Jessy Delfino's Blog

Dear Jen at Gothamist

...aka So You Think I'm Ugly...

Almost three years ago, I did a dumb -- well, I don't know if dumb is the right word, but I did a -- maybe thoughtless? -- thing. (I've done dumb things since then, too.) In July of 2004, I was interviewed on Gothamist.com. And I sent in a self-taken photo. It was, perhaps, the most horrendous photo that has ever been taken of me. I look like a very tired, defeated man.

At the time, I didn't have any professional photos of myself. I barely had any un-professional photos of myself. I didn't really have anything at all. I was flat-broke and struggling really hard. I was working part-time temp at Christie's. (Note the bleak midtown buildings in the background of this god-forsaken photo). I'd just broken up with my boyfriend of six years. I was about a month away from getting evicted from my miniscule 12-story walk-up apartment. You can literally see the complete and utter disappointment at life on my face. I borrowed a friend's camera and took a photo of myself outside of my job, specifically to send to Gothamist for that interview, which, by the way, was done by Nichelle Stevens. I took about thirty photos, actually. But it was no use. Every single one looked just like that one -- the one you see above.

Fuck it, I thought. No one is going to even read this interview. I'm not famous, and I never will be. I should just go jump off a bridge, or at least write a song about dying.

I was so happy when that interview ran. Finally! Something resembling appreciation for me and my vagina songs. Sometimes I'd bring up the interview on the test computers at Best Buy and leave it up, so passers by would see it. As the days went on, life got in the way, and eventually, I all but forgot about the little interview - my first one that I considered "real".

Sometimes, I google my name, just to see what comes up, you know, for market research purposes and stuff. Who is linking to my blog, or my magic vagina video?, I'll wonder, typing my name's 14 letters feverishly into the Google search bar - J - E - S - S - I - C - A...I can practically do it without even thinking about it or looking. I found I had small pockets of fans in Germany, Tennessee, and other far away lands. Three or four pages in, I'd see the Gothamist interview and be thankful that it was hidden so far away in the search.

But just today, why, I found myself typing those old familiar letters into the old familiar Google search bar. And to my horror, the Gothamist article came up third. THIRD!!!

I've decided the time for change is now.

I wrote a letter to Jen at Gothamist, begging her to take that photo down.

"PLEASE!! For the love of all that is good and decent in this world!", I begged in the email I wrote to her. "Every time I [see] it, I want to punch myself." I add humbly, "I was a dumb jerk when I sent Gothamist that picture! I apologize! Please help."

I asked her to replace it with this photo of how I really look (by Doug Jaeger):

Or this one:

Or ANY
OTHER

PHOTO

IN THE WORLD of me that she could possibly find.

Almost nothing could be worse than the other one...

I will also accept complete deletion of the interview from
Gothamist's server, as I hate the photo THAT much.

This may seem like a vain request, and perhaps it is, but with the flat-out barrage of "you're ugly" e-mail and comments I've been getting over the magic vagina video, to be quite frank, I've felt better about my looks than I do these days. And I don't begrudge the people who have commented and said things to that effect. I look like a putrid hag in the magic vagina video. And I know why. I have a magic face, in addition to a magic vagina. My face "changes" from day to day. One day, I look like Scarlet Johannsen, and the next day I look like Scaglet Blowmanson. It's that weird "olive" italian skin I have. It reflects the light in strange ways, sometimes rendering me un-look-at-able. And at the time I did that video, my boyfriend had just gone to jail for a year. And I was sick with some kind of mystery illness which still pops up from time to time. So don't blame me for being ugly, blame my boyfriend, my illness, and my heritage.

And you don't have to send me, "They're wrong, you're pretty" emails, either.

Just leave me alone. Or buy my CD. Or take me out to dinner.

I know what I am.

So, let us see if Gothamist Jen can and will honor my request...

...to be continued...