Sonya Vatomsky, lovely new friend, and author of Salt Is for Curing, has been interviewed previously by some very smart people who have asked some excellent questions of this ghostly poet of the witchy and intense. I am not one of those people.
In my initial spurt of nosiness about this exquisite creature, I uncovered a handful of informative, well-written and wonderfully interesting interviews with our subject today. And my conclusion is that there’s not much I can ask Sonya Vatomsky about poetry and the writing process that another more intelligent and more articulate person has not already shared with us. And as a matter of fact, I encourage you all to read these previous interviews when you can, because they offer fantastic insight into Sonya’s works.
I am, however going to ask some fun questions, which I have shared below, and we are offering a giveaway consisting of a signed copy of Salt Is For Curing, –so I hope you will continue reading!
I became acquainted with Sonya in early 2016 when I noticed that a user on Instagram calling themselves @coolniceghost started following my account. Normally I don’t pay a lot of attention to new followers on social media but an interesting username always piques my interest. And come on…. COOL + NICE + GHOST! That sounded too good to be true–I wanted to believe this mystery internet person is all of these things!
I discovered, with just a little bit of poking around on the internet, that this indeed all true. @coolniceghost turned out to be a poet named Sonya Vatomsky, (A POET! You know my heart exploded with this knowledge) whom I found on facebook and reached out right away to say hello. And here we are.
Sonya has written two collections, My Heart In Aspic, a book of :”sensory-rich poetry investigating the body, decay/fracture, rich marrow, salted flesh, and breathing in all the dark things”, as well as the more recent Salt Is For Curing, which is described deliciously by author Ariana Reines as “a feast, a grimoire, a fairy tale world, the real world. It’s also too smart for bullshit and too graceful to be mean about the bullshit”.
{Apotheosis / Salt Is For Curing by Sonya Vatomsky}
In my reading of Salt Is For Curing, it took all that I had not to devour this small book of spooky delights in one greedy instant. I feared that to do so, to ingest all of these potent magics at once, would give me a terribly heartsick sort of heartburn and yet leave me with the very worst sort of emptiness, knowing there is no more to be had. I drew it out for as long as I could stand.
Anyway, I do go on, don’t I? We are going to talk about stuff and things and I trust that you will read further and enjoy. After having done so, please leave a comment to be included for the giveaway of one copy of Salt Is For Curing, signed by Sonya Vatomsky. Do you have a favorite collection of poetry? A beloved fragrance? Maybe a strange ritual you’d like to share? Tell us all about it in the comments and a random winner will be divined by esoteric methods exactly one week from today.
Sonya Vatomsky
Mlle Ghoul: The other night I had a dream that I peeled back the onion skin of my toes to uncover chocolate bonbons, which I plucked and ate with relish (I knew they’d grow back). What have you been dreaming about lately? What sort of stock do you put in dreams, if any? Are they signs, guide-posts for you? Or just brain-blips? Do they ever make their way into your poetry?
Sonya Vatomsky: Honestly, I kind of just have a lot of nightmares. I always have. They range from the basic psychopath-on-a-rampage kind to the crueler twists of, say, killing someone while blacked out and then having to explain that you’re a murderer to your parents who, against all mounting evidence, are maintaining your innocence during the trial because they know you, you would never. Because of this, I learned how to wake myself up from dreams when I was very young.When I’m really scared, I reach a sort of lucidity where if I force my eyes open really wide in the dream-state I’ll wake up. Besides the waking up trick, my lucid dreams are pretty useless. There’s a sort of misconception in lucid dreaming tutorials where people equate them with control over your dreams, which is just not accurate. Being self-aware doesn’t automatically make you God.
Speaking of dreams and sleep, you mentioned that you suffer from sleep paralysis. Can you talk a little bit about your experience with that?
Sure! It first happened in my late teens — scared the shit out of me, but I figured it was a freaky one-off nightmare. Then it occurred every few months for several years. I have an “all the toppings” version of sleep paralysis: aural hallucinations, visual hallucinations, and the cherry on top is an overpowering sense that there’s a demon in the room. I first read about sleep paralysis when I was 24 — 6 years ago — and since then it hasn’t happened much. Reading about it was very surreal. I was going through the Wikipedia pages of Japanese horror movies and reading the synopses and clicking links and ended up reading a medical paper on kanashibari. Having this frightening, seemingly-inexplicable, and deeply-personal thing medically explained (and experienced by other people!) was such a relief. In terms of the impact on my daily life, sleep paralysis was far more isolating than terrifying… or, rather, don’t we all have a very visceral fear that our mind has chosen an utterly unique kind of madness? That we’re somehow inherently blocked from ever being understood by another?
