A few years ago I wrote a song titled Amanda Palmer’s Tits. You may have heard it, but if you haven’t, here’s a link: http://music.maiamadness.com/track/amanda-palmers-tits

So here’s the thing: I want to make a music video. I’ve wanted to do so for a long time, but I haven’t managed to work up the courage to do so until now. For this video idea to work, though, I need tits. Lots of them.

I need big tits, small tits, girl tits, boy tits, trans tits, mastectomy scars, single tits, pairs of tits, group shot tits, saggy tits, perky tits, young tits, old tits, natural tits, silicone tits, pregnant tits, breastfeeding tits. Basically, if you have or have had tits of any kind, (if you’re a human being, basically), I want a picture of your tits. Bonus if your tit shot also shows armpit hair, though this is not a requirement; whether you shave your pits or not, I still want your tits. Picture quality matters not, as long as it’s possible to tell what you’re looking at. If you want to send video, that’s cool too. At no point will I use your face along with your tits, so anonymity is guaranteed.

What you get: MY ETERNAL GRATITUDE!!! The love of a grateful artist. Also a credit in the video, if you want it, real name or alias of your choosing. If you don’t want anyone to recognise your name, you’ll be credited as anonymous tit donor or something like that. Please don’t send a shot if you’re under 18, though, cause that’s hella illegal.

This sounds like a seriously weird request, I know. I promise I’m not some creep who just wants a bunch of nude pics. I mean, I like nude pics, but this really is for art. Because the craziest thing in this crazy world of ours is how scared people seem to be of tits. Why?? Why are tits more shocking than all the violence, all the wars, all the pain in the world? And why is it okay to use tits to sell all manner of unrelated things, but when women use their tits for their own purposes, of their own volition, owning their own bodies, it’s suddenly not okay?

So, if you agree, please help me! Help me make my music video!

Photos can be e-mailed to maia@maiamadness.com Feel free to also e-mail if you have any questions or concerns.

I love you!

Maia

I have many friends who have at one point or another changed their names. Some did it because they couldn’t stand the name they were given by their parents.

The daughter of a friend told her mother when she was fourteen, ‘I just never felt like a Rose. From now on, I’d like you to call me Elinore instead.’ It took her mother a while to process. At first, she felt hurt. Why didn’t her daughter like the name she had chosen for her? But then she realised how arrogant it was of her to try and dictate her daughter’s identity. This had nothing to do with her. It was about her daughter’s feelings. Soon after, they had her daughter’s name legally changed. I wish all stories like this ended that way.

I also have friends who have changed their names because they changed or are changing their gender or gender identity. Some have changed their name legally, while others simply ask that others call them by their new chosen name.

One thing that all these people have in common, whatever the reason for their name change, is that someone at some point has told them or will tell them, often repeatedly, that, ‘I got to know you as [insert old name here], so that’s what I’ll call you.’

The pure arrogance in this statement astounds me. How anyone can behave with so little respect towards another human being and their identity is beyond me. It’s worse yet when it’s family or old, close friends. How can you say to a person you’re supposed to love that their identity means jack-shit to you?

Names matter. Our identities as people are closely tied up into what we call ourselves. I’m lucky. I’ve always been a Maia, and I’ve felt happy with that name. I can’t imagine ever being legally called anything else, though I’ve always enjoyed nicknames. If I were to change my gender, odds are I’d still be Maia. Maia is me. I am Maia. End of. If someone were to rob me of my name, refuse me the right to that identity, it would be soul crushing to me, and if someone misspells my name or calls me something else, like Maria or Mia or whatever, I correct them.

When a person changes their name, for whatever reason, it is usually because that’s what they want people to call them. Because Shakespeare was right and wrong all at once. What’s in a name? Nothing, and everything.

On the one hand, names are identifiers. That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but we still call it a rose. That’s how we identify that particular flower. But on the other hand, names are also identity markers. Maybe the rose doesn’t feel like a rose. Maybe the rose would rather be called Tulip, because that’s the name it most closely identifies with. Maybe the label of rose feels stifling to it. If the rose tells you it would rather be called a tulip, then call it a fucking tulip!

To you, another person’s name is an identifier. It’s how you in conversation are able to gather about whom someone is talking. But to that person, their name is an identity marker. It is a tool through which they can begin to communicate who they are. The first step to getting to know them. And that matters.

I cannot stress this enough: Another person’s identity matters more than your habits and your comfort! This is not about you. If your child wants to change their name, they’re not doing it to spite you, they’re doing it because it’s what feels right to them. If your friend comes up to you and says, ‘I am no longer Mary. I am now Jack,’ then you can damn well change your habit and call them Jack, because their right to their identity trumps your comfort with it. It. Is. Not. About. You!

And they shouldn’t have to explain themselves to you. They shouldn’t have to explain why this matters to them, why their old name feels wrong, why they want to be called something else. You should just accept it. If you love them, you should respect them enough to say, ‘Of course. Your name is Jack now.’ And no one’s gonna blame you if you slip up and call them Mary every once in a while. Just acknowledge your mistake and move on, and try to do better next time.

And for the love of Talos, don’t introduce Jack as Mary. Introduce Jack as Jack. Because that’s their name. If Jack ever decides that they were a Mary after all, they’ll let you know.

To all my friends, I would like to make a promise. I will call you whatever the fuck you want me to, because I respect your identity. And if someone calls you by the wrong name, if they misgender you or otherwise misidentify you in some way, I will correct them (unless you ask me not to), because other people should respect your identity as well. And if you ever need someone to explain to someone else how fucked up it is of them to refuse to acknowledge your identity, I will always be there to help. Because your identity trumps my habits. Your identity trumps other people’s comfort. It is not about us.

It is about you.

(Names have been changed for the sake of anonymity and irony.)