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“
She said my other photographs had a pervy feel, and she was almost impressed that such a young woman would come out with something this nasty. She said, based on both the work and my writing around it, I had a contemptuous attitude towards my models. I clearly saw them as interchangeable, disposable objects. She asked me if I hated men, or if I liked men and hated that I liked them so much.
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I looked in the mirror a lot during this time. The body I once recognised as my own had melted away. Who was this creature beneath the fat? At the time, I failed to recognise her as my best self. I thought she was nothing like a real girl. I thought she looked like something a pervert imagined; something a twelve-year-old boy doodled in the back of a notebook.
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