In Salt Is For Curing, the thread that ties so much of it together is food, but I get that it’s not really about food. You’ve said, and I am paraphrasing, that at the very root of these themes you write on– women, and bodies, and autonomy, and trauma, and power– it’s you exorcising your demons while “making people think they’re reading a witchy little book of folklore.” Which I think is fantastic and I loved that aspect of it. The role of food in folklore is such an interesting subject, though, and not one that I’ve thought on overmuch until now. I guess what I want to ask is how did you make these connections in relation to your own personal mythology and go about incorporating it into your poetry?
I think food and folklore both fall into my writing through the simple fact of me being Russian. Specifically a Russian immigrant, so my sense of culture has basically been distilled into those two things, partially because they’re such cultural building blocks but also because food and folklore are all you really have awareness of when you’re a child. I was six when I moved.
… but I am also obsessed with food, so we have to come back to that. Would you consider food/cooking a fascination for you, and has that been a constant fixation throughout your life or something that developed around the writing of these particular poems? What do you like to cook for yourself? What do you like to cook and serve to other people?
I’m impatient and busy so I usually cook things that can be done in 30 minutes, ideally with most of that time away from the stove. Baked fish with lemon, rosemary lamb, duck breast, tuna steak, that sort of thing. Also sandwiches. Always sandwiches. My current favorite is some kind of nice bread, gravlax, sliced hardboiled egg, tomato, mayonnaise, and hot sweet mustard. I’ll usually make the same type of dish for other people, because hosting means I’m a) stressed from accepting too much responsibility for the personal happiness of my dinner guest and b) drinking a lot, though I might upgrade my put-it-in-the-oven entree to cornish game hen. I can do piroshky and vareniki and pelmeni and borsch and all of that too but would need a third party to mind the guests because I’m very leave-me-the-fuck-alone in the kitchen.
Sonya Vatomsky
Another thing you mentioned in an interview and I am taking it totally out of context here so that you can expand upon and play with it however you like, is: “I’m interested in myself quite a lot.” I cannot tell you how refreshing that was to read, and how excited, and well, RELIEVED I was to hear someone actually say that. You know, as a writer, I am extremely interested in myself, as well (I’m my favorite subject!)…but that’s not always something people are comfortable expressing, I don’t think. I was hoping that you could talk a little more about this.
My coolness and my writing ability have just never been things I questioned. Which doesn’t mean I assume everyone will adore me (why would it?) or anything; I’m just stressed out by starvation economies. Impostor syndrome is a thing I deal with, as are various insecurities about success, but I don’t conflate feelings about my movement through the world with my intrinsic sense of self, I guess? I think I’m super fucking interesting, and I get chills re-reading my own work, but that ego also frees me up to feel joy at the genius of others. There’s not a finite amount of coolness. I find books all the time that reduce me to Facebook-messaging incoherent “omg… you are disgustingly amazing”s to people and that’s a real pleasure.
Make America Goth Again
Onto lighter things! One of the things we initially bonded over was our huge goth-y tee shirt collection–do you have any favorites right now?
I don’t want to assume you are a fellow perfume enthusiast, but I sort of get the feeling that you might be. What sort of scents do you find yourself drawn to? Do you have a particular beloved fragrance?
Ha! I am definitely a perfume enthusiast. Except I find the alcohol in alcohol-based perfumes really overpowering so I mostly wear oils. My everyday stink is Sugar & Spite’s Brewster (buttercream frosting, candied violets, vanilla cake) with Common Brimstone’s Petite Mort (caraway, cardamom, leather, honey, rose) on top. I also really love BPAL’s Vixen (orange blossom, ginger, patchouli) but I’ve had it forever so it kind of just smells like the summer I was 21 at this point. My gotta-have-it oils are anything that mention campfires, dirt, or cardamom, and lately I’m really enjoying rose as well. Oh! Another always-favorite is Debaucherous Bath, though I purchase more lotions than perfumes from that shop. The Queen Bee (milk, honey, cardamom) is delightful.
I did read your post about perfumes the other day and am thinking of treating myself to Norne or De Profundis (though for those prices maybe I’ll just come over for a weekend and smell you a lot).
