A black-and-white photo of a person mid-air in a Superman-style body suspension pose, supported by multiple hooks in their back and legs, smiling joyfully toward the camera. They are suspended horizontally in a large indoor space with high ceilings and visible rigging. A group of onlookers—some seated, some standing—watch with expressions of admiration, amusement, and support. The atmosphere is lively and communal, capturing a moment of shared experience and transformation.
  • Meet the Makers: Modern Mood Body Jewelry

    When Modern Mood Body Jewelry founders Monica Bern and Michelle Ma started working together at a fine jewelry store, they never expected to wind up running their own body jewelry business. But after a very successful visit to the Tucson Gem Show and inspiration from the ear constellation trend, they started down the path to creating today’s Modern Mood: a playful, minimalist jewelry brand built for mixing and matching. 

    I talked to Michelle and Monica about starting Modern Mood, the transition to body jewelry, and their creative process. 

    This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

    BME:

    How did you first break into the jewelry industry?

    Michelle:

    For me the jewelry journey began because of my mom. She was a ceramic artist, and she helped me explore and study art. I ended up going to the University of Georgia for jewelry making and metalsmithing, and I got my bachelor’s of fine art there. Then, my first nice job out of college was working at a local jewelry store, where I met Monica.

    Monica:

    I was always interested in jewelry as a kid. Looking back at old photos, I always had layers of necklaces on, whether it was like made from string, or — I remember this one colorful ring that I used to wear that had a bunch of different colors of stones. I don’t know if they were real. My grandmother was very into jewelry as well. Her birthday was in April, so she was very interested in diamonds, and I always had an interest in it, too. And when I found out that you could go and become a gemologist, I was like, “oh, this can make my rock-tumbling dreams of being a kid come true.” Every day could be a fun time with gemstones. So I worked with a diamond dealer for a little bit, and after that I went and worked at the fine jewelry store, which is where I met Michelle.

    BME:

    How did you go from working together to starting your own jewelry company?

    Michelle:

    I had been there for four years and Monica had been there for about two. We sat next to each other, and both of us, while it was a beautiful environment, it just wasn’t really satisfying our needs of wanting to be creative. So after a long while, our boss gave us a little bit of budget to go buy some jewelry for the store, and we were really excited, because it was one of the very first times we were allowed to pick and choose what we were selling on the floor. Our interaction was different than how it was in the office, where we kind of worked side by side on our own projects. Here we had to work together to pick and choose the right kind of jewelry, make sure we stayed in the budget. We realized that we didn’t fight once, and we worked so well together. So then I asked her, would you like to be my business partner?

    Monica:

    And I said yes! It was on our way back from the Tucson Gem Show. I was driving, and Michelle’s like, “do you want to work together, like be my business partner?” I’m like “absolutely.” We were still working at the jewelry store at the time, and after hours we would meet up at my house and do Modern Mood.

    BME:

    Based on your website, you started out with non-body jewelry, right? Fine jewelry. How did you transition to body jewelry?

    Michelle:

    Our experience was always in fine jewelry, and we worked with some gorgeous things, like 10-carat diamonds engagement rings, watches that are like $100,000. We grew appreciation for those things. Antique jewelry that people came to sell, estate jewelry and watches, so those things were some of our favorites. We started to sell our own regular jewelry, necklaces, bracelets, rings, and non-body jewelry earrings. 

    I think it was around 2017, 2018 that’s when the ear constellation was really in a full swing, and Monica and I, we personally wanted to get our ears curated. It really caught our attention and we really like dainty, sparkly things. So we wanted those stacked looks. We brought our designs to a local piercer, Marilyn Mena-Scott at HTC Uptown, and she said, “Well, those designs are really cute, but no, you cannot get pierced with them.” She showed us how threadless jewelry is supposed to look, so then we made a few batches. We sent it to her, and all of the pins broke. The first few batches, we just worked on perfecting it, and for about a year, they’re the ones that carried our jewelry exclusively. After about a year, we felt confident that we now had a product that works well and is also pretty, so Monica started visiting different studios one by one.

    Monica:

    At the time I had just moved to Ohio, so I went to Ohio and Michigan, and met with some people. One of my friends lives in New York, or she did at the time, and so I did some cold calling there, and a few people really liked it, it was well received. So then we went from there, and Michelle and I started going on the road as much as we could until Covid hit. That’s when we took a little break from the traveling. People were mostly online, which is still the case, but we do still travel and see people.

    Michelle:

    Oh, and I do want to mention that in 2019 we went to the [Association of Professional Piercers] conference in Vegas for the first time. We wanted to see what it’s all about. To be honest with you, we weren’t very exposed to the body modification world, other than some facial piercings, ear piercings, and such. So when we did go there, we were obviously stunned and fascinated, and there was so much to learn, and we loved the vibe.

    Monica:

    Yeah, it was really cool. I remember seeing some slides from the classes, and like, my jaw was on the floor. It’s like, wow, like, that is so cool, and that people are so passionate about it, and it makes them feel so good, and themselves. It was awesome. 

    And speaking of feeling themselves, working at that really nice jewelry store, while it exposed us to great customer service — how to work with jewelry, jewelry manufacturing, and all that — we had to put ourselves on a very specific standard. We had to look a certain way, we couldn’t have colorful hair, or even nails that are anything beyond white or red. Anything else is kind of looked down upon, and I had to wear blazers, work pants, and things like that. And we really missed just dressing for fun.

    Now, we can go to our meetings and whatever we want to wear, we can wear. If we’re feeling like getting dressed up, cool. If we want to wear leisure stuff, great. I think both of us really like that part of the industry, not having to be in that tiny little box all the time.

    BME:

    So, as you transitioned into body jewelry, what did you find challenging?

    Monica:

    I think, because we are not piercers, at first, people were like, “well, why should we buy from you?” Like, you’re not a piercer, you’re not from the body modification industry, type of thing. So we basically were like, we don’t claim to be that, and we want to learn as much as possible. We leaned on people within the industry to educate us, and we honed in on designs that we were good at. What we care about is good quality and these designs, and [piercers] can show us what the specifications are, how to make it safe and all these things. I think being more of a listener and a spectator, to this day, there are certain things that we reach out to close friends of ours in the industry to just say, “hey, we’re making this piece, what do you think about it? We like the way it looks, but how do you think it will function on the body?”

    Michelle:

    Another challenge is that the standards are constantly evolving as more medical things and more discoveries are made. So the challenge is that we not only need to keep a good standard, we always need to be on the lookout to renew ourselves. And on top of that, each piercer might have a certain preference and the standard varies a little bit from studio to studio and piercer to piercer. One example is that some piercers do not like to have any engraving on the side of the jewelry, even if it’s not touching the skin. We definitely keep the back of the designs solid, mirror finish, no texture, no engraving whatsoever. But for brand verification purposes — and sometimes verifying between natural diamonds and lab-grown diamonds quickly —  we do engrave “14 kt”, our logo, and maybe “L” for lab grown or “N” for natural, or CZ for CZs. We’ve had a few clients say, “Hey I don’t want to work with any jewelry that has engraving on the side,” so we have exchanged the jewelry for the ones that don’t have any engraving. We have always been able to find a solution, but we’re not expecting there to be no challenge in our upcoming future, we’re always ready for it.

    BME:

    In terms of brand verification, I know you’ve dealt with some copycat designs. What is it like as an artist to see your work copied?

    Michelle:

    It’s tough. Definitely doesn’t feel great. From contacting some of those companies directly asking for clarification, we have found out that there are some people who, one, just doesn’t care, or, two, they are not making their own designs — they’re just whitelabeling designs from certain manufacturers. They have told us, “hey, we did not know that this was a copy of your jewelry, we will stop selling this.” 

    We know that their goal is different than ours. Our goal is to have as many of our pieces be as unique as possible. I go to clothing boutiques sometimes and don’t care — or don’t know, because I’m not that well-versed in fashion — I just pick up a top, think it’s cute, and then maybe later I find out, “oh, this looks like a dupe of xyz.” If I wanted something really unique and authentic, then I would do a little bit more research and go to that specific boutique for that one thing. It’s just a different platform. 

    It’s interesting, it’s kind of been picking up a little bit more lately. It felt a little bit different seeing our designs being copied from places like Etsy, where they turn it into regular jewelry or they don’t have a ton of brand identity. Then there are some other body jewelry companies that are our contemporaries that are like, you know, millimeter-by-millimeter, and so that feels a little bit more uncomfortable. 

