Writing as (joe) has a wonderful post about her nude photos. It's a theme, over there, and she takes extraordinary photos of ordinary people, with a kind eye and a deft thoughtfulness. She has noted often that the men tend to be more shy, reluctant, self conscious of their body "flaws" than the women, and much harder to convince to have their photo made.
I wonder why, as is my wont. Maybe because men identify more with their uniform clothing, that denotes their job, class, status. Be it a suit, jeans and t-shirt, or a more specific uniform. To remove that in front of anyone but an intimate, a lover, leaves them without identity, and very vulnerable. It's probably more complicated, and certainly individual than that.
Women, although more vocal in their self criticism, are also more used to being looked at, and exposing their bodies. Both in and out of clothing.
Honestly, I don't get it. But, then, I live in my skin. I am not exhibitionist at all. Neither do I care if anyone sees part of my body that is not socially acceptable. Typical nurse, yes. Parts is parts. Whatever. I have been socially naked, been to a bath-house in San Francisco, modeled for art classes. I could handle a nude beach, no problem. I change in a locker room every damn morning. I get massages, without a whiff of embarrassment when I remove clothing. Lived in barracks, and have, under admittedly dire* circumstances, shared a shower with other women. I can change a tampon without being noticed, under barracks conditions. I am comfortable in my essentially heterosexual identity, with the potential for experimentation long past.
I would, of course, pose for (joe) anytime. But then, I'm probably more comfortable in my skin than a majority of the people I know.
Weighed myself at work yesterday, after our young man scrub, who can't gain weight, did his. I've lost a few pounds from the last time. I have done nothing different. I don't really care. This is who I am, this is what I am, and I will not be my weight obsessed mother.
*We had undergone a "smoking" which involved being in a hot room, coerced to extreme and extended physical exertion (scissor kicks and jumping jacks and such, over an imagined group crime), then allowed a very short time to shower and get into bed (cots). So we mobbed the shower, two at a time, and got clean and scrubbed, admitting only to each other our losses of bladder control in the two hour (hazing? I can only assume) trial. I found out later, we'd gotten off fairly lightly compared to other units, and I knew at the time that our female Drill Sergeant was extremely reluctant and very disapproving - she silently took my glasses from my chest, and gave them back to me after. Several women had terrible blisters that made taking the final PT test very difficult. The sweat of our bodies caused the condensation on the ceiling to rain on us.