I think you and I have something else in common, too–that you don’t really love showering, because you don’t like getting wet. Me too, I hate it! I sort of have to trick myself into the shower, make a ritual of it with fluffy towels, fancy soaps and potions and unguents. This made me start thinking about our own individual, personal rituals. I was wondering if you had any that you might like to share? Whether with regard to getting your hair wet, or writing, or …whatever, really.
Showering is the worst. I exercise every morning and that does make me more inclined to shower, though I soaps and potions help as well. I like to have a creepy soap (gunsmoke, seaweed, rotting wood) and a sweet lotion. An off-putting handsoap is nice, too. Blackbird used to do a really strong, salty licorice one but since they discontinued it I’ve been using Nevermore Body Company’s Sacred Ground (chamomile, oak, black currant, dried leaves).
My other rituals are secret, for now.
You just traveled to Iceland! What did you love about it? Did you find any inspiration there? Anything that you might recommend to a fellow traveler on a whirlwind journey?
Iceland! The best thing we did was go to the Secret Lagoon which, first off, has a Facebook page so how secret is it really? The lagoon is an hour or so outside Reykjavik, and we did a night excursion where we got there around 9 or 10pm — it’s dark and freezing cold and next to the lagoon is this scary-looking cement shack structure and there’s a reddish light coming from somewhere that makes the entire scene look like the first result of when you go to a website of free desktop wallpapers and search for “creepy shit”. It was incredible! You get little floaties and float in the water, which is really warm, and there are these underwater speakers playing fucking Sigur Ros, and you can drink wine and then get a massage. Someone also brought a dog so I was petting this giant fluffer while drinking wine and being up to my waist in a hot lagoon.
Perfect. Then when you’re done soaking you get to have a little meal of cucumbers and tomatoes and black bread and schnapps and softboiled egg and the rotting piss shark thing which, I don’t know, definitely needs a lot of schnapps after it.
Photo credit: Sonya Vatomsky
I am led to believe that you may have some great poetry recommendations. If one loved Salt Is For Curing, for example, what else might you suggest?
I HAVE SO MANY POETRY RECOMMENDATIONS. Recently I have read and loved:
Finally, closing on a more serious note– elsewhere, you referenced a J.G. Ballard quote:
“’I wanted to / rub the human face in its own vomit / and then force it to look in the mirror’—and that’s basically what I’m trying to do. Except with my vomit. In a nice way.” I know that our motivations and inspirations are constantly in flux, so I am wondering if this is still what you are trying to do? Or has this changed?
No, that still sounds about right.
Thanks again, Sonya, for entertaining my curiosity and indulging my nosy nature. And readers, remember to leave a comment below in order to be eligible for our giveaway of one signed copy of Salt Is For Curing.
With dark, classic imagery that hearkens back to some of your favorite science-fantasy Heavy Metal Magazine art, or the pulpy, cosmic horror-tinged style of a particularly lurid used bookstore H.P. Lovecraft paperback — you know, the one with the eyeball we all have on our shelf — Burke’s art feels both deceptively familiar and fabulously strange.
Although raised in a restrictive religious environment where this type of subject matter was off-limits, Burke speaks of a childhood-and-beyond love for the excitement and visceral energy of those 20th century fantasy illustrations, and taps into that sense of passion and intensity for the custom, commissioned works he produces for musicians and bands. Burke, who acknowledges that this older fantasy-style art is oftentimes relegated to the realm of schlock and kitsch, admits that while he brings his own tongue-in-cheek approach to his creations, he also attempts to give them a sense of beauty, grace, and mystery.
“…FANTASY AND DARK SUBJECT MATTER,” BURKE REMARKS, “CAN ACCESS OUR DEEP FEARS AND MOTIVATIONS, AS WELL AS PRESENT A SENSE OF MYSTERY OR UNKNOWN IN A WORLD WHERE THE UNKNOWN SEEMS TO BE EVER-SHRINKING.”
Valley of the Snake (art for Ruby the Hatchet)
Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, Adam Burke spent a great deal of time in the woods. As an adult he has come to find that is still where he prefers to be. A science nerd enthralled with plants, fungus, geology, and ecology, he believes that there is infinite inspiration in nature and natural processes.
This fascination with the myriad wonders of the natural world and the flora and fauna which inhabit within is expressed in the name of his website. According to Burke, Nightjars are birds in the genus Caprimulgus. They are beautiful, but seldom seen, mostly nocturnal birds that have gorgeous markings and a distinct flight pattern. His fascination is also glimpsed in his more personal works: dim-lit, moody landscapes of craggy cliffs and marshy bogs shrouded in mists, populated with woodland creatures and wanderers alike. All are seen through the vaporous veil of a haunting dream, perhaps an entirely different world, or another time.
