In My Pajamas In the New York Times

They're *really* nice pajamas

Let’s get the confident-hair-flip humble brag out of the way: There’s going to be a profile of me in the New York Times. (It’s on the website now. Not sure when it’ll be in print.)  There’s even going to be a photo—like, they send a professional photographer to my house specifically to take a photo of me to go in the New York Times! I know, I don’t understand it either.

I had misgivings. The NYT doesn’t publish a lot of photos of humans larger than an American dress size 12, and, apart from Roxane Gay, nearly all the people of size they show are, say, poor immigrants or the rural poor or otherwise poor people whose story is being told to the straight-size, affluent readership of the Times. For real, browse their photos. Find me an author, an artist, an expert of size whose body they show. Is it Roxane Gay? No shade, I love Roxane Gay, but Roxane Gay is not the only fat artist of note.

But even without that source of uncertainty, I think most people would do what I did when I found out somebody was going to come take my picture: I asked everyone what I should wear. And they all said the same thing:

“Wear whatever makes you feel most comfortable.”

Friends, “whatever makes me feel most comfortable” is literally pajamas and only pajamas.

I said this to my spouse. I said it to my therapist and my agent and my video coach and my publicist.

Nearly everyone said, “Well, maybe you can wear something as comfortable as pajamas that isn’t pajamas.”

But not Aileen, my publicist. Oh, no. She said, “Are your pajamas nice?”

Me: “God no, my pajamas are garbage! I buy them at Target and I wear them so much and wash them so often that they’re all basically see-through, and they have holes and tears and stains. I aspire to have a wardrobe of pajamas that fill me with joy and pleasure. One time when I had to go to the emergency room, I had fantasies about having such great pajamas that if I were admitted to the hospital and I sent my husband home to bring me some pajamas, he could choose anything out of my pajamas drawer and I would be thrilled and delighted to have it. But no. That’s not my life right now.”

And Aileen said, “Well, Emily, I think this is your opportunity to find the pajamas of your dreams and make them a tax write-off.”

And that, my friends, is why she gets the big bucks.

It only took me about 20 minutes of online shopping to find my ideal pajamas—no longer available, but here’s a link to something similar (not sponsored). My criteria narrowed the field quite a bit: (1.) stretch silk; (2.) dark colored but with a playful print; (3.) available in my “small fat” size.” There was literally only one thing that matched all these criteria. They were—oh god oh hell what the actual fuck—$400, plus shipping—holy shit my childhood on food stamps just had a heart attack in attempt to kill me so I won’t ever spend money that way again. Add a black silk robe and a pair of fuzzy pink slippers and we’re up to $500 for the outfit that will define a photo that will, fingers crossed, be kind of a big deal in my little world of sex education.

I mean, come on. Look at that kitty.

So. Money aside (GASP GULP OH GOD THE MONEY), what does it mean that I choose pajamas?

Like, it’s not a choice any of my peers would make. Sarah Nasserzadeh would probably wear a beautiful suit. Heather Corinna might wear a delicious-textured sweater or maybe simply a white t-shirt and really make it all about their amazing hair. Francisco Ramirez would definitely wear a white button-down shirt. I don’t know what Nadine Thornill would wear, but based on her Instagram I’d guess something colorful and fabulous. LOOK AT THIS GREEN DRESS. And they would all wear those things because that’s what they feel most comfortable in, the clothes that make them feel most like themselves.

And then there’s me. All real clothes feel like a costume and only pajamas feel like myself, because I’m only the “real me” when I’m at home in solitude and stillness. It’s been a minute since I mentioned I’m autistic, but let me tell you how grateful I am to have that word to explain why the only clothes the real me wears… are pajamas.

If I had to reduce Come Together to two sentences, it would be these:

1. Co-create pleasure: Couples who sustain a strong sexual connection over the long term collaborate to co-create a context that makes it easier to access pleasure.

2. Authentic connection: Each and every human deserve to be fully accepted and welcome in their community, as their authentic selves, the selves they were born to be, not the selves they were trained their whole lives they were “supposed” to be.

Me in my beautiful pajamas in the Times is me trying to physically embody those sentences. Pleasure. Collaboration. Authenticity. Connection.

In the scheme of things, this matters so little. It’s not peace in the Middle East, it’s not ending tuberculosis, it doesn’t help the climate crisis, it doesn’t save anyone’s life, and it doesn’t heal any communities. It’s just me and my body and my wish for all of you, all of us, to extract ourselves from gender shit and purity culture and the medicalization of our erotic bodies, to heal from the damage that was done to us so that we can grow into the selves we were born to be.

I am going to take excellent care of these pajamas, and I’m going to wear them all the time for years to come. If I’m ever admitted to the hospital, they’re the pajamas I want my husband to bring me. I might even buy a second pair, if they ever have another style in a dark color. (My blue hair dye would stain a light color.)

It probably means something that it took a photoshoot for the New York Times to push me to find out what it feels like to wear something that makes me feel like The Real Me.

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Just a quick note about Come Together and the tour:

Come Together is out on the 30th. You can still preorder!

I’ll be on tour starting on January 30th.

You can still come see me and my friends in Brooklyn, NY, Philadelphia, Atlanta, Portland, OR, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. Those are all links to the events.

The Brookline, MA event is already sold out!

All the ticketed events come with a copy of the book! Portland is free, but you can get a book at Powell’s. More dates to come.

That’s all for now. Stay safe and be true to yourselves.