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Naked is not something I want to be at work. But it happens kind of regularly at my job. So regularly that I once requested a “substitute” naked body to fill in for mine. When I had just given birth to twins. And was still breastfeeding them. ‘Cause I didn’t need to see my body on the TV in that moment even more than you didn’t.
Fifteen years later, I find myself single (the twins are thriving, but the marriage is dead). To my stunned surprise, hiring that body double taught me everything I needed to know about online dating — which was a win I needed since dating sites are a blast for exactly no one, but I am also just recognizable enough to where a suitor viewing my profile may tell a friend about the actress they saw on Raya today. And that friend turns out to be my ex-husband. True story. Or they snap a photo of my profile on Hinge, and then put it on their IG Stories, and tag me. Even sadder true story.
Still worse (you think not, but here it comes) they might write me notes about my acting work. Specifically, what they don’t like about it.
Then there’s my all-time favorite:
“I saw your tits on the tele and I’d like to suck them.”
Yeah, those weren’t my tits, mate. T’was a body double. But the first time I saw them I wanted them for myself, too, so I feel you. Here’s how it went down.
I was alone in my trailer when a large envelope slid under the door. I opened it to find naked pictures of women. Headless women in fact, in 8 x 10 color photos that cut off at their neck. One might have thought I had mistakenly stumbled into the basecamp for The Idol. But I quickly realized I’d asked for these ladies, and will now get to pick the body that will perpetrate this fraud pretending to be mine. Yes, please.
Looking at other women’s naked bodies felt weird. But even weirder was how fast I got used to it. Their striations and waxing jobs were informative. But what mesmerized me were the hints of personality shining through without even a face or any wardrobe to differentiate them. They all had beautiful bodies — the only real variation was below the ankle. One wore high heels. Another was barefoot. A third was also barefoot but standing on her toes as if wearing high heels.
But the woman I chose seemed like a goddamn naked warrior. She wore no shoes and didn’t bother with tippy-toes, but one foot was turned out slightly, giving the sense she was nonplussed, or possibly even bored by this bare-it-all casting call. What really did it for me was the slight arch in her back. She was owning the shit out of this. Ribs out, heart first. She was proud of her body and so was I.
When she arrived on set, I ran toward her all moth-to-flame. She was beautiful, which I now realized (I totally assumed?). Then she opened her mouth to speak. Out came the softest voice — so soft that you had to lean in to hear, and holy shit her hand was so delicate I nearly crushed it just shaking it hello.
The polar opposite of a “warrior.”
I wanted to run. But I couldn’t, because I was under contract. I considered sending her back for the chick in high heels. Also couldn’t do that — she’s under contract now, too. Overwhelmed with fear that this dainty human would be devoured on a TV set and it would be all my fault, I was unable to speak. But she politely kept right on low-talking to me, revealing herself to be the sweetest thing who was hoping to be discovered here today. While naked. I nearly fainted at this casting error.
Which was basically the same reaction I got from my first round of matches on a dating site, telling me what TV roles I was horrible in and should never have gotten ‘cause they knew I was wrong for them. What?! As a person for them to date or as an actress playing the part?
The answer is both. They meant as an archetype — the most primal and intuitive archetypal categories we all see ourselves and others in. Like when I was looking at a photo of a naked, headless woman and saw a “warrior” who showed up on set as a “muse.” I realized this was my baggage to explore in therapy about being a new mother, since her naked body had nothing to do with why I chose her to play a naked body. Which is perhaps why I was also not fitting the archetype for my would-be-suitors as an FBI agent (“please with that long, flowing hair”) or a firefighter (“you’re not strong enough to carry me”) or college professor (“only a man would write that part for you.”)
At least I kept my judgment to myself, which worked out well for me and the soft-spoken body double I hired that day. She flourished on set, dressed and undressed. People who hadn’t put their own projection onto her (me) were enraptured by her like a true muse (her), which is now going to help me avoid another ego-lashing on a third dating app when I choose photos of myself to post based on exactly what parts of me I want to cast in my next relationship — through an archetypal lens.
Vixen. Provocateur. Temptress. (Sexy, but also, not really me.)
Bookworm. Hermit. Mother. (Sometimes, but not what I’m hoping for now.)
Nurse. Wife. Advocate. (Did it, and done. No.)
Warrior. Queen. Wise Woman. (Yes in life, and also — this.)
The fact is, I have a photo of me looking like each of these. Despite each being a radically different kind of date/experience/fuck/life. So, worrying whether I looked hot or thin or smart in a picture on a dating site wasn’t just a degrading question. It was a waste of my time.
This piece was written before the ongoing actors’ strike.
