A Treatise on Stretching

The process of stretching one's ear piercing was relatively unheard of in Western society until fairly recently. Until the last twenty years or so, the practice was primarily thought of to be something occlusive only to the less civilized tribes of far-off countries, those fascinating individuals found within the pages of National Geographic with ears the size of dinner plates.

With this short piece I aim to dissuade those who think stretching is a triviality, yet another body modification performed by rebellious youth to conform to a particular subculture. Piercing, and especially stretching, is not merely a sublet of another subculture - it is a culture unto itself, with a set of guidelines and norms. The appreciation of jewellery for stretched ears is not dissimilar to an art connoisseur, requiring a keen eye for quality, materials, and aesthetical structure of each piece.

As with any social group, there are leaders, highly passionate people with a keen eye for piercing aesthetics, the biology and science behind piercing, the craftsmanship involved in creating quality body jewellery, and so on. These people are the unifiers, those who connect with other body modification enthusiasts. For years, while the traditional body modification arts like tattooing and piercing had a solid and substantial fan base, occupying conventions, clubs, and websites, there were no such community meeting places for stretched piercing enthusiasts. Stretched ear jewellery, commonly known as “plugs”, were often difficult to find. It was almost akin to finding drugs – you had to “know a guy who knows a guy.” With the popularity of urban primitivism (a movement that celebrates ancient body modification practices for spiritual, sexual, or personal growth motives, emerging in the late 80’s) and, of course, the extremely rapid growth of the Internet, stretching exploded in the underground. Online forums and websites entirely devoted to discussion and sales of stretching and stretched piercing jewellery. Crafts enthusiasts and those skilled in woodworking, metallurgy, glassblowing, and other such arts were compelled to not just create jewellery for standard sized piercing holes, but for enlarged ones as well, marvelling at the opportunities for new and creative designs.

However, this is an essay about my own personal experiences with stretching my ears, and the background information I have provided is merely for the reader to understand the legions that support and care a great deal about the stretching community. It is this community itself that is one of the reasons I became involved in the process of stretching.

Despite being a group of people whose appearances sometimes deviate radically from the norm, ostensibly provoking mistrust from most of the population, stretching enthusiasts are among the most passionate, helpful, and informed individuals I have ever come across. There is no sense of “size elitism” – those with smaller gauge ears are as welcomes as those who resemble Africans with the aforementioned ear dinner plates. They are ready to share stories about purchases or aid each other with sudden cases of finicky ears. As with any culture there is a set of phrases and terms unique to the community, inclusive lingo that serves to unite and define the culture as well as educate members on proper aftercare techniques, stretching tools, materials, and the like. Their only insistence is that practitioners be as informed as they are, a requirement for acceptance that tends to weed out those with a more casual, half-hearted approach to the process. Stretching on a whim can often lead to regret, as it is a permanent process. Improper, overly fast stretching can lead to injuries and disfigurement. Many individuals who begin stretching often do so as a misguided attempt to rebel against the man, to visually stand apart from society. Obviously, many people with large-gauge earlobes do stand apart from society solely based on appearance, but with enthusiasts, this is usually not the intention. Rather, it is for primarily aesthetic purposes: they love the look of larger gauges on themselves.

Although it may seem oddly shallow, I adore the aesthetical look of larger gauge ear piercings. There is true artistry and talent that goes into making plugs, hanging designs, and the vast majority of other stretched piercing jewellery. A great deal more innovation goes into making these pieces, each one of them a mini artwork worn in the earlobe. Through purchasing and collecting, I have learned an unprecedented amount about different types of materials – I now know about the vagaries of different types of stone, methods behind glass working techniques that make plugs sparkle like multifaceted galaxies, the beneficial properties of wood jewellery for healthy skin. It is both humbling and fascinating to be a collector of plugs, to constantly be in awe of the creative skills of a jewellery maker, to be stunned at the lovely shades and textures natural materials produce, and simply to marvel at the beauty of a very small pair of sculptural art.

