going out attire. Think about it! There's no reason for walking around in four inch heels that hurt, squeeze your toes, give you bunions & heel spurs, screw up your arches, and generally cause you misery. Be kind to your feet! You have the freedom to wear whatever you want; take advantage of that freedom. You are not constricted by horrid social mores or strict gender and sexual roles.

And now, with my long, strong, talented feet, I am stepping off my soap box.


Read all about it:
Research paper on foot binding and high heels.
Research paper on the origins of foot binding.
An essay on Chinese foot binding (graphic photos included).

Ennui in the Haus

Today was a gorgeous day outside, but I, I... sat around the living room for most of it pining for the fjords. The relentless grip of Ennui had me by the knuts, and it wasn't until around 8-ish that I was finally able to shake it off. A bowl of cherries and about 30 minutes of watching Milla jump around in Resident Evil: Apocalypse was all it took.

Yesterday I saw an older Chinese lady doing T'ai Chi outside and I ran up to her and asked if I could learn. We did the form together - somewhat familiar to me, then her son came out and translated for us. I asked if we could trade English for T'ai Chi, but her son explained that she is too old to learn English and was going back home in a month, but I was free to hang out and do T'ai Chi. We agreed on 9 a.m. I showed up at 9 a.m. this morning, terribly excited and prepared with some Chinese phrases I reviewed from my one quarter of Chinese in grad school. I waited 17 minutes but she didn't show. I came back to the apartment devastated and pissed off at old Chinese ladies... and then the Ennui set in.

It was just like that episode of "Paranormal State" I half-watched today, where the family's trailer is a disaster of a mess, the couple's relationship is just as much a horror show, and all this disarray and disharmony attracts a demon (that only Chip Coffey can denounce). I allowed my disaffected mind to become a playground for the Ennui Demon. But eventually I overcame its dark and monstrous apathy. So take note - the cure for ennui: a bowl of cherries and Milla kicking ass.

P.S. Now this is creepy - this just happens to be post #666!

Hangzhou Death Metal from China

Go look at the comments on the YouTube page. Hi-larious!

The Tank Man

No, it's not a sequel to "Tank Girl."

Yesterday marked the 18th anniversary of the events at Tiananmen Square. Last night I stayed up to watch Frontline's "The Tank Man." An excellent program that looks at those events and their far-reaching effects in China today. Too bad no one in China under the age of twenty seems to know about the Tank Man or anything else about the events that made their upwardly-mobile, middle-class existence possible.

It feels strange to know I walked in that very square (See the link for Adventures of the Jade Monkey in China to the right). I remember at the time not wanting to write too much about what had happened there, because I wasn't sure what kind of censorship was in place via email. As it was, I couldn't keep a blog because the authorities didn't at that time allow blogs (free speech, doncha know). I emailed my posts to Bizarro, who set up and managed the blog for me from home.

The truth is, it was hard to imagine the horror of those events while I was there. The square was mobbed with tourists, Chinese and foreign alike, and tons of people selling Mao wrist watches (where his arms are the clock hands - unreal), Red-star commie hats, parasols, kites etc.


--taken by one of my fellow teachers during our trip to Beijing.

Of course there were cameras everywhere, and there were military guards posted, but mainly it seemed geared to tourism. Of course, China is an economic juggernaut these days, so it's a different situation altogether. Despite the relative economic wealth of the east coast (farmers and inner-China are still very poor), there is still the lack of free speech.

So yes, it was strange, knowing those events had taken place on the same stones under my feet. But at the same time, I felt the ancientness of everything else (the Forbidden City, namely) that overshadowed the square.

I suppose those of us in the West are charged with remembering and knowing the significance of the massacre at Tiananmen Square, so that Tank Man and his bravery for defying authority with his life will not be forgotten.