It Could Be Hotter
I can’t get over how dewy my face looks in this historical humid summer of 2026. I’ve been going to bed hot and waking up hotter, like I’ve just emerged out of some wet sack in a younger version of myself. I study myself like a newborn just realizing they have a corporeal form. A year of being obsessed with skincare taught me to avoid touching my face, but I can’t help it. I look younger than I did a month ago, I have this oily glow and I swear that every minuscule blemish I was concerned with is just now gone.
California isn’t supposed to feel like a swamp and this is taken as a sign of the impending climate apocalypse. We almost had a hurricane and I keep seeing how El Niño is going to be exceptionally bad this time. My partner hates the heat even though he’s born and raised in Southern California. He more sensitive to the few degree changes and it’s made everything harder for him. But I like seeing him sticky throughout the day. He looks so cute with his shiny hair tossled about. Theres a vulnerability to it that I find so charming. The heat has turned us into these big wet babies that can barely function anymore. I tell him what I tell myself whenever it feels overwhelming: “It’s hot, but it could be hotter.”
I was raised in the central valley where 100 degree summers were expected every year but that doesn’t mean that I am anymore happy. I was very sweaty as a child and I knew to be ashamed of it. I would get sweat stains on everything and dreaded the impending heat every year. During an elementary school performance of Little Red Riding Hood where I played the Tracker, I wore this hat lended to us from a classmates grandfather. I remember how sweaty I would get even during rehearsal, and before I even put the hat on, I knew I was going to ruin it. After the show was over, I quickly handed the hat back to the classmate and ran off. I can still hear her saying to our teacher how “This wet ring around the rim was not here before.”
I’m much older, and while I still don’t love being sweaty, I have decided that it’s too annoying to be ashamed of it anymore. I think it’s funny how sweaty I can be. I was meeting with a friend and I felt a sinister delight in hugging and having them feel the stickiness of my body even through our clothes. A younger version of me would have kept them at an arms length, and now I want them to feel just how warm and damp I am these days. I guess this is growth, or some early 30s revelation that my being sweaty is so unimportant. I’m a dripping mess these days, and it seems like I should start getting used to it too. It’s supposed to only get worse, and in some way, make me be more okay with this aspect of my body.
I've been reading this book called "Stag Dance" which coincidentally is a book about heat, or at least the heat that is produced by desire. I’m laying here sweaty reading about how hot people are getting in the exploration of their body and how they present to those around them. It’s interesting to think about heat as an indicator of shame, pleasure and dystopia. All these things wrapped in a lethargic haze. Something I used to feel so disgusted and embarrassed by that I’m beginning to feel so emboldened in. As the years get hotter and hotter, I’m only going to get sweatier and sweatier. I wonder how my perception of my body and what it produces will change along with the planets ecosystems. My friend described this book as “really hot,” but I feel like it could be hotter.