Burke muses that this otherworldly quality stems from his tendency to be a daydreamer, and perhaps from a bit of a disconnect with the world of humans. Noting that, “I’m a humanist, and I think we’re capable of amazing things. I value my friends and family more than anything in life,” he then went on to say, “I think humankind’s presence in this world is increasingly destructive and meaningless. I use art as a form of escape; to create a place or feeling that I wish existed or where I wish I was.”
A musician himself, Burke reflects that as an adult, he started creating art again when he returned to playing music. After a period of time when his creativity was channeled into some more practical pursuits, his life began to fall apart in “some pretty major ways.” As a result, he found that his creativity, (his “art brain”), was much easier to access, and art and music became his comfort zone.
Red Witch
As to which medium he prefers–visual or sonic– he notes that while painting gives him the platform to explore his deepest interests and impulses, nothing compares to the thrill of playing music with people whom you love, to an audience who’s participating in that electrifying energy.
And so, Burke began playing music and making art for his band, Fellwoods. “I wanted to create nature-inspired fantasy pieces because we drew from ’60s/’70s psychedelic and heavy music, so I taught myself to paint,” Burke reveals. “Other bands saw the art I created for Fellwoods and started asking about commissioned work, so I just kept going with it. Now it’s my living.”
Ghosts of the Anthropocene I
Strix Nebulosa
Pooka
Pilgrims
Lugburz
If you enjoy posts like these or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?
If Christie Shinn’s name sounds familiar to you, no doubt you are recalling my brief review last month of the bloody, demented Caligula Imperatore Insanum, for which she was the illustrator. Today I am pleased to be taking a look at another one of her offerings, Sepulchre Volume 1. I won’t call this a review, per se, because I don’t want to give away the story or any plot points!
Gorgeously stark and atmospheric, a violent tale of deliberate betrayal, personal tragedy , and vengeance, Sepulchre takes place “In a world of swords, bullets and blood” where our main character, Lady Jaye Hawke, is “betrayed by the one she loved the most, and seeks to avenge that treachery.”
Some time back I had the opportunity and distinct pleasure to view the first few pages and what I saw piqued my interest tremendously–when I tell you it was both a gut punch that rendered me breathless and left an unforgettable vision seared into my retinas, I am not exaggerating. Without a doubt it left me trembling, intrigued and yearning for the rest of the story. The beginning of this tale grips you instantaneously, and I’ll say no more than that.
Lady Jaye Hawke has a story to tell, that we know for certain. However due to tragic and an as-of-yet not entirely explained backstory and circumstances, she is left without a voice to do so. Instead, her narrative unfolds through her actions and expressions. Her emotions, fraught with sorrow and fury, hysteria and despair, are passionately illustrated by Shinn in dramatic blacks, whites, and red, and convey to the reader more than mere words ever could.
This is going to be a tale of revenge, we can see that’s where this is heading, and I am all about enthusiastically meting out punishment to monsters who betray us… but I am hoping there are moments of redemption, as well. It is rare that I fall so completely in love with a character that I know so little about, but I’ve glimpsed enough to see that Lady Jaye Hawke is empathetic and has kindness in her heart, so I want to see this play out in a way that doesn’t leave her brutish or monstrous, herself.
A friend assured me recently that the chaos in my perfume cabinet was not, in fact, a hot mess and a poor reflection of my character–but instead that it was pretty cool and it reminded her of a witch’s workbench. Actually… she only voiced the latter half of that thought, and so I’m choosing to extrapolate the rest of the sentiment because she’s a thoughtful person and that’s probably what she meant.
A witch’s workbench! I loved that. And I love thinking of perfume in that context–after all, the transformative powers of fragrance are myriad and a sort of magic of their own. Fragrance has the ability to transport us to another place or time, be it a memory, a wish for the future, or even a dream. It conjures phantom loves and losses, those whom we adored and those we mourn. It intoxicates, bewitches and holds our admirers rapt, enthralled. It allows us to slip into the skin of that which we would wish to be–the femme fatale, the ingénue, (or, if you’re weirdly specific like me, “Morticia Addams tending a poison garden at midnight in late summer, moments before fearsome thunderstorm”).
