Instead begin with the body—itself a kind
of ending. A new mythology, the severance
of two heads. Where her thighs meet, no
gash, sex mouthed into injury, no coiled
viper against her groin. Instead, a pale gap
in stone’s imagination—a dream my body
swallows. Each pill a small cut, a slow beheading.—Medusa with the Head of Perseus, Torrin A. Greathouse
I was just about to turn eighteen when I finished binge watching Skins. Late to the party, the last episode left an indelible impression on me. That weekend, I flew out to New York with my father for a weekend. As we stewed in a flying tin can, I contemplated my mental state. Prior to watching Skins, I hadn’t considered the possibility of my being depressed. There I was, watching Whiplash, wondering if I had inherited my mother’s illness. I’d always been certain of my dream to be a writer, but for every single day, I would sleep all day and stay awake all night—on LA time.
In the stiff white sheets of the hotel room, I rewatched that famous scene of Effy running into traffic on a loop. What would it feel like if I did the same? When that awful realisation dawned on me, I felt sadder than I had before. You see, nobody feels sorry for an ugly girl with depression, but a mysterious, onyx eyed doe?: they would take a bullet for her. My depression is not washing, wearing the same toothpaste-ruined clothes, matted hair, and a frankly dissociative disease.
Dad and I sat at the chess boards across the road from Magnolia Bakery eating yellow cake. The air was bitingly cold and New York seemed to be hibernating. We separated the layers in time to the dissection of how I felt. And when we returned home, I went to see a Doctor who made me take an online quiz I had already completed on my own time. My conflict with inner sanctity came down to how I fared on a score chart. I often thought: why can’t I be beautifully depressed? If I was, my entire existence would turn into a sham.
To draw a parallel would be to compare Effy Stonem to Medusa. In some iterations, the Medusa is portrayed as strikingly beautiful. This is Effy Stonem. Anyone who gets too close sees their lives turn to tragedy (or they turn to stone as in the myth). In Episode 7 of Vol. 3, JJ visits Effy to ask her to stop interfering with his friends, Freddie and Cook. She subsequently tells him she cannot do that but also says, “Thanks for loving me.” Perhaps we should consider Effy’s interference as an intrinsic exchange of desire? Her nature is to collect admirers, tying them on strings like marionettes. By behaving this way, she creates the duality of man. In some scenes, we get a glimpse at her softer side, and in others we can only see the manipulation.
This dichotomy is precisely why so many of us were drawn to her. We want to be beautiful in our sadness and cruelty. For example, if we compare the responses to two women who have committed an imaginary crime, the one considered the beauty standard will be treated far better than the other. I, and I’m sure you have, seen this play out online time and time again. We believe the mistakes we are sure to make will be taken lighter if we have something to offer. Effy’s friends often forgive her because she’s cool, seemingly wise, and someone you’d want on your side. However, when Pandora sleeps with Cook, she is treated terribly. This hypocrisy illustrates further the apparent ‘benefits’ of being a flawed aesthete.
Much of this idolatry took place on Tumblr, the nest egg for sad girls. We’d share GIFs of Effy with her knowing smile and blackened eyes. This dissatisfaction with who we are and what we look like is earthborn. We grow up under the crushing weight of expectation, if not from our parents, our teachers. The magazines show us what we must look like to live a good life: to be accepted into this land of gods and monsters. So, isn’t it only natural that we would gravitate towards a character like Effy?
Overall, I’m not entirely sure there is a definitive answer to stop this recurring, but we can certainly pose these questions. Being who we are and not who we wish we were is going to be vital to breaking down these barriers. Instead of mythologising fictional characters, be your own myth. Worship yourself in darkness and light. Forgive your mistakes as you start on the path of correcting them. Humans are unique, and no one person is wholly alike. Take advantage of that.
Courtenay's Corner 