    But Monica, you have a good point on how teeny-tiny designs that just involve one or two gemstones, there’s only so many variations.

    Monica:

    And we try and put our own spin on everything. Where if you were to look at it, that finish is definitely Modern Mood, or whatever it is. But there is going to be some crossover, I think, just like in anything. But overall, we try and keep on designing and finding other pieces, and just keep going, because there’s really nothing we can, not much we can do about it.

    BME:

    So speaking about your designs, how do you find inspiration? What’s the process from initial idea to finish?

    Michelle:

    Especially at the very beginning stage of our company, we just wanted to stay as minimal and tiny as possible, because our goal is to be able to stack jewelry for the ear constellation. We were maybe using between one to five gemstones total for each design. Clean, high-polish, still very high-end looking, because that’s where we were coming from culture wise. Then it evolved into a little bit more dangle, we started making a lot more charms and chains maybe five or six years in. That’s become a big part of our identity, too, something playful. 

    Monica:

    Since we do have that Modern Mood DNA, a lot of our limited designs do have that essence, too, but because those gems are not cut in bulk or anything like that, it’s a fun way to do some other things that maybe we can’t do with all of our core designs.

    Michelle:

    Yeah, because they’re larger and colorful and that’s not typical for our collection per se, but we really do love designing with those gemstones. Especially you, Monica, you come from the gemology background and we’re just gaga over every little gemstone we find at the gem show, it’s fun.

    Monica:

    It’s so fun. And Michelle had mentioned before, but we really love all the different things that gemstones do, phenomena, like cat’s eye, or lighting up red under fluorescent light, or whatever it is. Those special things that, maybe if you just bought the piece, you wouldn’t know, but then you’re out one night and you’re under a light and it’s red. I feel like those things, some people seek them out and other people find out after a while, like, “oh, my jewelry does this cool things that I didn’t know it did before.”

    BME:

    I think that’s something really cool about gems, there are so many different natural formations.

    Michelle:

    Yeah, and jewelry itself is such a personal thing. The more we make jewelry and we hear how the end customer is using their jewelry for themselves, when we design engagement rings or a little name necklace we sometimes make for our friends and family, it’s all about the feelings. And each gemstone, if it’s somebody’s birthstone, you have a unique emotional attachment to it, and it’s literally as unique and personal as it gets. And that makes it even more fun for us.

    BME:

    How would you describe the vibe of Modern Mood?

    Monica:

    Sparkly. Happy. Dangly. Movement.

    Michelle:

    Yeah. Like, it’s a mood.

    BME:

    Your design perspective definitely really comes across, I feel like your pieces are very identifiable. 

    Last question: do you have a favorite gemstone?

    Michelle:

    We love a natural diamond. I think diamonds are perfect. I’ve had my engagement and wedding ring for 11 years, and every time I look at them, I get lost in it. And the fact that it’s all natural too, there’s no one that’s the same. In some ways they are all unique, so I love that.

    Monica:

    I’ve got to say diamond as well, I’m on that same page. They’re just really special, and the fact that they do come out of the ground. I know my [diamond’s] inclusion, I’m like, okay, this is mine, it has that little thing in it.

    Michelle:

    And a little diamond sprinkle on any design elevates everything.


  • Meet the Makers: Brien 9 Fingers

    Can’t find the jewelry you need? Why not make it? That’s how Brien (Brien 9 Fingers) got started making glass jewelry 12 years ago. Now, he’s a full-time glassworker who makes custom pieces, single-flare plugs, and pendants, including piercing-inspired pieces like pendants with needles or acrylic body jewelry. Glass plugs are a staple in jewelry cases or for anyone with larger gauge piercings, so I talked to Brien about how he got started making them, how it grew into a business, and what he likes about glassworking.

    This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

    BME:

    Diving right in — what did you get into first, body jewelry or glassmaking?

    Brien:

    II got into glass specifically to make body jewelry. I pierced my cheeks initially at a 14 gauge and I had them for 18 months, then decided to retire them and go bigger. We were going to start at two gauge, seven millimeters was the goal. So I went to the [Association of Professional Piercers] Expo two years in a row, I talked to some other makers, and a conch pin was like the closest thing that I could find in stone.

    I had a friend who was a pipe maker, and I hit him up, and I was like, “Hey, man, these are the exact dimensions I’m looking for” —  I remember buying him a metal digital caliper — “the flare’s got to be nine millimeters and the wearable has to be seven mil.” He gave it a try, and he ended up bringing me a whole bunch of things that were just comically out of spec. The flare on one of them was like the size of my thumb, all over the board. He finally got fed up — he’s a very free-form pipe maker, glass artist, the glass is going to be the size and shape that it wants to be, and so he was like, “you can come out and you can play around with rods on the bench and see if you can figure it out.” 

    It took me quite a few tries to make anything that even resembled a plug. My first pair of plugs, I found this rod on the bench that was perfectly seven millimeters, but it was a striking red color, so it starts clear and the more you flame work it over time, it develops more color and turns red. If you do this nice and evenly, it turns a transparent ruby. If you overwork it, it turns into a muddy brown red. It was my first time making anything, I overworked the hell out of it. [The plugs] looked blood colored. My first set of cheek plugs were like an inch long, they looked like catfish antennae, and they were just this terrible blood-red color. But I made them, and I was proud of them, because they fit the way they were supposed to. And then from then on I was figuring out how to make plugs.

    BME:

    It sounds like you got into it out of necessity, almost.

    Brien:

    Yeah, I couldn’t find what I was looking for, and it didn’t seem too hard to make. The equipment is what ended up being the biggest barrier. I worked in [my friends’] shop for quite some time, but saving up and buying all of the equipment needed to do it myself took years and years.

    BME:

    I’m sure there’s a lot involved, but can you give me a rundown of the basic equipment?

    Brien:

    Yeah, so I’ve got my torch and my kiln. My torch is a GTT samurai, it’s like a $4,000 torch, but I can do everything, from little tiny three mil plugs up to a two-inch, solid rod on that. I also have a lathe that spins the glass evenly for me, for making the cleanest flares and all that. The kiln is probably one of the bigger ones you can get of small, cheap kilns. I think my kiln was like $2,000 and for body jewelry, I can tile as much body jewelry as I can make in that thing. It’s mostly made for small vessels and trinkets, so body jewelry doesn’t take up a lot of space in it. 

    BME:

    Going a bit further back, can you tell me how you first got into body modification?

    Brien:

    I worked counter in quite a few tattoo and piercing shops. From an early age, I was always told that, like, piercing my ears was okay, but anything else was not okay. So I never pierced my ears, I only just recently, six months ago, finally pierced my ears for the first time. I jumped in for the face immediately when I was 16, I was like freshly kicked out of the house, and by the time I was 17, my lip on either side was stretched to like two gauge. When I finally stretched them that big, the angles that they were pierced at — because I got them both independently pierced when I was young and dumb — you could tell that they were off, so like I retired those ones. I had my cheeks done small, and cheeks done small were probably the worst piercing that I ever had. They abscessed. They felt sharp after a long day of smiling. It felt like my cheeks were just like cut up from all of the friction. One of the piercers that we had there, he was big into body mods, and his name’s Eric, hardcore piercer, he’s got implants all over his arms and stuff, and he was like, “you know, we could do them big,” and I was like, “man, what do you think about that?” And he’s like, “I don’t know, I mean, big things tend to heal better,” and I was open to that, so he ended up doing my cheeks at a two gauge. Then he did my philtrum at a two gauge.

    BME:

    It’s so counterintuitive that bigger things heal better.

    Brien:

    Yeah, the way that it was always explained to me is like, if you heal something small, your body kind of thinks of it like a splinter, where it’s gonna exert as much energy as it can to push that tiny little thing out. But if you get something giant lodged in your arm, your body’s gonna heal around it. I don’t know, it always seemed to work, and I’ve had a lot of people be like ‘cheek piercings are not viable in the long term,’ and I’m like, I don’t know, I’m going on 10 years and I don’t really have a single problem with them.

    BME:

    Well, that sounds pretty long term to me. 

    So, after you started making jewelry, how did you get to a point where you were selling to other people as well?