Some perfumes though, as least as far as I can tell, just feel like magic. Perhaps they don’t exactly remind you of anything from your past and maybe they don’t make you feel like Audrey Hepburn or Seven of Nine or Siouxsie Sioux or whoever it is that you channel to feel special or beautiful. Perhaps their mere presence on your shelf causes a shimmer in the corner of your vision; a certain slant of light at the right time of day cascades through the faceted glass bottle and creates a kaleidoscopic prism against the wall. Maybe the cool heft of a particular flacon cradled against the warmth of your palm feels grounding and reassuring. Perhaps to simply gaze upon your collection and deeply inhale the exotic aroma of all the fragrances combined is a small ritual on its own.
I have a few scents in this vein that hold their own magic; they smell as though they may induce a trance, or open a portal. Some demand a sacrifice of the wearer, and some bear unexpected gifts. Some smell of soothsaying and powerful prophecy, whereas others might sit quietly on the skin, unnoticed, a charm against unkindness or ill-will. I own all of these and they speak to me in a secret language of their own, a scented murmuration that no doubt only I understand…though I am very happy to share with you a handful of my loves. Make of their mysteries what you will!
Mississippi Medicine from DS & Durga opens with an astringent, peppery cypress, and gives way to a pine-crackling, smoky fire, sweet birch, muddy grass and scorched leaves and dries down to a sweetly herbaceous, woody, resinous scent. This tells the story of waking with strange incense in your hair and the vague dream of descending into the dark, dancing and divining with ancestors, and having been part of rituals older than you can imagine. A scent of potent magics, both sacrificial and healing.
Norne from Slumberhouse smells of black night forests frozen in time; tarry, resinous pines and greenest firs and crisp midnight air, tiniest pinpoints of starlight. Woodsmoke and loam, lichen and fern, and musty mosses creeping, creeping over fallen logs and worn stone paths. Spiders webs tangling high in the branches, dust settling on the strands. Time has slowed and finally stood still in this forest while the world outside advances and evolves and moves along as is the world’s habit whether one interferes or not. This is a still, solemn, forgotten wood, without any birth or growth, and yet undying.
10 Corso Como is all dry, lofty sandalwood, smoky desert resins, and earthy, weirdly off-kilter – almost alien or at least otherworldy- florals. It calls to mind a mysterious, aromatic wooden chest, unearthed by a strange sandstorm. At once both sensual and spiritual, and without a doubt a very, very handsome scent, I find myself frequently craving it and nothing else will do.
Heely’s Sel Marin conjures a dim lit sea save, illuminated by phosphorescent crystals clinging to salt crusted walls. Mossy rocks, worn smooth by time and tides and the wind, which echoes eerily through the subterranean stone chambers. Bits of driftwood and seaweed and perhaps small animal bones littering the damp chamber floor. A sea priestess lain dormant, waiting for a dark ritual to conjure forth from slumber. This is a Dion Fortune novel in a bottle.
Amir from Laura Tonnato is a deeply hypnogogic scent, all dark, narcotic myrrh and nocturnal resins. A midnight philtre, thickened with age and swimming murkily at the bottom of an ancient crystal flacon, tucked away in some moth-eaten velvet robes. This is the scent I imagine one of the visitors wearing during that infamous summer in 1816 at the Villa Diodati with Byron and Polidori.
Serge Lutens’ De Profundis opens with the scent of big, lively chrysanthemums, in the fall -brisk, slightly spicy and musty. Delicate, dewy violets and damp loamy earth follow shortly thereafter, along with a cool metallic chill that calls to mind a brief wind, rising from nowhere, a shadow that suddenly falls across your path. This is the scent of a pensive cemetery stroll in late autumn, crushed funeral wreaths beneath your feet, the veil of the sun struggling through the clouds, the lingering wisps of incense from morning mass.
A new mix for tender dreams and small, gentle things.
{Image: Ebru Sidar}
Track list: Blue Crystal Fire, Arborea | Bugbear, Wickerbird | New Ways, Daughter | Ferring Rife, Wyrdstone | House Of Skin And Bones, Dana Hubanks | Old Growth, The Feral Trees | Love Song to the Stars, Emma Berkey | Wings Of The Dawn, Sierra Hull | All The Colors Of The Dark, Marissa Nadler
It was over a year ago (late February of 2015, actually) that I received my first Stitch Fix box and though it’s been a lot of fun, I think I’m ready to cancel my subscription.
