Can you platonically send nudes, and other questions

Can you platonically send nudes? Asking for a friend.

I don’t know; I think that would make a great book title. If I ever write a book about being a hot mess, and the numerous unanswered questions I have, I think that will be the title.

Seriously though, are you ever just having a really great/confident/feeling yourself day? Or ever just have a day where you feel crappy, but look hot? Do you ever take sexy photos for yourself and then sigh because you have no one to share them with?

No. That’s just me? Alright.

Sometimes I think it’s such a shame that men can get away with sending unsolicited dick pics to assert their “dominance”, or make a woman uncomfortable, or just because they’re feeling good about their body, but women can’t do the same. I mean it would be pretty weird if I sent someone a picture of me lounging in a bra. It would also not have the desired “woah you look good today!” effect. I’m 99% sure it would just result in more unsolicited dick pics and a constant stream of “u up?” texts.

I used to think nudes were something that should never be sent ever because the internet is a scary, cruel place, and oh my god I am so terrified of anyone’s nudes leaking.

But as I grow older and surround myself with more feminists, I think there’s something really empowering about sexy photos and nudes. You’re claiming your body and saying “yes, this is how I look and I liked myself enough to take a picture and send it to you.” I just wish there was a way to take, post, and send sexy pictures without it being for the male gaze.

I want these pictures for myself. I want these pictures to satisfy my own ego and desires.

I want people to praise me for feeling confident, not reduce me to a sex object.

There is a balance. It’s out there somewhere. I follow some comedians, models, and average everyday women on Instagram who I think have that balance. They’re able to post pictures of themselves for themselves. Because they’re confident.

That. I want more of that.

-Red Hot

For My Mom,

I’d like to take this opportunity to move away from the usual themes of my blog and discuss something that has affected many people.

Where I live, April is Daffodil month. A month where the Canadian Cancer Society raises money for research through the sales of Daffodils and Daffodil pins.

I wear my pin for my mother, who was diagnosed with Thyroid Cancer just over three years ago.

It’s becoming less and less common for someone to not be affected by cancer. Many of us have family members, friends, friend’s family members, or someone else we know, touched by cancer. Some are even affected by it themselves.

It’s nearly impossible for me to describe the feeling and experience I had when I found out my mom had cancer. I remember I had just spent a few hours talking to my favourite professor and then my dad picked me up from school. My mom had him break the news. I can’t even imagine the weight and pain he must have felt telling our family, but I can understand why my mom didn’t want to do it.

When I found out, I broke down in tears in the car. I don’t cry in front of anyone, and yet there I was, bawling in the car because it just wasn’t fair. For so long I had been the rock of the family, and now I thought I was going to lose my mother before she had the chance to see all I could accomplish; before my sister graduated high school; before my brother got married. My first thought was of this fear that my mom would miss so much, and out of everyone I knew, she deserved it least.

I wasn’t there when my dad told my siblings. My mom told me later that she could hear my sister howling and screaming downstairs. My brother didn’t immediately react, but I have no doubt that he spent nights sobbing into a pillow.

As my mom prepped for her treatment, she had to go on a low iodine diet. Essentially she didn’t eat for a week, because she couldn’t eat food that she liked or satisfied her hunger, and the food she could eat, sucked.

When my mom went through radiation treatment, she couldn’t stay at home because my sister was still too young. At a time when my mom needed us most, we couldn’t be around her.

My mom is the strongest woman I know. She pushed through her diagnosis just like she has pushed through every other obstacle in her life (and there have been a lot). My mom is not one to complain, neither to your face or on social media.

I am so unbelievably proud of her.

I share this because she has her annual check up today. At the beginning of each Daffodil month, my mom will go through a whirlwind of doctor appointments, and I sit at home waiting to hear from her. She’s not the only one though.

Every day, cancer patients are getting treatment, waiting for results, hearing good news, and hearing the bad. Someone just found out they have cancer. Someone’s children are crying more than they ever have. Someone’s spouse is on the phone calling family members; saying the words over and over again, but never becoming numb to the feeling.

This is for my mom. This is for the cancer survivors, and those still living with cancer. You are the strongest people, and I won’t even pretend to understand what you are going through.

But I will wear my Daffodil with pride, and when asked who I wear it for, I will proudly say, “my mom.”

-Red Hot

Embracing the Uncertainty

Do you ever get that feeling where you think you should be freaking out, but you’re weirdly calm? I don’t know if I’m just “going with the flow” for once in my life, or if I am so stressed and terrified that I am doing some serious repression that will take years to undo.

For the first time in my life, I don’t have a plan for the future.

And I’m doing okay.

Most of the time.

When you’re young, you have plans for the future; for what you want to be when you grow up, for the places you’ll travel, and the family you’ll have. You know that every September you’ll be back in school, with a few changes to class, teachers, and friends, but it’s still familiar.