    Brien:

    When I was working counter and I was starting to make plugs, I was doing everything by hand and I had a few local people that I was selling to. But I just wasn’t scalable in the beginning until I ended up getting the lathe. Once I got the lathe, I had a few friends that were opening shops and didn’t yet have accounts with all of the bigger names, and so they reached out and were like, “Hey, I’m looking for an initial inventory for my shop, is that something that you would do?” And so it was small business helping small maker, and I kind of got into it that way, and then word of mouth has just slowly spread.

    BME:

    That’s great.

    Brien:

    Yeah, and now it’s been my full-time gig for like eight years now. I’ve been blowing glass for 12, but full time for about eight … It was definitely a ramp up. The thing about being a small business owner is I’m also new at marketing and photography and social media. There’s all of these facets to it that I never really thought I would be as much into as I am now. It’s a learning curve being like, okay, now you have to be the marketing guy, and you have to figure out what time posts do best, and like what format the media does best in for marketing. I’m getting a lot better at photography. Glass is notoriously hard to photograph, but I’m slowly figuring it out.

    BME:

    So, in addition to plugs, I know you make those needle pendants and other types of piercing-related non-body jewelry. When did you start doing that?

    Brien:

    The needle pendants actually started, I think 2017 and I did them kind of as an impromptu fundraiser to help raise money to go to Oslo Suscon. I did a big drop of them and I  sold out, I sold like 75 of them. There’s a picture on my Instagram of me holding a receipt that’s as tall as I am at the post office, grinning like crazy. Then they were just on my website for a long time, and they didn’t get much traction. Then I started doing them again as a monthly drop, and now that’s it’s a monthly drop, they sell out pretty fast every month.

    BME:

    I saw you also did two other things — the acrylic body jewelry and titanium shavings.

    Brien:

    [My partner] Lynn and I went and toured Body Circle, and we’re walking around, and Lynn was just like enamored with the shiny titanium scrap and these big buckets, and was like, “Brian, you should encase that,” and I was like, “okay,” and Lynn asked, “hey, do you think we could get like a little bit of that for Brian to encase?” and they gave us like a 55-gallon garbage bag full. It’s been a lot of fun. 

    It’s kind of a process with that. I learned what titanium fires are like, because when titanium catches on fire, it requires a special fire extinguisher. Once it catches on fire, it just doesn’t stop burning until it burns itself out, which is pretty quick in the small amounts that I’m using to encase. But if you accidentally catch it on fire while it’s sealing in, you just have to set it in the water bucket and look away.

    BME:

    I didn’t even know it could catch on fire.

    Brien:

    Oh, yeah, it doesn’t usually, but it only does because it’s such thin shavings, it’s basically just it hits its flash point super low. But they’re super fun. They catch the light really well. It’s kind of a piercing nerd thing because it kind of looks like steel wool, and you know, you’ll have to explain what it is to people.

    BME:

    It’s a cool piece, I like the nerd explanation.

    Brien:

    The piercer nerds love it, and the cool thing about it is that because it’s scrapped from [Body Circle’s] turning process, there will be, you know, a half-finished labret post in there, or like a circular that’s got threads sticking off of it, or random little chunks of body jewelry that didn’t make it.

    BME:

    That’s cool. And it sounds like you have a lot of scrap to work with.

    Brien:

    Yeah, it has to go through a process because it’s covered in machining oil when I get it, so I have to run it through the ultrasonic cleaner with alcohol to get all of that off. Otherwise, as soon as the tube gets warm at all, that machining oil turns jet black in the tube, and it just smokes out the inside. So there’s a lot of little trial and error with that.

    BME:

    WSounds like it. But the final result is very cool!

    Brien:

    Thank you! And then, the acrylic one, that was Lynn’s brainchild. Lynn was like, “there’s got to be a way you can encase a bunch of old crappy jewelry,” and that one turned out really fun, they’re really bright and vibrant, things we can’t do in modern body jewelry because we know better.

    BME:

    Right? Unfortunate that we can’t get some of that vibrancy, but the pendants sound like the next best thing. Is it tough to avoid melting the acrylic pieces?

    Brien:

    Some of them do melt, and there’s a small amount of artistic “is that okay at the bottom?” I’d say there’s probably about a 40% fail rate with those, because their melt temperature is like 110 which is just so incredibly low with everything else that I’m sealing in. The whole tube can stand to get to about 400 degrees before any sort of tarnishing or discoloring happens, but yeah, with the acrylic, you’ll watch it as it’s, as it’s sealing in, you’re just like, “oh, that one’s a little too soft,” and then as it sets, sometimes it’ll make a cute little puddle on the bottom of it, where it all looks like it’s just melting cleanly. And then sometimes it’ll just all kind of turned black, and, melty.

    BME:

    Hazard of the medium, I guess.

    Brien:

    Yeah, but like there’s other things I’ve done, moss encapsulations, I do the coyote teeth and moss, and again it’s a learning process. I never thought that I would know what burning teeth smell like, but like we live, we learn, we figure out our processes.

    BME:

    I think it’s cool the diversity of things you’ve encapsulated.

    Brien:

    Thank you. It’s a simple technique to do, and a hard technique to do cleanly. When I started encapsulating things, my tubes were super extra long to try and keep the heat away from the things, and now I feel like I’m able to get them really short and tight and controlled, especially when I’m sealing matches. It’s really fun.

    BME:

    As you’ve been doing all of this, is there anything you’ve found unexpectedly difficult when it comes to body jewelry specifically?

    Brien:

    Custom body jewelry is tricky. The thing I love and hate about body jewelry is that there is no standard. I’ll have people be like, “hey I just need a pair of plugs for my ears, whatever is standard,” and it’s just like, I don’t know what that means. Somebody ordering a pair of six millimeter plugs from me, standard for some people is a quarter inch wearable, and standard for other people is a half inch or more wearable, and there is sort of an industry agreed upon, acceptable length, but it also tends to be a little bit long for most people, because it’s safe, it’ll fit. One of the most difficult things is getting people to figure out their own measurements, so that I can make the thing that they actually need. It’s also really rewarding, though. That’s like one of my favorite things about making body jewelry, is being able to make something that actually fits somebody like it needs to.

    BME:

    Right, the pros and cons of making it to size.

    Brien:

    The long and short of it is that measuring yourself is hard, and measuring what you need and want versus what you’re wearing can be difficult to get. Even for professional piercers, it can be trying, but that’s one of the unexpected difficulties, because if I make something standard, there’s still like a 50/50 chance that it won’t fit, because what they needed was not a standard plug.

    BME:

    Yeah, you can only have a standard if there’s a standard ear or whatever, and there isn’t. 

    So, the opposite of that question, what have you found most rewarding or fun as you’ve done this?

    Brien:

    I actually really like the monotony of making runs of single flare plugs. It’s almost zen-like to sit down and, like, today I’m making three-millimeter plugs, and I’m going to make them in clear and black and green and yellow, and just sitting down, and making every one to spec. I thought that I would hate that part, because it seems like just monotonous labor, but it’s really rewarding to watch the little pile of what you’re making grow in the kiln.


  • Crying in the Cube

    Before my suspension at the Ontario Suspension Convention, I asked my facilitators not to let anyone photograph me if I was crying. I had never cried during a suspension before, so I said it with an off-handed “it probably won’t happen, but just in case,” and felt somewhat silly for even saying it.

    A little over an hour later, I was lying on a massage table and sobbing hysterically into a piece of gauze. My legs were barely elevated, but the hooks felt excruciating. As one so often does during the roughest moment of a suspension, I began questioning the series of decisions that led me there.

    I had been wanting to do a scorpion for six months, at least. My home suspension group works outside and we hadn’t managed to make it happen before winter came. I’m oblivious to discomfort once I get up and into my suspension headspace, but I’d feel bad hanging for an hour if my friends were freezing their asses off to keep me safe. So I waited.

