Well, Don't Fucking Do It Then

A few months ago, I filmed a vlog wearing a new tee I bought. Or at least, I thought it was a tee. It was in the women’s section of the thrift store, it looked cute, so I got it. But minutes after putting it on—right in the middle of my video—I realized I couldn’t breathe properly.

The fabric was way too constricting, the shoulder straps were way too tight. It dawned on me—I might not be wearing a women’s tee. My dumbass might've accidentally bought a children’s dress.

Whoever this top was for, it wasn't me. I was starting to feel faint, so I made the most practical decision: I took it off.

And I fucking hated myself for it.

The sun was setting at my rental, and now I had to rush back inside, find a different shirt, and redo the entire video.

This was back in September when three major wildfires raged across Los Angeles. That’s why I had escaped to the desert in the first place. Even a hundred miles away, I could still smell the smoke, feel it scratch at my asthmatic lungs as I started to march.

The thought of wasting time and doubling back just to be even more uncomfortable felt so fucking stupid.

Another thought came to mind a couple feet later.

“Well, don't fucking do it then.”

When I was releasing content on legacy social media, it often felt like I was getting dressed by an algorithm. Every shirt, every skirt, dress, and pair of shorts I wore was scrutinized by an audience I couldn’t even see. My self-expression, my comfort—my ability to just exist—all constantly weighed against invisible standards that didn’t apply equally to everyone.

Hundreds of thousands of kids watch Kai Cenat’s streams, but that didn’t stop Kevin Hart from pulling his shirt off after getting drenched. iShowSpeed has twice Cenat’s followers, but that didn’t stop either of them from jumping into the shower together during a joint Minecraft Let’s Play.

No vocal opposition accused them of engagement baiting. No outrage mob formed to decry their so-called exploitation of the algorithm. No masses insinuated they were exhibitionists or predators corrupting children. Obviously, they weren’t doing anything sexual. Taking off their clothes in those moments was simply the most practical thing to do.

The practical choices I make, however, are not met with the same assumption of innocence.

YouTube has told me that wearing shorts on my bed while gaming was a choice made for sexual gratification. That wearing exercise clothes while exercising was inappropriate. That the outfits I choose to wear out in my 100°F Los Angeles community are in fact, against community guidelines.

All these thoughts ran through my mind in the seconds after I put down my chips and trudged toward my suitcase in the next building over. Images of happy, half-naked men danced in my head as I resigned myself to a chore I simply did not want to do.

And then, I turned around and sat back down.

“Well, don't fucking do it then.”

Why do I even care about these double standards? I'm not even on legacy social media anymore, and my only interaction with YouTube is as a shitty backup for some chopped-up videos.

I'm on the Fediverse. I host my own PeerTube server. The only rules I need to follow are my own.

But corpo adlords and their Gileadean terms of service for websites I literally do not even use anymore linger in my mind. Years of internalized shame and misogyny nurtured a self-hatred running so deep that I forget I spent months learning git and bash to spin up whatever-the-fuck a VPS is, just to be my own person.

And that person? She's a sex worker.

But honestly, she's a pretty shitty one at that. That person's outfits are occasionally chosen to arouse, but most of the time, that's barely a factor.

That person has the blood cholesterol levels of a morbidly obese man and a body that burns way hotter than it should. More often than not, that person's just wears whatever hurts least.

That person forgets that she doesn't need to play dress-up for the invisible men anymore, that she can just be her authentic self on the Fediverse.

And when the echoes of platforms past get in her head, telling her to do anything she doesn't want to do, that person needs to work harder to remind herself:

“Well, don't fucking do it then.”