When I was graduating high school, I had offers to multiple Universities. I had 3 possible routes that I could take. I had choice, but it was a plan.

When I graduated high school, I knew I would be attending the local University for a double major in English Literature and History (this has since changed to a major and minor respectively).

When I was done first year, I knew I was going to be working the night shift at a factory for the summer. Then I would go back to school in September.

After third year, I knew I wasn’t going back to that same factory. I didn’t have a solid plan for summer, but I knew I would get a job then head back to school in September.

I have one more day of classes left for my Undergrad. I have no summer job lined up. I have zero plans for April and May. I have yet to hear back from a graduate program I was ecstatic about. I tried to plan for a month of traveling Canada in July, but VIA Rail crushed that dream 12 hours after giving it to me.

I don’t know where I’ll be in September. There’s a chance that I won’t be going back to school, and that is both terrifying and exhilarating. I have so much freedom!

But good god, I don’t want this freedom yet!

I have so many more essays I want to write. I have so many more research ideas. I want to keep learning. I want to keep studying. I want to write and defend my thesis.

But it is legitimately out of my control right now.

I have no set plan.

I have ideas and hypothetical things I’d like to do depending on the job I can get for the summer, or if I don’t get into Grad School.

For once in my, life I can’t tell you where I see myself in five years. I’m scared, nervous, excited, anxious, a little stressed, and simultaneously both over and underwhelmed.

But I’m okay.

-Red Hot


Private vs. Public Lives

I am slowly, but surely learning that I need to keep some things private.

I wear my heart on my sleeve; I share all my accomplishments sometimes before they’re even official. I Instagram or Snapchat everything. Everything I share on my Facebook can be viewed by everyone.

My supervisor has provided references for me, in which she says that I am genuine; with me, what you see is what you get.

For so long, I was transparent. I obsess over things and people, and everyone knows. I have little to none secrets. I share personal information in class discussions.

(I’m also very guarded with who is allowed into my heart, but that’s another issue.)

When I like someone, they know. When I hate someone, they know.

So recently – like within the past few months – I’ve been trying to keep things to myself, and it’s been hard.

I’ll go out, take pictures, but not feel the need to Instagram everything.

I no longer feel the need to make everything on Facebook visible to everyone on my friends list. Sorry, but person I knew for 6 months in grade 8, you don’t need to know about my life.

Even writing this post is proving to be difficult because I want you to understand how big of a deal this is for me. I want you to be proud of me of all the personal experiences, family affairs, friendship dates, and projects I’ve been keeping to myself. But sharing all that would defeat the purpose.

I’m keeping things to myself now – not because I don’t want to share them, but because I know I need to start taking time to process things for myself before spitting them out onto social media. I need to protect my privacy. I need to remember that not everything needs to be shared with the world. And honestly, it’s not always fair to the other people in my life either. 

I love social media, and there are definitely still some personal issues I will continue to be vocal about (body positivity, bi-visibility, and my struggles with mental health), but I am realizing that my entire life does not have to be displayed online. I’m being pickier about what I want to share with the world, and even what I want to share with people outside of myself.

I still think it’s important to share and open up parts of your life to those closest to you, but take it from the mess – you can and should keep some things to yourself!


-Red Hot


They tell me to stop writing about you

But it’s not even you anymore.

Because the you I write about is

Everything I wish you were

And nothing that you are.

The you I write about loves me.

The you I write about is brave.

The you I write about didn’t leave when things got tough, or when you didn’t want me.


I can’t stop writing about you because it isn’t even you anymore.

You no longer are the boy I was in love with at 16

Or the girl who changed everything.


Yes, you are the sarcasm and the wit – But you’re also the

Raw sexuality of the woman living across the country.

You’re the smolder of the guy I met in a bar two years ago.

You’re my best friend’s kind eyes.

You’re the warm embrace I crave, but never receive.

You’re the eye contact that I’ve never held before now.

You’re the piercings and tattoos that pique my interest.

You’re the person I want my mom to meet,

And the lover who should never leave my bed.


You’re the one who says, “Let’s take a picture”

And you’re the questions he asks about my day.

You’re the prom date whose apology came three years too late.

You’re the male dancer who I gave consent to pin my arms above my head, and placed his hands on my body.

You’re the nice hair of everyone I’ve ever liked.

You’re the smile I need when I can’t smile myself.

You’re the care and attention I give to others, but don’t receive back.


I don’t write about the same you anymore.

I don’t write about the love I had or my obsession that pushed us forward then pulled us back.

I don’t write about the begging you’ve started four years later.

I don’t write about your laughter or how we both used each other.

I don’t write about how you made me feel.


I don’t write about the same you anymore.

I write about the yous I’ve known and the yous I haven’t met.

I write about a you that I can see with me.