    When Lynn Loheide, floor coordinator for OSC (and all-around lovely person), reached out to me to confirm what I wanted to do at susCon, I was amused to re-discover that the only guidance I had given on the registration form was “static, cube, many hooks.” I said I was thinking of doing a scorpion, and they asked if I was thinking of doing it in the cube. I very much wasn’t — I had forgotten that I had requested a cube suspension at all — but as soon as Lynn asked, I was definitely doing it, despite their warning that getting up in that position is an ordeal. For weeks, I chanted “scorp in the cube” in my head to hype myself up. It had been about nine months since my last suspension, a 1 a.m. two-point back on July 5th that lasted only a few minutes due to dizziness, a predictable outcome after too many hours of not eating. It wasn’t disappointing, per se, I was excited by being able to pick my feet up rather than being lifted into the air. But my previous suspension, elbows at last year’s OSC, ended up short for similar reasons. My very first suspension was an hour-long, peaceful meditation, and I was itching to return to that headspace. Leading up to my scorpion-to-be, I was as rested, well-fed, and hydrated as I’ve ever been. My plan was to get up and stay up until I was good and ready to come down.

    I suspended Saturday evening, on the second day of the susCon. It had been a good, if emotionally challenging, day. I had made a minor mistake on a suspension I was assisting on, someone corrected me, and though nothing bad happened, a familiar wave of shame washed over me. I stayed composed and focused on the suspendee until they were down and in post, but when the person who caught my mistake came up to debrief, I lost it. I told them I appreciated their correction and that I felt stupid for crying, and they told me it was okay and hugged me. When I talked to the lead facilitator (after crying some more in the bathroom), they said almost everyone had had a similar response to correction at some point, and that the experience shouldn’t spook me away from helping on more suspensions that weekend. My overly self-shaming and emotional response to necessary, respectful critique was a trauma response I was frustrated to still be encountering so many years into working on it. The non-judgmental compassion and validation with which others treated me was an affirmation that I could both make mistakes and be “overly” sensitive without having others look down on me or losing my place among them. These two facts together completed the strange rollercoaster of working through emotional dysregulation — trigger, response, repair — and I ended up no worse for wear, though I had thoroughly cried my makeup off.

    Two hours later, I was lying on a massage bed in the cube, feeling generally stable and surprisingly calm. Everything was pre-rigged, but I spent a long while lying on the table before being pierced — some issue with the hooks they had pulled, I think. I was half-sleeping for most of it, as my narcolepsy medication had worn off hours before. I heard without processing the snatches of conversation and crinkling of sterile packaging around me. Despite the wait, the time to get pierced came faster than I expected, as it always seems to.

    I like getting pierced. Or, at least, I thought I did. I’m not so sure anymore, but when my suspension team asked how I wanted to be pierced, I confidently told them I wanted to take the hooks one by one. During my past suspensions, it had been easy for me and helped me get into the experience. I had taken four hooks one by one during my first suspension, and felt pretty sure the eight they had planned for me would be painful, sure, but ultimately not too bad.

    As I always do, I felt a jolt of nerves when the tip of the needle lightly pressed against my skin. As I always do, I went ahead with the piercing anyway. Unlike the previous back hooks I’d taken, this hurt. It’s not like the others had tickled, but this pain was more in every way, maybe made worse by the fact that I thought I knew what I was expecting.

    After catching my breath, I asked — completely casually, with absolutely no apprehension in my voice — if they were using 4 gauge gilson hooks. Yep! And I had three more to go. Plus four black sheeps in my legs. While four 4 gauge hooks is overkill for what I was doing, it was Saturday evening and many of the day’s hooks had been used already, so 4 gauge it was.

    At this point, the thought crossed my mind to ask for another piercer to join in so I didn’t have to do the rest of my hooks one at a time. Unfortunately for myself, I’m nothing if not exceedingly stubborn, so onto the next hook we went.

    Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Bright flashes of pain as the needle passed through my skin, always taking longer than I hoped. Dull burning radiating out in the seconds after my hooks were in. I allowed myself a moment to feel accomplished for conquering the back hooks before turning to the task of enduring my leg hooks. Thankfully, they were less unpleasant than the back, with my thighs hurting more than my calves. I’d never felt the psychological exhaustion of repeated pain spikes before, but this was draining, and the real challenge was yet to come.

    Tensioning my back was easy. Comfortable, even. But my legs needed to go from flat on the table to, ideally, vertical (spoiler: that didn’t happen). As soon as the tensioning started, I realized getting there would be a lot harder than I anticipated. I had taken knee hooks before, once, but in a position that allowed me to control the tension myself and ease off gently. There was little gentleness here.

    I buried my face in my arms, turned off my carefully-curated playlist. Pain makes the world overwhelming. I asked my facilitators to add tiny bits of tension. I’m always conscious of how quickly — or slowly — I’m progressing, and each time tension was added, I waited until the pain was unbearable to say “stop.” After a few breaths, it dulled, but never felt manageable. I felt a few tears escape onto the table, wiped my eyes. More tension on my legs, somehow still more pain. Sharp pain, enough to make me forget I even had hooks in my back.

    I don’t quite remember when I started properly crying. I think someone asked me how I was doing, and I said the only thing I could think: “It really hurts.” The words turned into a sob and I was suddenly crying, intensely.

    My facilitators asked if there was something wrong, if the tension was uneven, but no such luck — it felt exactly how it was supposed to feel, which was, apparently, excruciating.

    I had started doubting myself as soon as I felt the first needle, an unexpected blow of pain from the 4 gauge needle. My previous suspensions hadn’t been easy, per se: my elbows especially had been challenging, and I had a moment of doubt. But this was much worse, maybe because I had so little control over the pain. With my elbows or a back suspension, I could bend my knees and shift weight to my hooks gradually, and ease off if I needed. Here, it was mostly in my facilitators’ control. Almost as a reflex, I did try to arch my lower back to better support my legs and spare myself some pain, but the effect was probably negligible.

    I wondered if I had gotten myself into something I couldn’t handle. I had certainly underestimated it.

    But by this point, I had an opportunity to be reminded of why I love the suspension community. Kit, a facilitator I’d long admired, had noticed from across the room I was having a hard time. They came over and sat next to me, asked me how I was doing, and laid a comforting hand on mine. Or on my shoulder. It’s a blur. They handed me my water and another glucose tablet (orange, which is inarguably the tastiest). We talked, I complained, they distracted me. Eventually, I was ready for more tension.

    The cycle continued. A little bit more tension, a lot more pain, a few deep breaths, and repeat. In reality, my knees were only a few inches up from the table, but it felt like I must have lifted them much higher by that point. I could feel how much the drawn-out process was taking out of me, and eventually decided that good enough was good enough — wherever my legs were was where they’d stay. After all, we still needed to remove the table, another process which promised to be unpleasant at best.

    It was nothing if not a team effort, and I’m eternally grateful for the patience of the four (I think?) people who helped lower the table. Holding it awkwardly, they would slowly bring it down a few inches until I said stop, then hold it until I was ready again. I’m not sure how long it took — I was trying to be contentious of their physical effort, but pain does have a way of overriding such concerns.

    “It hurts so fucking bad,” I said to no one in particular.

    Someone whose name I didn’t know, standing to the right of my head, opposite Kit, responded that it usually does right before you get up. I knew this, I’d said it before, and yet I was comforted to hear it. This was probably the longest I’d ever been in such pain, and I knew that once I got up, it would all feel worthwhile. I knew calling it off was an option, but for me, it would have taken a completely unexpected, all-consuming, wrong-feeling pain or exhaustion to make me tap out. As long as I felt like I could maybe bear it, I would keep going. For me, suspension is about trusting myself enough to surrender to the experience, and I was willing to allow this one to take me wherever it led.

    Mercifully, the table-lowering was easier than tensioning my legs. Despite the pain and physical and mental exhaustion, I felt like I was nearing the end of this phase. I had been holding my chest up with my arms the whole time, but started allowing my back hooks to bear more of the weight. They were still surprisingly comfortable, and I was silently grateful for the larger-than-necessary gauge. The table receded, eventually pressing only against my elbows and stomach.

    And then it was gone, somehow sooner than I expected. The pain was dulled by the sheer relief I felt, and replaced by the euphoria which follows the end of enduring pain. I laughed and let my arms dangle. I talked to Lynn about how rough it felt getting up, and definitely appreciated their heads up about that particular challenge.

    Photo by Jon Marshall.