I am not a particularly spiritual person, and I do not particularly relate to theories of stretching being an attempt to honour and emulate the religious beliefs of ancient tribes. However, I wholeheartedly agree with the simple fact that stretching encourages self-understanding. On the most base level, it is self-gratifying to observe the process of healthy stretching and smooth transitions to a new size as well as how well the new size compliments the individual. It is arguably akin to fitness enthusiasts, who, after countless days and months and years, take immense pride in watching their bodies tone to their own personal level of perfection. There are limits each individual must overcome if they wish to stretch further – oddly placed, thin holes that can be fixed by downsizing or even small surgical cuts, skin that is less elastic than others, dryness and other issues caused by the elements. Overcoming these limits requires understanding one’s body, in a sense becoming in tune with it. Disregard to the limitations one’s own body places upon them is, in a sense, disrespect to one’s body, and an almost deliberate form of self-harm comparable to alcohol or drug abuse.

As I stress in earlier paragraphs, above all else, appreciation and respect is the key to understanding stretching culture. To participate in it requires determination and patience (something I can attest to, as I have never had my patience tested as much as it when I wait to size up, all the while staring at a new, beautiful pair of plugs on my dresser in the next gauge). It is at once an art, a culture, a physical and mental trial that results in more than sufficient rewards.

Watchmen: it's good, but...

I just got home from a screening of Watchmen. I bought my tickets four hours beforehand, and as I whittled away the time wandering around Yonge and Dundas, perusing overpriced flannel shirts at Urban Outfitters, my mind always slipped back to wondering: how the hell is this going to turn out?

I suppose I'm one of the newly converted to Watchmen. I'd always known what it was, and although for years had continuously told myself "you are going to have to read that at some point or another," I never did. Unlike my boyfriend, who has been an avid fan since he first read it a decade ago, I didn't spend my childhood reading American comics. I was a dedicated follower of anime and manga, and I spent my formative years on Akira, Escaflowne, and Miyazaki movies. I didn't know a blessed thing about the comics on this side of the globe until very recently.

I'm a big believer in familiarizing myself with a work's source material. So when I discovered a film adaptation of Watchmen was in the works after more than twenty years of trying, I figured it was a good a time as any to get my hands on the thing.

My reaction to it is probably the same reaction every fan experiences after turning the final page: I thought it was absolutely mind-blowing, as a comic and as literature, a truly three-dimensional piece of art. I almost obsessively began to research the upcoming film, watching clips, reading interviews, and overall wondering, how is this intensely multi-layered and complex piece going to translate onto the big screen? I was never one of those people who despises all Alan Moore film adaptations (League of Extraordinary Gentlemen may have been a pile of crap, but V For Vendetta was smart, politically-charged, clever, and hugely entertaining), but it really didn't seem like this one was going to go over well. There was so much fanboy backlash - especially over the altered ending, which I'll get to later. Everyone had a different idea of what should be left in, what should be left out, how Rorschach's voice should sound, whether Dr. Manhattan should be naked or not, and so on and so forth in that vein. I wasn't as emotionally invested, perhaps because I was a new fan, so I essentially went into the theatre thinking whatever happens, happens, and I will approach this with as little preconceived notions as possible.

Now that I'm home and have had a few hours to debate with myself about this, I will have to conclude that the film adaptation of Watchmen is not a failure on any level. It was fairly faithful to the source material and didn't sacrifice much of its intellect and insight, but as a film itself there were several glaring faults that prevented it from being a masterpiece as the original was.

The first hour or so of the film was the absolute best, in my opinion. The pacing was a tad slow but the artistry in which the scenes were constructed was phenomenal, and the opening credit sequence was easily the cleverest and most emotionally effective I've seen in a long while. Visually, it is incredible, with some excellently constructed shots that I very much appreciated. There were moments in which things seemed too over-the-top (the action, the fairly excessive slow motion, the delivery of lines), but Watchmen itself is over-the-top in places. The key word, however, is places, and as the movie went on I found myself a little confused by the amount of over-reaching. To that effect, my main gripe about Watchmen was the score: it was terrible. It felt like more of mixtape of nostalgic-sounding Top 40's than an actual selection of appropriate music for each scene. In some instances it was oddly fitting - The Comedian and Nite Owl II fighting off the angry mob, for example - but in most cases it was a bizarre, jarring, and distracting choice.