I had been documenting every shipment that I received, just to sort of keep track of what I was receiving and the pieces that I really liked, so if you are curious or want to have a look back, here you go:
I had initially wanted a Stitch Fix subscription because over the years my wardrobe had somehow become a pit of despair which consisted chiefly of black tee shirts. Now, don’t get me wrong–if it were up to me I would be wearing all black tee shirts all the time, but, as it happens, I am occasionally required to attend professional functions and sometimes there are social gatherings which call for something fancier, along with–oh dear!–a spot of color, as well. So, I really just needed a few things to supplement my wardrobe for these infrequent situations. And to be honest, I really, REALLY hate shopping for those kinds of items. Blazers, work tops and skirts, professional function attire–ugh. However…if someone picks out a handful of things for me and says “Here! Pick one!” that is really a perfect scenario, and that is, in a nutshell, what Stitch Fix offers.
Nearly a year later I have got way more than I need, and so I think it is time to either call it quits or put the subscription on hold. I’ll be honest, though…the novelty still hasn’t worn off! I always thrill at the “Your Fix has shipped!” email, and I’m so eager to see what my stylist has picked out for me. Usually there is at least one thing that is either really pretty or super functional, and after about 6 months with this particular stylist, I think she’s really nailed it, as far as my style and personality go (lots of dark stuff but with sneaky color accents, florals, paisleys, weird prints).
Since I haven’t been keeping up with the reviews and the show-and-tells, I thought I’d just share some of the pieces I’ve gotten over the last few months that I kind of loved. All dark florals and paisleys, for the most part, and a really lovely blazer. Also, but not pictured are a pair of the highly coveted Margaret M Emers, which are sort of like a combination of work pants and leggings–which, I know, it sounds awful–but they are all the great things everyone says about them and more. They are a pull on type of pant, but they are a more structured material so they don’t sag or cling too much. It turns out that they are wonderfully comfortable but you actually feel like you are wearing an honest-to-god pair of pants. I swore I wouldn’t look twice at these things, but now I actually own two pairs because I requested (okay: begged) that my stylist send me the boot-cut version.
Unfortunately…I didn’t keep the style cards for several of these items, so I can’t include the details or the prices. Of course, if you are a Stitch Fix subscriber, you can always just pin the images to your Stitch Fix-themed Pinterest board and point your stylist to it, and she can probably figure it out!
To sum up, I would say that I’ve definitely been pleased with the service and I’ll probably keep it for a quarterly wardrobe refresh or something like that. I would recommend that you try them out if you have the same wardrobe issues as I do, which is to say that you hate shopping for professional attire and you think it’s a dumb, fruitless endeavor and it reminds you of the stuff you never have time to do because you’re always working. Like learning how to embroider or play the ukelele or graverobbing or whatever. So let someone else do it for you!
Of course I’d rather be buying something from Hogan McLaughlin’s dark, poetic 2016 collections, but let’s be real here, I can’t get away with mingling with a gaggle of HR professionals in this. Sigh. The world is a very sad place, indeed.
41 Hawthorne sleeveless blouse (pictured above)
Gentle Fawn Valterra crochet detail top
Alice Blue floral lace up blouse
Tart Anahi blazer (pictured above)
Market & Spruce floral tank dress
Fun2Fun paisley blouse ( I despise the dopey name of this brand)
*First, let me give credit to Ben, who made that foot flesh comment over on facebook.
I am going to lead into this review with an “after” photo. Otherwise, I am afraid I might scare folks away before they’ve even read the first sentence. Or perhaps I do not give you enough credit for your iron stomachs and your willingness to delve into the depths of disgusting foot molt with me? Honestly, this kind of stuff doesn’t really gross me out, and in my postings of this process over on Instagram I’ve found that most people are actually more fascinated than repulsed (or perhaps a titillating combination of both) and so I will stop treating you with kid gloves and just get on with it!
I don’t think I had ever read up on foot peels, or the Baby Foot brand specifically, until I saw a brief mention of it over at EauMG (and let me forewarn you–I never, EVER, come away from Victoria’s blog without desperately coveting and usually ordering something she has mentioned over there. This visit was no different, as you will see.)
Once the seed was planted, I could not NOT try it. A disgusting corporeal transformation occurring right before my very eyes? Body horror delights to photograph and document, with which to freak people out? Oh, yes, please! As an aside, I don’t know what is wrong with me. I have a long history of being in love with grossing people out. So, my apologies…sort of. But not really. At all.
