Climbing to the top of the 150-metre-tall, odourless Vertical City, Elfie Tromp receives nudes in a group chat: oh wow, some pictures really are too good for a one-person audience. Sending palm-sized selves to friends and lovers, hoping to encounter an appreciative, admiring gaze while considering the bold, modern architectural surface of Rotterdam.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
1
NUDE:
My friend Lisa poses sideways in the bedroom mirror. Fresh morning light hits her plum-shaped ass. Good morning lil’ beavers, she writes, here are some wholesome cheeks for you to chew on. I respond with a heart-eyed smiley. The other girls follow.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I have a meeting in the phallic superstructure De Rotterdam, otherwise known as the vertical city, designed by Rem Koolhaas. One hundred and fifty metres of city pride divided into forty-four floors; it holds offices, the municipality, apartments, a hotel, restaurants; the promise of pleasure and success. It’s an exciting building, brimming with decorative modern art, smart technology and impressive architectural stints. It is the richest, cleanest, most high-tech idea of a city possible, yet it feels like a vacuum. When you pass through the giant sliding doors, time seems to detangle and move in a different way, not linear, but wider. As wide as the space the building holds.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
2
NUDE:
Britt wishes us goodnight with an artfully arranged floral bed in which she sits upright, attentive and relaxed, like an animal in her own den, a forest bird lounging in a nest, made to impress. Her long curls grace slim shoulders, she fingers some stalks. Her nipples are hard on her small, firm breasts. My friend lies alone tonight, the picture tells us, ready to bloom.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
We photograph ourselves to stop time. We make a body-shaped mark in history, small as it may be. It can be a protest against, an ode to or proof of our existence. A message to a future version of ourselves to remind them how healthy and beautiful we were underneath our clothes, how we were once full of promise and feeling.
I’m not sure when our group chat shifted from gossip and article links to sending each other our nudes. I think it was Britt, the most persistent dater of us all, who complained that the effort she made for her erotic images was underappreciated by her respective dates. Some pictures are too good for a single-person audience, she wrote to us and we agreed.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
3
NUDE:
Basia is flopped on her belly. She might have just woken up or rolled over in a relaxed state of boredom. She props her head up with one hand and takes the picture with the other. Holding up her left calf, she waves her toes, greeting her dirty reflection in the mirror and through the lens, us. I’m reminded of Ariel, the little mermaid when she first moves her brand-new feet. Curvy, soft, white and innocent. On the left, at the front of the frame, sits Basia’s toddler-sized Maine Coon, all white and red fur power, ears up, paws ready. Together they form an invitation to play, pet, massage.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Smell plays an integral part in cities and sex. The offending scents of dirt and sweat, of food and secret crevices, are what draws
us into restaurants and out of our clothes. Smell lures us out of ourselves. Yet there is an absence of smell both in fancy buildings and in lewd photographs. It’s a policy for semi-public spaces like the vertical city are as odourless as possible, so as not to offend anyone moving through the structure. Perhaps smell is tied to time too. It can propel you into the past or mesmerise you in the here and now. The photographs, well, they are brought through a sterile medium, a screen, and enjoyed in our own private smells.
When one of the senses is lost or underused, other senses must be heightened to achieve a reaction. This can be done literally and boldly, like the odourless vertical city, built to reach the sky. Or we add more shape, lightning, colour or promise. Like my friends and I do with our bodies.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
4
NUDE:
I send my friends a quick nude I took a while back in a public bathroom. Standing beside the sink with the tap running, I lift up my summer dress and show them the crotchless panties I’m wearing. The door is half pictured on the right. Any minute now an unsuspecting stranger could walk into this scene.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The other tall landmark in Rotterdam is the Euromast – 187 metres to be exact. You can take the elevator, riding along its shaft to go up and stand on its balcony, breathe in the wind that carries all the fine dust of the industry and harbour right deep down into your tender nostrils, to be churned to lumps of mucus. Standing on the Euromast, waterside one way, great, big ships shifting by. Cityside is filled with tiny houses, teensy people, toy-sized trees as far as the eye can see. A proper, well-groomed Dutch landscape, no stone out of place. No sudden movement, if not for the seagulls, catching hamburger wrappings mid-flight, screeching.
I am not particularly tall; I don’t fit that Dutch stereotype. Neither do my friends. The statistics say that we, as small- to medium-sized people, are more prone to depression and suicide than taller people. It’s because of the feeling of being looked down upon. Size does matter when it comes to mental health.
When we send our palm-sized selves to our friends and lovers, we are also looked upon, but hopefully not in a condescending way. We hope to be met with an appreciative, admiring gaze.
Rotterdam has a way of making its inhabitants feel small, looked down upon. The brutalism of the empty Schouwburg square is haunting and it stays with you as you enter the city deeper. The metal walkway of the square always seems to be slippery, turning your step into an unsure shuffle. The wind gusts between the big concrete block that holds the Grand Theatre and, across from that fortress of high culture, the blockbuster cinema Pathé, with its seven halls that screen the finest in low culture. It’s as if the two were opposites and not
intertwined like they so often are in both a city
and sex.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
5
NUDE:
Britt poses on a pebble beach, dressed in a tiny bikini bottom and sneakers. She has a bandana tied in her mermaid hair and wears sharp, cat-eye shades. Her lips are relaxed, her body is young, boyish in a way, like it’s unaware of its sexual power, which makes her even more attractive. Her sexuality mimics virginity.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
In photographs, size can be tweaked. We appear one or two dress sizes smaller than we actually are because we know how to pose. We work with the limitations of our screen. We fold or stretch ourselves to fill the frame. We are the queens of our own little image kingdom.
Aesthetics are an important part of how we perceive the world. Lights in dark streets provide a sense of safety. When they are burning in warm hues and if they are set in a cast iron streetlight, it might even feel romantic, Parisian. A street is meant for speedy travel, but when it’s laid with cobblestone, it’s also an invitation to saunter.
Aesthetics are important for our well-being. Our surroundings impact our emotional state. Every other self-help book starts with a suggestion to clean your house. When I consider the bold, modern architectural surface of Rotterdam, I wonder what type of person was envisioned as its ideal inhabitant. Streamlined, self-assured, ambition lies in the grit of these streets. How can you stay soft in a hard city?
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
6
NUDE:
Lisa is crouching, pants on, in the same mirror. Shoulders pressed against the wall, her eyes on the screen, focussed. A black lace bralette holds her beautiful breasts. How do you like my new bra? she writes.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Covid regulations have swept the streets clean. The city lies lonely on the land as if it were a miniature model version on an architect’s table. We send our pictures from a place of solitude, desire and loneliness; a desire to reach out, because we are not together. When I pose, I become my screen, my frozen self. When I send nudes to my friends, I relieve myself from that rigidity and become fluid again – an influence on their mood.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
7
NUDE:
I open my pyjama vest and lift my phone up. I look into the screen and smirk. This is me naked and homely. This is me waiting to see each other in real life again. How are my friends doing? I type and send it off.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
We have two faces. One is coagulated, the other is fluid. This is true, for both humans and cities.