    The person doing my cheek spear came over to pierce me. It was easier than expected, and I settled into a comfortable silence, enduring the discomfort of swallowing every few minutes to avoid drooling (though, I’m sure, no one would have blamed me). This was the part of the experience I had been wanting to re-create, and the utter calm of suspending felt even stronger with the contrast of the difficult process of getting up. I heard suspensions going on around me, the floor quieting down as the night progressed. There’s not much to say, and that’s why I love it. It’s pure experience, pure being, both deeply attached to and disconnected from the world around you. My eyes are mostly closed when I suspend — I could almost be floating, tethered to my surroundings only by the reassuring thrum of activity that feels like pure love. In my spiritual moments, I think this must be what people mean when they say they’ve met God.

    I had started prepping around eight, but by the time I got down, it was about eleven. I spent about an hour up and immediately felt the stirrings of my joints’ complaints. By the next day, I was in so much pain I struggled to sit still. Bone-deep aching in my hips and knees that made it hard to focus on the immensely interesting classes — knot-tying, which I had been looking forward to, was hard to accomplish with my body screaming at me. I endured the morning, but retreated to bed when the suspension floor opened. I slept, woke up for dinner, and slept again. By the next day I was recovered enough to help with suspensions, though the aches would take a week to fully disappear. As often happens, the pain outlasted the fleeting bliss of suspending. I’ve stopped trying to explain why I suspend, at least in a way that makes sense to someone who hasn’t. How can it make sense that the calmest I’ve ever felt is an experience sandwiched between excruciating pain and unbearable aches? It doesn’t seem to, and yet, it must, or sense must be worth abandoning. I see the gleam of understanding when I talk to others who find peace in suspension, and I believe with absolute conviction the stories of suspension changing someone’s life, of showing them a way through. It feels like a raw, rare moment of full humanity, held by a community who I trust will embrace whatever emerges. In any other space, my tears would feel shameful, burdened by painful history. Held by friends and hooks, my tears feel sacred.


  • Laced up

    Corset piercings are a classic play piercing, and they never get old. This set by Dominick Burkett on Michi features two types of lace and golden chains to create a textured finish. Plus, a cool hat!


  • April is for SusCons

    This month has been big for the North American suspension community. It kicked off with 13 Hooks, a new event consisting of 5 days of suspension instruction from expert facilitators, and the opportunity to practice at the next event: the Ontario Suspension Collective’s second annual suspension convention.

    OSC SusCon

    Building on last years’ successful start, the OSC team, led by Kevin Donaghy, were back for a new and improved convention, this time in Toronto proper. Like last year, the mornings were filled with diverse class offerings ranging from basic knot-tying to preventing burnout to planning for wilderness suspensions. While every suspension offered a chance to learn, the SuspenDC team also offered a dedicated learning suspension on Saturday for those looking for a more in-depth breakdown of an experienced facilitator’s process.

    Also new this year was the Orbitron, a gyroscope ride rigged out for suspension by the legendary Jason Lejudis, who was present throughout the event. The Orbitron has been hiding out in a storage unit since 2017, and this SusCon marks what will hopefully be an ongoing presence. 

    First in the Orbitron was experienced suspendee and facilitator Bunny, whose love of spinning both on and off hooks made the contraption an intriguing — if intimidating — choice. 

    “When I first started suspending, I had a friend at the time who had a bunch of old videos from Meccas … I saw the Orbitron on one of those videos, and I saw [her] in it, and I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I said, ‘If I ever had the chance, even if I was scared shitless, I was going to try,’” Bunny said. “It’s very contradicting. You’re looking at something that looks to the normal eye, terrifying, like torture … But even though she was obviously screaming in her video, she looked just so light, she looked so at peace, even though she was screaming. Looking at it, it made me feel like it was a beautiful feeling, like that has to be worth it.”

    Bunny in the Orbitron. Photo by Erik.

    During its yearslong hiatus, the Orbitron had been housed in a storage unit in St. Louis, coincidentally where Bunny lives. They and their partner were asked to help bring it to SusCon, and Bunny was given the honor of taking the first spin at the event, in front of the Orbitron’s creator.

    “I felt like it was just fate, if that makes sense, it just kept presenting itself to me and weirdly being where I’m at, almost taunting me,” they said. “I think just the way I suspend in general is if it scares me, I really want to do it, because I find the higher the mountain, the higher the peak that you have to get over. The more scared you are, the more of a transformation it is.”

    Bunny had never seen the Orbitron in action before susCon. There had been a test run in St. Louis, but the person inside passed out before it could really spin, a consequence of both the intense experience and the long day they’d had. Seeing someone they respected struggle with the experience humbled Bunny, and in the time leading up to susCon, they trained to endure the long rigging process they’d need to withstand before the Orbitron started. For Bunny, that tensioning process was the most nervewracking — typically, they spin during suspensions to stim through the pain. Staying still for at least a half hour of tensioning was daunting.

    “Not being able to move during suspension terrifies me, and so I told myself, if I can make 35 minutes on the Stairmaster, I can breathe through 35 minutes of rigging. So I reached 35 minutes on the Stairmaster three times a week,” they said. “And it worked, because when it finally came, the first thing I said when I got into the contraption was ‘I wish I was on the Stairmaster.’”

    The half-hour process was actually a major improvement on the Orbitron preparation time. Past runs had typically taken three to four hours for piercing, rigging, and tensioning, but at susCon, the team had it down to a two hour process.

    Though the preparation helped, it (predictably) didn’t make the Orbitron an easy challenge. Before going up, Bunny felt the encouragement of friends and community members, something that sustained them during the rigging process, where they had plenty of time to start feeling the inevitable panic.

    “In that moment, I kept looking around in fear, and then I would meet the kindest, most secure eyes of like, ‘It’s okay and you’re doing good,’ and those moments made me feel as if I was already suspending, as if I was already there,” Bunny said. 

    As they went upside down for the first time, Bunny felt overwhelming gratitude for the community, for Lejudis’ creation of the Orbitron, and for the feeling of belonging that accompanied the experience.

    “I felt every single person before me that was in that Orbitron. I had never met Doug, and I felt Doug in there. I felt Kevin in there. I felt Blair, I felt Brittany, I felt everybody. I just felt the closest to the community I’d ever felt,” they said. “[The Orbitron] scared me. I was shaking talking about it, anytime somebody asked me about it leading up to the susCon. And then afterwards, I felt like I had made peace with it, like we had become friends.”

    At the end of the susCon, after almost everyone had left, Bunny had a chance to say goodbye (for now) to the contraption that had dominated their pre-susCon thoughts.

    “I just stood on it one last time, and I said, ‘I’ll be seeing you again, and next time we’ll be friends, and I’ll take you for a spin, and I’ll be at peace with it,’” they said. “The first time, I thought it was going to kill me, like I did have the thought I was going to die in that thing. But now, I know it’ll be fine.”

    In the meantime, the Orbitron will be attending other events, like the Denver Suspension Convention, and presumably continue inspiring riders to re-evaluate their life choices.

    Another suspendee left the susCon with a new piece of art — an arm tattoo done during a chair suspension. Leigh, who has been suspending for just under a year, thought of the idea about three months before the susCon. Like many fun body mod projects, this one started as a crazy what-if — but when Leigh realized Paul was up for it, the plan was on.

    “I knew we wouldn’t be able to have a tattoo rest for it, so I put hooks in the arm,” Leigh said. “But the idea for the tattoo itself was pretty much just left up to Paul. I wanted something that was just free form, entirely free machine tattoo.”

    The session ended up lasting an hour, which was enough to do Leigh’s entire sleeve. She plans to fully black the arm out eventually, but for now, she’s enjoying the process, and enjoying following through on her out-of-the-box ideas.

    Leigh’s arm tattoo. Photo by Jonathon Marshall.

    “I really do like doing crazy things. That’s my biggest motivation, is to do really fucking hard things,” she said. “My biggest goal was just to last the full hour, and that’s it. I was just like, ‘Alright, I’m gonna do whatever I need to do in my head and my body to make it to that hour.’ Which I wound up doing — I think I went a little over an hour, which was nice — but it was brutal.”

    Unlike with a normal tattoo, Leigh found this process less straight-forward, especially due to the unplanned, freehand design.

    “It’s not predictable in any way,” she said. “A normal tattoo would be, like, ‘we’re starting this, we’re doing this in this order.’ This was just like, like, ‘all right, we’re gonna go on your elbow now, now we’re gonna go on your forearm. Now we’re gonna go, you know, up on your shoulder. Now, we’re going on your palm.’ … Then, obviously, suspending just made it more intense. It was definitely different, but it’s still tattoo pain, just awful tattoo pain.”