You can find this stuff for about $20 a box, and it is a one use thing. How does it work? Well, it’s a chemical peel for your feet. The ingredients list mainly fruit acids, but also the stuff you’d typically find in a chemical peel: glycolic, lactic, and salicylic acids, as well as alcohol. According to Baby Foot, all you do is wash and soak your feet, apply the booties, wash off, then wait. In five to seven days, the peeling should begin.
A few tips from bloggers and reviews throughout the peel-o-sphere: set aside an evening for it. Wash and clean your feet and soak them in warm water for a good, long time. Set up a little area for yourself on the sofa or your desk or where ever, and make sure you’ve got everything you need within reach for at least the next hour or so, because you are kind of going to be stuck.Stick your feet into the gloopy, acid filled booties, tape them up, pull on a pair of house socks over them (just to keep everything warm and snug, I presume) and sit tight for the next 60 minutes while you knit or read or watch a movie or tweet your absurd thoughts on twitter or whatever it is you do to keep busy. Note: those are all of the things I did.
Some folks keep it on past the hour mark, but I did not. To be honest at 45 minutes, things started feeling like they were heating up, in an almost uncomfortable way. I de-booted myself after exactly one hour, rinsed and dried my feet thoroughly, put on a clean pair of socks, and went to bed.
DAYS ONE AND TWO. No change. But you can see that my heel is kind of tough and calloused looking. When I stir and shift at night, in bed, I can hear it rassssssp against the sheets and it’s pretty mortifying. What you can’t see is the really tough patch of skin on the side of my big toes. All in all, I guess my feet aren’t too jacked up…but I like to wear sandals, and it is my belief that one’s feet must be fantastic looking for those sorts of shoes. Also note my terrible tattoo that a budding artist gave me when I was about 17. Tattoo artist friends! I’d love to collaborate with you on a cover up one day. Let’s talk!
DAY THREE. Many bloggers and reviewers note that they are soaking their feet every day during this process, and me, well. I am not. I am both lazy and yet I somehow do not have time for that. And anyway, I figure that my feet are sitting in a shallow bit of water for 10-15 minutes every time I shower, so that’s going to have to be good enough. And truly, as you can see here, I am not certain it really matters all that much. By day three things are starting to happen, as evidenced by the action occuring just below my toes.
DAY FOUR. The Cronenbergian Baby Foot experiment intensifies, slightly. The peeling has also begun to start on my toes and is creeping down the outside of my sole.
DAY FIVE. Shit is getting real and things are looking pretty leprous up in here. I am wearing socks everywhere to avoid actively shedding my disgusting former foot skin all over the floor, everywhere that I walk. This just about kills me, as I like my toes to wiggle freely.
DAY SIX. I had absolutely no idea I was so utterly, gloriously disgusting. Look at the molting majesty of my foot, gaze upon its vile splendor! IT IS SO GROSS AND I LOVE IT. Several folks at this point asked if it hurt at all, and I am being perfectly honest when I say that I didn’t feel a thing. This all could have been happening to someone else’s body, for all the discomfort that it caused me (none). Also, many people exclaimed incredulously that they could not believe I was not picking at it. Well, I did pick, a little bit. When there was a long, delicious strip of ragged skin, tattered and barely hanging on, I did give it a gentle tug to loosen it. If it broke off, great. I threw it away. If not, I left it alone and stuffed my repulsive appendage back in my sock.
DAYS SEVEN AND EIGHT. By day seven, most of that rag-tag business had fallen off in my socks over night. The bottoms of my feet were mostly free of dead skin. Now there is some interesting business happening on the tops of my feet– they had gotten a bit flaky and ashy and my toe-knuckles (is there a word for this?) had started peeling. There really was nothing awful about these parts of my feet to begin with, but curiously enough, I think this stage took the longest to cycle through.
TWO(ISH) WEEKS LATER. My raspy heels are totally gone, along with my horned big toe. However, I know that this is going to require maintenance which, let’s face it, I will probably never keep up with. The bottoms of my feet are quite a bit smoother and the tops of my feet actually do feel like that proverbial baby’s bottom.
I am sad to report, that Baby Foot did not give me freakishly disproportionate, actual baby’s feet attached to my ankles, so I am afraid that the product name is a bit misleading.
However, if you desire soft, lovely feet that look like they’ve never done a day’s work and if you like disgusting science experiments coupled the unease of body horror as it relates to your own body–I cannot recommend this highly enough. It satisfies on both the side of money well spent on a beauty product and the personal obsession with weird stuff and things to share with people. Win win!