As for the acting, it was a mixed bag. Billy Crudup is an undeservedly underrated actor and I thought that, for a performance in which he was almost entirely 3D, he did a standout job giving Dr. Manhattan the perfect blend of otherworldly detachment and humanistic characteristics. I enjoyed Jeffrey Dean Morgan as The Comedian, and although my partner in crime disagrees with me on this, I found that he gave The Comedian just the right amount of bombastic attitude without being a mere parody. Matthew Goode as Ozymandias was better than I originally thought, and his coldness and poise with only few overt signs of weakness was excellently carried out. I had high hopes for Jackie Earl Haley but I found his Rorschach more lifeless than it should have been, and more beyond the audience being able to identify with him. When his mask was off, on the other hand, he was much more effective and the subtle emotional ticks that seeped through his otherwise unchanging facade were impressive. Patrick Wilson I'm still on the fence about - I can't quite decide if I liked his performance, to be honest. It felt as though he played the entire role of Nite Owl II in superhero-mode, delivering some of his lines with too much earnestness to be serious. But he did shine in some of his scenes. Malin Akerman, on the other hand, was fairly bad. She's a beautiful lady, and although she wasn't as terrible as I was expecting, she definitely overacted with too much enthusiasm more than once.

Several instances in the overall story I wasn't sure about. On the whole I thought the narration was fairly tight and flowed well on the whole, minus the odd overly long scene, but it seemed poorly thought-out when compared to the comic. Two of my favourite scenes from the comic, Dr. Manhattan's rebirth and Walter Kovacs talking with the psychiatrist, weren't given much justice - Jon's rebirth was under-acted (why in god's name was Janey not more upset, anyway?), and the Rorschach counselling was far too short. It felt almost as if it was alienating those in the audience not familiar to the comic. Why was Bubastis even included when the squid subplot wasn't, and why leave out Kitty Genovese's dress? Two of my friends whom I'd seen Watchmen with, and who hadn't read the comic, were confused about Bubastis and were interested in knowing the story behind Rorschach's mask, and they can't have been the only ones.

Speaking of the squid - I actually was never a fan of that particular part of the comic. It seemed like a random inclusion of something so far-fetched and nutty in a comic full of hardboiled realism that it seemed arbitrary. On the other hand, I'm not wild about the new ending in the film. I won't go into any spoilers but it also seemed a bit inexplicable, albeit not as nutty.

Another instance in which I enjoyed Watchmen was that it felt like it didn't sacrifice the original's brutal violence and grittiness. There was nothing Hollywood-slick about it, despite the abundant use of CGI. None of the musings and philosophy behind the original was disposed of, either. It still prompts the same questions as the comic, but this time in an entirely different visual medium, one that, although less gut-wrenching, raw, and complex as the original, still serves to be an interesting and engaging experience nonetheless.

Am I the only one who thinks 3 technical awards is not a failure?

(I haven't posted in awhile, but the Oscars always bring out the ranter in me)

And 10 nominations too, for that matter. I know it really is a cliche to say "Oh, well it's an honor just to be nominated", but god, it's true.

I'm talking about The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, which was one of my favourite films of 2008 and one that has apparently lost much respect because of that bombastic cheesy mess known as the Oscars, and I don't quite understand why.



Before I continue, let me just say that I'm not one of the fanboys who is going to bitch and moan about Benjamin Button not winning OVER 9000 Oscars. It was, in my opinion, a beautifully orchestrated and moving film, but it did not deserve over 9000 Oscars. But it deserved what it received - not because it deserves to be ridiculed for not winning the apparently "more important" Oscars, but because it deserved to win awards for the very things that made it a quality film in the first place.