    Denver SusCon

    The North American suspension convention drought seems to be drying up thanks to the efforts of a new wave of community-builders and leaders. In this case, it was the Denver Suspension Collective, which has been putting on monthly events and building a dedicated community of suspendees and facilitators. 

    The event was more intimate than OSC’s susCon but featured a similar format, with classes in the mornings and a suspension floor opening in the afternoon. Anecdotally, it seemed like there was a higher presence of shibari in conjunction with hook suspension. 

    One stand-out suspension at the event was that of piercer and tattoo and modification artist Lucien Grey, who suspended by their hands. Grey attended OSC’s susCon as well, suspending by his chest and back, so had slightly more limited options for DSC. 

    “I hadn’t really felt a desire to do anything else, like below the waist, and, I know there’s forearms, but for me, none of them were an option,” they said. “I just remember looking at my hands and being like, ‘Well, that seems pretty fucked up. Let’s do that.’”

    I’ve heard it said that susCons are a smart place to do stupid shit. And, really, it’s inevitable — the most skilled facilitators in the country, or continent, or world, the contagious joy from others’ suspensions, and the giddiness of being surrounded by a community you only see a few times a year. Suspension shenanigans are practically guaranteed — though only after a thorough conversation on risks, safety measures, and informed consent.

    “I spoke with maybe three or four people, kind of as a sounding board to gauge what other people thought and what might be suitable ways to mitigate problems,” Grey said. “We all knew tearing was going to be an inevitability. It was just going to be like, how bad do I want to tear? …I ended up stretching a tiny bit, and I would have torn if I had put full body weight into it. But that was the biggest consideration, I didn’t want to have to have sutures because I have work this week.”

    As a long-time piercer, it’s been a long time since Grey felt the typical nervous hesitation he often coaches clients through. They just pierce themself, no breath count, no fuss — they had done just that for their one-hook chest suspension at OSC susCon. Going into the hand suspension, he expected the same, but was surprised to feel hesitation.

    “As soon as Miss Alex touched the needle to my palm and then pushed in a little bit, I got this, like, sudden kind of rush for a second, and needed to take a moment and actually think about it,” Grey said. “I had that hesitation, that pause, where I thought, ‘Can I do this?’ And then, I just took a deep breath and said, ‘Let’s go.’ And then as soon as the needle went midway through, it was the easiest thing ever.”

    Because this is a very uncommon position, there was a lot of discussion before and during the suspension to make things as safe as possible. Placement-wise, the focus was on avoiding muscle, which gave the piercer a small target to hit. Once Grey was rigged in, the team took it slow to check for tearing, which was a greater concern because of the thinness of the skin on the palms.

    “I got attached to the rigging plate and baby step-ed into it, because everybody was very on edge,” they said. “I guess it was more of an experiment for everyone involved than it was a typical suspension. And so everything was very much, like, check in every step of the way as I’m putting weight down. And through that entire process, I felt fine. That was one of the most comfortable suspensions I’ve done.”

    Slowly, Grey moved from kneeling to standing on tip-toe, with progressively more weight on the hooks (and ongoing checks from the team). After about six minutes on tip-toe with no tearing, he got the greenlight to try lifting his feet up. 

    “When I lifted one and I was going to try to lift the other, I felt a little pull, and then Miss Alex was like, ‘You are almost there as far as tearing is concerned,’” Grey said. “So that was the decision where I thought, well, it’s either I lift off and have a suture or I can just go back down to the floor and keep hanging, but, more gentle … I’m not even disappointed in it. I just decided I wanted to make it easier on everybody involved.”

    The inaugural Denver susCon is a great addition to the suspension event line-up, and hopefully reflects a growing interest in community gatherings. Either way, we’re already looking forward to next year!


  • Blinged-out back

    Play piercings are always cool. But play piercings with accoutrements really expand the looks you can create. This set by Jazz shows that off with beads and chains that match the vibe of the client’s spine tattoos.

    If only something like this were viable for long- (or even medium-) term wear!

    Want to be featured in the ModBlog? Send pictures and a short write-up to [email protected]


  • Pierce your heart out

    This play piercing set comes to us from Renata Toxicwaste of Russia. I love seeing the ridge of raised skin between entrance and exit wounds used to create patterns. It gives me a bit of a skin-crawling feeling, but in a good way!

    Want to be featured on the ModBlog? Send pictures and a short write-up to [email protected]


  • A (formerly) healed Madison

    The only thing I love more than a rare piercing is a rare and healed piercing. Peaches’ Rasmus/Madison ticks both boxes, and I hope you appreciate it as much as I do:

    Peaches has had this done 10 times and while this go did heal successfully, it didn’t stick around too long after their dog ripped it out. But Peaches is getting it redone soon — hopefully the 11th go is smooth sailing! 

    A history note on naming — this piercing is often called a Madison after model Madison Stone, who had it pierced at Gauntlet in 1991, though sideshow performer Rasmus Nielsen was sporting it as early as the 20s

    Want to be featured on the ModBlog? Send pictures and a short write-up to [email protected].


  • Flower of Life Scar

    I’m particularly partial to this scar by Dana Marie Dracula on Piercer Mike. It’s done on top of blackwork, which makes for a cool effect, but it’s also depicting a flower of life, which is considered sacred geometry representing universal connection. It can be found everywhere from ancient stoneworks to Leonardo Da Vinci’s notebooks, and, now, on Piercer Mike.

    Want to be featured on the ModBlog? Send pictures and a short write-up to [email protected]


  • “A Body to Live In” Director Angelo Madsen on Documenting Fakir Musafar’s Legacy

    Fakir Musafar is so integral to recent body modification history that he’s hard to escape. From performing at the first-ever international tattoo convention, to his involvement with Jim Ward and The Gauntlet, to his filmed suspension in Dances Sacred and Profane, Fakir’s seeming omnipresence in the latter half of the 20th century has made him mythical. But as A Body to Live In by director Angelo Madsen emphasizes, Fakir was not the legend to which he’s often reduced, rather a multifaceted, complex person who shepherded a movement he believed in.

    I talked to Madsen about his use of archival materials, the enigma of Fakir’s seeming self-contradiction, and his approach to portraying the life of such a revered figure.

    This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

    BME:

    What was the process of you coming to make this film?

    AM:

    I started research in 2019, but I was talking to one of my friends about the project, who I’ve known for 20 years, also a fellow kinkster and he was like, ‘I think this one has really been in progress for 20 years.’ Which may be true, because I met Fakir in this community in 2003, and that started expanding my ideas as an artist, but also around what was possible with the body. But it wasn’t until 2019 where I actually started working in the archive.

    I had just finished a huge project, a feature film, that had done pretty well, and I was like, ‘What do I want for my next big project?’ Historically, I do like working within my friendships and communities I’m already a part of. That has always felt good to me and I’ve often used my film projects as a way to deepen or enrich pre-existing connections. A couple of years ago, I made a documentary about my two friends that started a bar that became a really amazing community space for rural and queer folks. I like to find ways to kind of support people I already care about or things I’m already interested in. I’m not the kind of filmmaker that goes looking for something interesting. I have plenty of interesting things at my fingertips, so I stayed pretty close to home.

    I knew that Fakir’s work had not really been considered outside of the fetish world, and because I’m kind of in the art world and kind of in the film world — and then also, of course, have my private life — I was like, ‘I want this artwork to be thought about as artwork in the art world, not just relegated to the fetish world or the framework of erotica.’ That was really the motivating factor for me, primarily.

    My primary focus and interest was in the still images. The photographs were where I really started, and I think where I kind of stayed. Obviously, I got really interested in the archival video as well, but the film was really formally rooted and shaped visually by the photographs. And then I spent a couple of years in the archive, and it was during COVID. So we had a few setbacks to production, we had two different shoots canceled, which was a real bummer, but we forged ahead and finished. It was the longest edit I’ve ever done, a 13-month long edit, which was really long for me, but it premiered in 2025 at the True/False Film Festival, a little over a year ago. So from the 2019 inception to release, six years.

    BME:

    The time you spent in editing really shows in the final project, I think. It feels really cohesive.