It must be noted that you should purchase this from a seller or site you trust. I have linkeddirectly to the product I ordered and I had no problems with it whatsoever. If you are the kind to get freaked out by Amazon’s one star reviews, though, you’ll find some doozies. The short answer is to order from where ever you feel most comfortable.
Have you used Baby Ffoot, or any chemical foot peel at all? Feel free to weigh in with your experiences…and I am sure I don’t have to tell you…the more disgusting, the better!
Note: this is not I paid or sponsored or whatever-you-call-it review. I purchased this product honestly with money that I stole from someone else.
A gathering of death related links that I have encountered in the past month or so. From somber to hilarious, from informative to creepy, here’s a snippet of things that have been reported on or journaled about in or related to the Death Industry recently.
UK-based multidisciplinary artist and spooky doodler Lozzy Bones (Lauren Hellier) captures all manner of exquisitely deathly imagery in her stark, stylized monochromatic style. Taking inspiration from Victoriana, anatomical illustration, flora and fauna, and antique woodcuts, these illustrations–though morbid of subject matter and precise of blackened pen stroke–delight with a subtle, cheeky gallows humor.
“Tight-laced Liver”
A lover of the macabre with a penchant for the theatrical, Lozzy Bones has an infatuation with what she calls, “the aesthetic of older times when craftsmanship was valued and beauty was just a given.” If her works appear familiar to you, no doubt it is because you have peeped the design work she has created for many of Dirge’s favorite deathlings–among them the beautiful logo for Sarah Troop’s Death & The Maiden blog as well as the adorable fetal Cupid Skeleton for Carla Valentine’s Dead Meet site!
“Dead Dandy”
For more of this bloody talented lady’s wares, visit both her bigcartelshop, as well as her Instagram for the insanely beautiful brooches and jewelry she has created. Need to level up your creepy wardrobe? Maybe you would prefer to wear your anatomical heart specimen on your sleeve? Check out Lozzy Bones’ sinister swag over at Killstarfor an eerie ensemble to keep company with the skeletons in your closet.
“Phossy Jaw”
(This article was originally posted at Dirge; the site is no longer active.)
Stranger Than Paradise/ W Magazine 2013 Tilda Swinton shot by Tim Walker
I’ll admit, I never had much of an appreciation for spring until I moved up North to New Jersey. Until that time, I had spent the last twenty years in the semi-tropics and spring was, at best, laughable. There were no gusty lions or meek lambs and April showers most certainly did not lead to May flowers. It was only the paralyzing heat on the asphalt as soon as February passed and the same line of palm trees as far as the eye could see, stretching to the horizon and beyond. Palm trees and heat death forever. The end.
In New Jersey, however, there was actual winter. With snow and ice and cold and itchy sweaters and people always stealing your parking spot that you spend at least an hour digging for your own damn self, and angst, oh the angst. I grew to dread the oncoming autumn because I knew it heralded 3-4+ months of pure, unadulterated, shivering misery.
But spring, oh my–spring! Spring became a wonderful time of surprising magics. Such little things, I suppose…but things, having grown up in the south, that I didn’t even know to look for or expect. Every afternoon when I arrived home from work there would be something new blooming in the yard, budding and blossoming in the trees. Bunny rabbits, all over the place on my morning walks! The coolest, most lovely breeze swishing and swirling through the house on an early April morning (the same morning, where, down south, the AC would probably already be running full blast).
And so, my infatuation with spring began. And what to wear during this time of birth and renewal and the disappearance of winter’s ghostly remains? Well, I take my cue from celebrated haiku master Matsuo Basho:
From all these trees – in salads, soups, everywhere – cherry blossoms fall
See below for a few ensembles showcasing riotous blooms and delicate blossoms, and yes–even color, bright explosions of it (hidden against and amongst a lovely sea of black, of course!) After all, today, spring is here, and I will be the gladdest thing under the sun…for approximately two days. Now that I am back in the southern swampland, summer will no doubt arrive before the week is through, and that’s when we wear all black and lock ourselves into climate-controlled mourning for the next nine months.
[EDIT: Click on the images for more details. BUT sadly details for many of these ensembles are no longer available, as the site used to make them sold themselves to something else and shut down. RIP POLYVORE]
A friend assured me recently that the chaos in my perfume cabinet was not, in fact, a hot mess and a poor reflection of my character–but instead that it was pretty cool and it reminded her of a witch’s workbench. Actually… she only voiced the latter half of that thought, and so I’m choosing to extrapolate the rest of the sentiment because she’s a thoughtful person and that’s probably what she meant.