The Oscars are, at best, fairly overblown and pompous. This was clearly evident in last night's excessive attempts to bring back the good old fashioned Hollywood glamour. The ritualistic sense of pageantry - who's wearing what on the red carpet, who arrives with whom, who makes the schmaltziest acceptance speech, etc etc - ensures that it is the one film event that is sure to be watched by millions. Most of the millions are people who aren't aware of formal film criticism and techniques and who, more often than not, haven't seen most of the films nominated. Therefore, they aren't in a place to appreciate the finer details of what goes in to making a film a film, like the aforementioned technical aspects. I realize there are exceptions to this rule, that there are average moviegoers who appreciate cinematography and editing and so forth, I would sound pretentious if I did not admit it. But judging by box office trends, the average moviegoer does not make a beeline for Oscar nominated films when they go to the cinema.

Anyway, before I get ridiculously off-topic like I usually do, why is it shameful that Benjamin Button won technical awards? I know Best Actor/Actress/Picture awards are obviously the most publicized awards at the Oscars, but is it just because more people are sure to recognize actor names and discuss the latest celebrity news around the water cooler? Last time I checked, actors and actresses do not make a movie. It is the sum of the total parts of everyone who works toward making it a success, and this includes the cinematographer, the art director, the film editor, the makeup artist, the key grip, even the guy who gets Brad Pitt coffee in the morning. And hell, is it really that bad to enjoy a movie because it looks lovely? Is someone shallow for appreciating a beautifully composed shot or set?

So no, it probably wasn't amazing enough to warrant a Best Picture Award, or a Best Actor Award (I like Brad Pitt but he was not at his best here, but that's another story). But the art direction was lovely, and the makeup, and the visual effects, and those are the awards it won. And if you think it deserved more than that, that's entirely your opinion, and your opinion is not invalid. But the Oscars is not about your opinion, it's about the opinion of people in the industry. And that should mean little in influencing your opinion, because if you love a movie, you love it because it spoke to you, regardless of what awards or critical acclaim is bestowed upon it.

Hell, my favourite movie ever is The Big Lebowski. Not an Oscar in sight, but I'm not bothered by that in the slightest.

The next time you find yourself about to go see Twilight, see this instead.

Do your poor brain cells a favour and see Let The Right One In if you want the exact opposite of Twilight: genuine moments of bloodsucking terror mixed with a thoroughly compelling tale of preteen drama.

Set in Sweden (and not Iceland as I originally thought - what the hell is wrong with me? This is what happens when my university goes on strike and my brain switches to autopilot) and based on the book of the same name, the film tells of the not-so-particularly-heartwarming tale of Oskar. He's a socially-awkward twelve year old who is constantly tormented by his peers and fantasizies about stabbing them, collects newspaper reports of grisly murders, has an alcoholic father and a mother who barely notices him, and looks vaguely like an albino. However, despite his almost creepy paleness, he's not a vampire - but his new best friend Eli is. She lives alone, except for a strange old man who carries out some disturbing deeds for her, and she genuinely wants to be Oskar's friend. But, when you drain people's blood literally for a living, friendship is often put aside for other, more deadly endeavours.

Let The Right One In was hyped as hell at the Toronto After Dark Film Festival in October, but due to the fact that tickets sold out almost immediately then, I didn't get a chance to see it until this week. Perhaps partly because of the hype and partly because of a certain plot twist regarding Eli (I won't spoil what it is, but I didn't think it added anything new to the story and its potential was never fully realized), I wasn't sure if it really was as fabulous as critics said. However, this doesn't mean it wasn't an amazing film. I was constantly floored by the cinematography; some of the shots were nothing short of gorgeous, and the score was appropriately haunting and beautiful at the same time. When it comes to storytelling, though, Let The Right One In really shines. Although it brings no new developments in terms of vampire mythology, there is both humanity and monstrosity in Eli, the likes of which haven't been seen before. She defends Oskar from bullies and shows him how to solve a Rubik's cube just as easily as she faceplants herself onto victims and sucks them dry.

I couldn't help thinking as I watched it, "Why the hell are people watching Twilight instead of this?" Then I realized that Twilight, quite simply, is the fast food version of the vampire film. It's quick, it's easy, it satisfies a little but is almost totally devoid of nutritional value. In that vein, Let The Right One In would be a steak, thick, deep, full of substance and leaves you absolutely satisfied.