    AM:

    Thank you. Like I said, I’m not totally beholden to biography, right? I’m interested in ideas about the world. Allowing the material in the film to go the places that I’m most interested in as it relates to his work and his ideas is actually a lot more challenging than you might think, because the film does move chronologically. It moves from the beginning of his life to the end of his life, which is a pretty straightforward trajectory. But very rarely am I actually staying true to what was going on in his life during that time, right? I’m just using the framework of his life to help us all move through those sets of ideas that I do.

    BME:

    You had mentioned you were coming into this from the kink world, and I’m curious if you had any apprehension or challenges in covering the body mod side? It’s a distinction I’m interested in as I’m coming more from body mod, but Fakir was very much in the intersection.

    AM:

    I don’t really think too much about it. I’m also trans, and I wasn’t really thinking about it as coming from a trans perspective either, right? I’m trying to hold phenomenology as a key concept, so thinking about, like, ‘why are we alive?’, ‘how, when, and why do we do the things we do?’, ‘how do we understand ourselves in relationship with other people?’

    I think your own sense of knowledge will always have limitations and benefits. In this film, as I’m not someone deep in the body mod community, I’m sure there’s lots of questions people in the body mod community have that are not going to be addressed in this film. And I think there’s lots of questions in this film that people in the art world still have that are also not going to be addressed. I think it’s really a starting point to unravel the intricacies and overlaps of this person’s interests and his philosophies, and where those things overlap in lots of different kinds of communities. The film really stays rooted in the history, it kind of stops after 1990 right? It’s kind of done in terms of historical analysis, right. And part of that is because there’s so much, there’s so many interviews where Fakir talks about suspension culture, his critiques of suspension culture. There’s so much that could be part of this conversation that’s adjacent and circling this figure. It was really difficult to make judgments around that. And I think for me, the way I zero in on information is what resonates with me most deeply, and I try to run with whatever I feel closest to and what speaks to me. 

     Personally, I have experience with faerie culture, so diving into how Fakir’s history overlaps with faerie culture was very interesting to me. And that’s an area that people might not have gone to in their minds. I think the limits of our knowledge and interests will shape anything, and I also don’t love going into places that I’m not already part of, I don’t love, like, sort of ethnographic games, I guess. For me, it’s more important to speak from the places that I know best, because I feel more comfortable speaking from what I know.

    BME:

    Right, and I see how that allows for deeper exploration than if you’re just parachuting in for a project.

    I know you had a lot of archival material to review. How did you go about narrowing down what you wanted to use?

    AM:

    I really had to just do the thing they say in the movies: kill your darlings. Kill so many darlings. I did just have to be really honest with myself about what was supporting the trajectory of the film versus what was something I just really loved. As the structural framework of the film narrowed down and became clearer, things just naturally fell off. 

    It is really, really challenging to cut things you’re in love with, but at the same time, I’m really committed to preserving the integrity of the film experience. The last thing I want is to be like, ‘this  is too long,’ because I hate that, personally, in films. I hate it when the film has like, four different endings, or when the editors and the directors couldn’t make decisions and couldn’t get outside of themselves enough to see what was good for the movie. So that’s a big deal for me. 

    In terms of looking for moving images in the archive, I really gravitated to personal materials, because those are things that have this texture of intimacy built into them. Because they are personal, they’re not being shot for TV shows or talk shows or whatever. There’s so much footage of [Fakir] that’s on random TV shows, him on talk shows, him giving a lecture, and those are the things I’m less interested in. I’m more interested in some of these relationships that emerge over the footage. Footage that really embraced the intimacy of what was going on was what I gravitated towards most. There’s a lot of footage of performances where things are a little bit more hardcore, and I gravitated towards the softness, because I’m trying to invite people in beyond the kink world, beyond the body mod world, right? It’s not that I’m afraid of the more radical, hard stuff, it’s just that I’m trying to create a balance and position this practice as one of embodiment and of consideration and love, and not just aesthetics.

    BME:

    I think that juxtaposition can often be really surprising to outsiders, because it does look so graphic from the outside, but when you get in, it really is about connection.

    AM:

    Totally. And it’s really easy to capitalize off that graphicness, to make it look flashy and hot and whatever. It’s like, yes, I like that, but also there’s this other piece, right?

    BME:

    Right, and this actually goes into my next question: What choices did you make about what to show and what not to show? Or when to show it to avoid sensationalism? There’s a suspension at the end of the film — was placing it at the end a deliberate choice to allow the audience to see it with more context?

    AM:

    Absolutely. I feel like so much context had to be cultivated throughout the course of the film before certain topics would land. Even where we start to unpack cultural appropriation stuff more, that could have come way earlier in the film so an audience I’m aware of the conversation or whatever, right? But I didn’t want to actually bring it in until we had really clear parameters for where and when this was happening before we start to critique it. I think the question of context was really what made the edit so hard — how much information do people need to have to be settled into a certain place before we push them more? 

    I knew that I wanted to end with that longer suspension sequence. I knew that from the beginning of the film, and I actually worked backwards. I was like, okay, I want to start with the photographs, I want to end with this suspension sequence. How do we get there using the whole film as a primer? Because during the film, you don’t actually get to fully sit and experience someone’s process, right? So by the time the end of the film comes, that gets to be this pinnacle moment where you get to actually be inside this experience with these people, and you get to even share the same feeling that they’re having. I feel like people get electrified during that scene, you know? That’s the point that energy should come off the screen and be in an audience. And I think that energy can only work that way because they have all this context coming before.

    I think so much about narrative structuring. It’s giving people the right tools to experience what’s coming next in the way you want them to, with the information. What sensibility do you want someone to gather from the scene to prepare them for the next scene? And so editing is constantly a process of thinking about how one thing connects to the next, and what you want somebody to take away from something and into the next thing, which is such a fun problem.

    BME:

    Were you ever intimidated by Fakir’s reputation, and the inevitable pressure that comes with portraying him in film?

    AM:

    A little bit, yes, but not as much as I think I could have been. I think part of that is, when I met him, he was already so much softer than he had been in other moments in his life, if that makes sense. I met him when he was already in his late 60s, I met him as an older man, and he had, I think, softened a lot by that point. He was less rigid about some of his ways of thinking, and that translated in our interaction. I think because I met him [when I was] so young, I didn’t have a lot of that star struckness, or I didn’t have a lot of feeling like, ‘oh, this person is a big deal,’ you know? He was just the partner of my partner. And so I think that personal relationship relieves a lot of tension, a lot of pressure, because I didn’t have any fantasies about him. I already shared day-to-day space with him, and play space with him, and sort of knew what he was like. I didn’t bring any fantasies to it, and I didn’t bring any concepts like, ‘oh, this person’s amazing, they changed the world.’ Or, ‘this person is a nightmare, they did all this fucked up shit.’ Just coming from a basic human framework, not elevating him to the status of the god, — I don’t think he would have wanted that anyway, you know? But also not using him as a trash rag to sweep up everybody’s cultural garbage. It’s always easy to point to one person like that’s the problem. Especially thinking about larger problems, like, let’s talk about American imperialism instead of fixating on one person, maybe.

    I think I was coming to it from a place of humanity, and not elevation or critique, but also, honestly, just being really interested in, like, a person who’s teaching themselves to develop photographs at 14 in a basement with some chemicals … Photography then was fucking hard, you had to figure out how to use chemical processes to develop shit in the dark and build these machines to do things for you. I feel like I always kind of go back to the inventiveness and the inventor aspect of [Fakir], and those are the things that really compel me. He saw things he wanted to do, and he just figured out how to do them, right? He’s like, ‘Oh, I want to, like, make this thing that squeezes my tits so I can hang from it. I’ll just make it.’ Or, like, ‘I want to figure out how to take these portraits, so I’ll just take these portraits.’ But we today don’t always think about how much work and brainpower and invention and ingenuity it took to actually take a photograph back then, right?

    BME:

    Right, we’re coming from a time where we can just use the phone we’re always carrying.

    AM:

    Exactly. We don’t understand labor in the same way, or craft. There’s craft and there’s labor that’s part of this that I think is easy for us to discount, because we just don’t experience it in the same way.

    BME:

    I wanted to ask more about your decision to include the topic of cultural appropriation, and how you decided when to include it. Obviously it seems important to bring some mention of it, but it’s also a loaded topic.

