The Domiciles Project



The works below are presented as they have been submitted by the artists. We do not censor the submissions, but ask participants to be mindful that content will be viewed by people of all ages. Inappropriate material will be removed.

Amber Swenson May 23, 2016
English Domiciles Project
My name is Sara. I’m a teenaged girl who goes to Shaker High School. I live in Latham, New York. Most of the people in Latham have money. My family and I don’t have much, so I can’t afford new clothes. It’s the weekend before prom and all my friends are getting their hair done and I can’t. A boy asked me to prom, but I can’t afford to buy a dress, or a ticket to prom. I don’t have money to get my hair or makeup done. I hate missing this just because all the girls have to look so perfect that day.
I remember wanting to be like the Barbie Dolls that I had as a kid. When I was little I wanted to play with my Barbie Dolls and I thought they were so pretty and had the coolest clothes. Barbie is skinny with blonde hair and blue eyes; the epitome of perfection. When I look at magazines I see actresses and models and other celebrities, like Beyonce, who everyone thinks is hot and all the guys want. I feel as though in order to be perfect you need to have money. Our culture sells an idea of beauty in the makeup we wear, the clothes we wear, the style we have. The advertising is making us feel bad about ourselves.
In all reality, I want to feel perfect. I couldn’t help myself, but I keep vomiting, Some people thought I was pregnant, or that I was very sick. Now that I’m older, I’m the teenager that’s puking over the toilet trying to make myself be perfect, thinking to myself, “Would I have gotten that job if I was as perfect as Barbie?” All of this vomiting isn’t leading me to perfection. I know that it’s wrong but I can’t help it. When I eat something, I feel as though I’m poisoning myself. I have a fan to keep the smell out and mask the noise so noone will know what I am doing. I am ashamed.
My name is Sara, I am bulimic and I feel terrible about myself. Seeing all of these pretty girls around outside and everywhere I go makes me feel imperfect. With all the makeup they wear, the fancy clothes they have, the nice hair, and shoes, they have bought perfection. When I look at myself I don’t look at myself as perfect, I look at myself as a piece of garbage.

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