Great, now I'm hungry.

I miss when vampires used to be cool.

I'm not sold on all this Twilight business.

I tried reading it. I really did. But somewhere in between the horribly awkward sentence structuring, the Hallmark card "romantic" dialogue, the bland characterization (even if there are entire paragraphs devoted to Hot Vampire Guy's appearance), and the throwback to 1950's female gender roles that only a Mormon stay-at-home mom could pull off, I lost the will to continue and couldn't finish the bloody thing.

I suppose it's the safe, traditional romance that draws in both teenage girls and those who wish they still were. Impossibly handsome and charming boy meets fragile damsel in distress, boy gallantly swears to never touch innocent, chaste lady, minor wrench (aka vampirism) is introduced to possibly harm the relationship, relationship survives against all odds, chastity still withstanding.

Therein lies the problem: what the hell does chastity and traditional courtship have to do with vampires? They're not supposed to be the perfect boyfriend, they're supposed to be dangerous, poetic, half-insane, sex-crazed gore fiends.

When I was the age the primary fanbase of Twilight are now, around 13 or so, this was what a vampire meant to me:

Good old Anne Rice vampire fare (yes, I was one of those goth 13 year olds who read Anne Rice. Oh, to be young again...). While they may not be literary masterpieces, they are classic vampire novels that sold millions of copies and broke through to the mainstream. This is exactly what Twilight has done, but compare my summary of Twilight above to the sorts of things that happen in Anne Rice's books. Lestat hates his blind dad, torments and feeds on hookers, turns a six year old kid into a vampire (six year old kid then proceeds to kill entire families), has his throat slit by the six year old vampire, is bitten by crocodiles, battles his way back from being half dead and turns into a rock star whose music wakes up a very sexy 7000 year old Egyptian vampire queen who can explode hearts and eyeballs with a single thought.

See? Not a second of wholesome morality or sweetness. Definitely out of a Mormon housewife's reach.

Mark Ryden and Natalie Shau

Another quick feature relating to my obsession with pretty doe-eyed creepy girls.

Mark Ryden has always been one of my favourite artists, back when I first caught a glance of his artwork for Clear Hearts, Grey Flowers, the last album by the great but now defunct band Jack Off Jill.





There is so way I can adequately express how much inspiration I've derived from his work for my own art. He incorporates everything that fascinates me into each of his paintings - surrealism, disturbing imagery, a skewed sense of what is traditionally beautiful, and little girls with those big, eerie eyes.

Also sharing Mark Ryden's penchant for twisting the beautiful, Natalie Shau, who I first encountered on DeviantArt way back when that site used to interest me, draws more heavily on fairy tales and a gothic influence in her work. But they still features haunting little ladies.

Angelique Houtkamp

The first time I ventured downtown with a certain someone who is currently instilling my life with all kinds of awesome, we ended up somewhere between Bloor and Bathurst and Bloor and Spadina. I am terrible with directions. Please do not ask me exactly where I was, but I did end up getting stuck in Honest Ed's, and spent a few brief minutes wondering if I was to be trapped between a display of Virgin Mary clocks and 99 cent peanuts for the rest of my life.

In addition to discovering that yes, there ARE other shops near Bloor and Yonge that don't involve creepy old men selling sex toys and PVC bondage gear, I also managed to come across a Dutch artist's book in a graphic novel store that indulged my love of pin-up girls and body modification. Her name is Angelique Hautkamp, and my god, I would kill just to have her design a tattoo for me.


According to her website, she learned to tattoo at the same time she learned how to paint, inspired by a friend's gallery show. The influence of traditional style tattoos on her work is very obvious, but this only adds to their charm. I've always been a fan of beautiful but strange doe-eyed girls as subjects in art, and Angelique's flapper skeletons and animal-human hybrids are enormously appealing. Plus, as the people who know me are aware, every single aspect of tattoo and piercing culture never ceases to fascinate me. Angelique's art represents both past and future for the body modification world, a throwback to the history of tattoo art and a message to modern naysayers that tattoos can certainly be fine art too.