“So, I have a challenge for you.”
I’m sitting on the couch scarfing pomegranate seeds and ice cream while my gentleman friend looks up from doing the crossword.
“I’d love to see you draw Sexy Lucy. I mean, if you want to. If you think it would be fun.”
I laugh through a mouthful of dessert. “What? Why?”
“Well, I saw you draw Happy Lucy today and that was really adorable, and I’ve seen Grumpy Lucy and Goofy Lucy and Tired Lucy, but you never seem to draw Sexy Lucy.”
Now, my gentleman friend is a smart cookie. He is perceptive and thoughtful and often gets me thinking about things I’ve become comfortable accepting at face value. I like him for this and many other reasons.
“That’s not…” I frown, trying to word my response properly.
He raises his hands “I mean, I get it. Cartoon Lucy is boats and comics and illustration, right?”
“Yeah but that’s not the whole of it. Cartoon Lucy is mostly cute and euphoric and goofy. She’s kind of a muppet. These are not characteristics that are divorced from who I actually am. They’re very accurate portrayals ofparts of me. But there’s also stuff I leave out. Stuff a lot of autobio cartoonists leave out.”
We go on to talk about it for a little while, but even after the conversation moves on to something else this question sticks with me. Why is it that all the autobio cartoonists I know (even the immensely sex-positive ones who spend the rest of their time drawing porn or sex toy reviews or even stories about making out with their younger selves) seem to avoid drawing themselvesas sex symbols? When we talk about sex or sexuality it’s either playful or sweet or educational or analytical or mortifying or just downright goofy, but rarely…sexy.
So very worth reading, and one of those moments when you read something and go that person’s a friend of mine and I am not worthy. Or, at least, you do if you’re me.