    AM:

    It does need a little bit of finesse in how it’s handled, because we want to offer a lot of context for how it’s being delivered. But also, it would be pretty thoughtless to not give the wider picture. I mean, I’m not super interested in making commercials for people. I’m not going to make a movie that’s like, ‘this person’s amazing.’ I’m going to make a movie that’s like, ‘this person is complicated, and a lot of things are complicated.’ A lot of the ways we get to our present day positions is through these complicated paths. And I think that it’s actually more meaningful to have that complication beyond the surface. 

    I have no interest in, I don’t know what the word would be, but like when you like pink-wash something, like, you take things that are problematic and, just because they’re gay, you make them seem good or whatever. Actually, all of the intricacies and nuances of these decisions we make during our life, and these ideas we have about the world around us are what historically allow us to cultivate other decisions and other ways of moving. If we don’t have a framework for both the benefits and the downsides of cultural movements and cultural frameworks, we don’t have anything. If you don’t know history, how are you supposed to make decisions about moving forward? 

    [Placing cultural appropriation in the film] was an interesting editorial choice, because I definitely wanted the people featured in the interviews in the film to stay in — for lack of a better term — Fakir’s circle, people who actually knew him or worked with him, had closeness with him. So I wasn’t about to start branching out to interview indigenous folks — that would also be ethnographic on my part, which is not the way I work. So I really wanted to let the archive do the archive’s work, and the archive did its work. I didn’t have to stretch too hard to be able to bring out that content. I think. 

    It’s always a question of how much do you unpack a certain issue, right? I mean, the whole film could have been built around the AIDS crisis. There’s, like, 18 possible films in this one film, and I’m trying to leave space for all of the intersectional components of it to be present, but not to take up so much space as to redirect the film away from relationality, right? The film has to stay with a core in a relational narrative. Part of it is that that’s the stories I gravitate towards, human stories. I don’t make films that are just survey films about topics. I really like films with messy, complicated humans, because human beings are all messy and complicated. There’s just very few of us that get to have our messy complication pronounced so clearly in the public eye.

    BME:

    Definitely. And I think in some ways, the kink and body mod worlds allow for discussions about our messiness, because these are such raw, complicated experiences. I feel like I see more acceptance of the duality of people in these spaces.

    AM:

    I think you’re right, and I think it’s an embodied knowledge. Though it is a talked-about knowledge, I think there’s an embodied understanding that this is tricky, and we’re moving through this trying to figure out what to do, but with the knowledge that everything comes from somewhere — we’re not inventing anything. So, in what ways are we beholden to previous cultures and previous histories of what we’re doing? 

    What’s so interesting about Fakir’s appropriation, to me, is that during his lifetime, he wasn’t able to quite wrap his head around it. He thought he was doing these things in reverence. I think so much of the conflict with him is because he really thought that it was important that people knew this stuff came from somewhere, that he wasn’t just making it up, and he wanted people to know that it came from all of these other practices around the world, and it’s been in human culture for millennia, and this is part of humanness, and that the like many other cultures, are actually kind of smarter than we are. Those are things that he wanted people to know, but at the same time, he’s really coming from this, middle-America, post-Depression, post-war, masculinist mentality, even as gender expansion becomes such a huge part of his practice. It’s so interesting to see what his intentions are versus the way they come out. 

    When he is around others, you know, he’s a little bit of a chameleon … What’s so interesting about having a figure be in the public eye this way, and then also having a private life, is like, there’s a section in Dances Sacred and Profane where they’re in the desert and they’re site visiting, looking for a place to do the ritual, and and someone has a set of golf clubs in the trunk of their car. The whole set is basically dudes, because it’s film people in the 70s, which is mostly just dudes, like cameras, techie guys. It’s like, all this techie bro stuff. And Fakir pulls up these golf clubs and starts hitting golf balls into the desert. The vibe is just all wrong to me. It lands really poorly. It lands like, ‘Ew, why are all these bros suddenly, like, going into the desert to fucking do a sun dance? I feel gross.’ There’s just all these complications. I have a window into his psychology from watching so much and listening to so much, and the only thing I can think in those moments is that he’s performing maleness to fit in with these other men. He’s performing a certain type of white masculinity, so these guys that are filming with him know that he’s still one of them, even though he’s doing all this freaky shit. And I think that he chameleons to fit in in certain ways a lot of the time. It’s just so interesting and weird. I can relate to it, but also it’s, I don’t know, it’s just fascinating. Like, you’re coming off as a total douche in this clip. And then when I hear you in this other interview, or maybe I hear you speak in private footage, and it’s a really different voice you’re using. I think so much of that imperialism and colonialism that comes through some of his ideas is also wrapped up in him trying to sound legitimate, or him trying to perform legitimacy, right? Like he’s trying to perform ‘I know what I’m doing and this is okay.’ At the same time he’s trying to be woo. I don’t know, it’s a real head fuck.

    BME:

    Definitely, it’s like you said — complex, multifaceted people. I’m curious, what was it like to have spent 20 years knowing Fakir socially, and then transitioning into learning about him in a completely different way through the archive?

    AM:

    I think part of what was interesting about it was hearing the way he talked about things then, the way he talked about things now, and the way that the now was reminiscent of what I knew of him, and the then really wasn’t. He was saying the same things, but the tone was totally different. I think, again, it has to do with this softness of aging, maybe a little bit of the righteousness kind of shaving off the sides. 

    I think most people, as they age, become more open and more accepting, and I think that was true for him, too. Some of the things I knew about how difficult he was as a young person — or, not even young, but middle aged person — his collaboration style, his working style. Getting to experience some of the archive did give me a lot of depth into his personality. I was like, ‘Oh, this is the same, except different.’ I think he really dug his heels into his belief systems, and that’s what people who make movements do. I was talking with a friend and I was like, ‘This is why I’m not a very good activist, or I don’t think of myself as a good activist.’ Of course, in day to day life, I know that many things that go on in our reality are not okay — genocide, racism, all the things. At the same time, there’s a way in which, psychologically, abstractly, I always want to be open to the idea that I could be wrong, or my belief systems could be malleable. I want to always be open to the idea that all of my processes and decisions could be not the only way. And I think to be someone who leads a movement, you have to, a little bit, be invested in your way as the right way, right? That’s how you move people. Which sounds fucked up, but I think any movement building is built on a sort of righteousness, a justness of cause, right? And I think the rigidity of Fakir’s personality and his belief system allowed him to do that.

    BME:

    I can definitely see in his case, being told culturally that what he was doing was wrong and transgressive, that kind of fosters or almost requires that staunch belief and holding on to his view of what is correct and not correct. 

    Just two more questions. Do you have a favorite part of the film?

    AM:

    I don’t think I have a favorite part of the film, but the part that is jumping out to me right now is the scene that is part of a [Black Leather Wings] piercing ritual where Cleo is getting her hood pierced, and it’s like the “No more rape” chanting.

    BME:

    I found that so powerful.

    AM:

    Yeah, it’s just really intense. And I think if people didn’t have a window into how doing things to the body changes you psychically, at that point they can’t not, you know? I feel like that’s another point that should just ripple through people’s insides like crazy. When you’re getting that much energy and charge from a scene you’re watching unfold on a screen, it’s hard to not make the connection point that this has potential for radical transformation, right?

    BME:

    And you really do get that energy, I was tearing up just watching it. Incredibly powerful.

    AM:

    It’s a really amazing scene. It’s a gem. Cleo actually didn’t know it was filmed, or didn’t remember, so when she saw it, it was really, really intense for her.

    BME:

    I’m thankful she was okay with including it in the film.

    AM:

    Yeah, she really — in terms of the things I wanted to do with the movie — really just let me go. And I didn’t know she was gonna do that at first. It was a little bit of a slow burn, us figuring out how our collaboration was going to work. But she really did let me do exactly what I wanted to do.

    BME:

    My last question: is there anything you found unexpectedly challenging throughout the process?

    AM:

    I mean, I feel like finding my pace was an interesting challenge, finding the rhythm of the movement, trying to preserve the integrity of the archive, allowing it to play out in certain ways, not chop it up too much. But then, also, I have to craft it for a different time. I don’t think it was an unexpected challenge, but a challenge.

    It’s always lovely to see how relationships richen, after you think through things together with someone. You can have all sorts of intimate experiences or play experiences, scene experiences, whatever, but when you start really talking about philosophy with someone, that opens up a whole other way to relate, which I always feel grateful for when I make films that involve a lot of deep conversations with people.

    Find screenings of A Body to Live In here.