SUGAR & VICE

Boys Will Be Boys

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Courtney Khail Southern contemporary watercolor artist Sugar & Vice

Courtney Khail “Boys Will Be Boys” Original painting, 18”x24”, watercolors, inks, and graphite on paper. Part of the 2022 Sugar & Vice Collection

Courtney Khail Sugar & Vice In Process

Boys Will Be Boys

It never made sense to me why adults would say if a boy from school was mean to me, it meant that he liked me. That is a terrible lesson that only normalizes bad behavior.

The only thing it means when a boy is being mean to someone is that they are emotionally immature assholes (and are probably being raised by them as well.)

You know how boys showed me they liked me in elementary school? They didn’t make fun of me or push me down, no, they bought me presents.

Take for example Benjamin from my second grade class. Once a week for about a month, Benjamin brought me a candy bar. And not just any candy bar, a full sized cookies and mint Hershey bar. 

This wasn’t just some leftover Halloween candy he scrounged up. He actually had to ask his mom to buy this specifically from the grocery store.

This showed that Benjamin was not an asshole. That he knew to be nice and thoughtful to the people he liked. And what does that say about his parents? 

Correct.

That they were dentists and had effectively found a way to drum up business at our elementary school.

 

The lesson here? It’s never too early to have your kids bring in new clients for the family business. (Also that if someone likes you, they will be nice to you.)

Stories People Tell

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Courtney Khail “Stories People Tell” Original painting, 18”x24”, watercolors, inks, and graphite on paper. Part of the 2022 Sugar & Vice Collection

Courtney Khail Sugar & Vice In Process photo

Stories People Tell

My first sexual experience was the rumor you spread about me. First about a boy, then a teacher. Vile and malicious and calculated; hurtful for nothing but the sake of hurting.

I was only eleven years old.

Only eleven when I learned to distrust girlfriends. To build up walls, never to open up, to hide any vulnerabilities.

I was only eleven, but to this day I’m still haunted by the memory of how it feels walking into a room where you had just been the topic of conversation. The unnatural silence, the chill, the lack of eye contact.

While I may not have had the sex you claimed I did, I lost my innocence nonetheless.

Skorts, Shorts, and Mini Skirts

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Courtney Khail contemporary watercolor artist _ Sugar and Vice

Courtney Khail “Skorts, Shorts, and Mini Skirts” Original painting, 18”x24”, watercolors, inks, and graphite on paper. Part of the 2022 Sugar & Vice Collection

Courtney Khail- Sugar & Vice In Process Photo

Skorts, Shorts, and Miniskirts

I was thirty years old when you suggested I might be too old to wear a mini skirt. (Note, I was wearing a mini skirt at the time of that comment.) A bigger person might have let that go, but for the next year I took extra care to ensure I was always wearing a mini skirt (or at least shorts) whenever I knew you would see me. Call it delayed teenage rebellion, but with each shortened hemline I protested years of frustration over hypocrisy.

Because no one told the boys to cross their legs;

To brush their hair or dress their age.

They didn’t stress that the boys be home by eleven,

Or taught them to walk with their keys between their fingers like Wolverine,

To check their backseat, or under the car. 

To always park by a light, but never by a van.

They didn’t tell the boys to behave

Or even to look away

Instead they made us cover up (as if our shoulders were some sort of moral kryptonite.)

They told us no one buys the cow when they can get the milk for free,

But never once told the boys not to expect free milk.

(Or better yet, that we weren’t cows.)

Instead y’all told us to behave

To bite our tongues and sit up straight.

To always smile, to never be late.

Said to be confident, but not too pushy

Be smart, but not intimidating

Be funny, but not too loud

Be sexy, but not a slut.

But I’m tired of the double standards. Of living in fear of being too much.

So I’ll wear the skirt or dye my hair. And speak my mind and do as I dare.

Gold Star Dependent

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Courtney Khail Gold Star Dependent _ Original watercolor painting

“Gold Star Dependent” Courtney Khail, original watercolor and inks painting, 18”x24”

Courtney Khail - Process Photo for Gold Star Dependent

Gold Star Dependent 

My parents gifted me pearls for my college graduation.

Beautiful and elegant, pearls often mark momentous occasions for Southern women. There was only one problem though- I hate pearls. While some women could make wearing pearls seem effortless, or even trendy, they made me feel like I was playing dress up- acting out a role that never really fit.

Growing up, I’d been a people pleaser- the straight A student, the teacher’s pet, the kid deemed “mature for their age.” Oftentimes my life felt chaotic and I had learned it was easier to placate those around me than create waves. And nothing placated adults quite like “being the best.” With every gold star, or ribbon, or accomplishment I earned, I was showered with praise. So much so that eventually being an overachiever became my de facto personality. 

That is until the summer of 2006 when I studied abroad in Italy. Thousands of miles away from most everyone who knew me, my true self began to emerge. I began recognizing all of the compromises I’d made in order to live up to others expectations. How often I sacrificed my own happiness and wants, in order to do what seemed right, or smart, or mature. How often I adopted other people's opinions simply because I mistakenly believed they knew better than me. At first I was ticked off. Infuriated with myself for not seeing it sooner. For not fighting back more. 

But then I wouldn’t have been me, right? Without the pressure and discomfort, without the growth and self reflection, I never would have made it to that moment of clarity. 

It was this thought that crossed my mind a full year later as I was looking at those pearls. How a random speck, something not part of the plan, had been transformed into something so beautiful. How it happened time and time again to create enough pearls to even form this necklace. And more importantly, just how similar that felt to my own story and transformation.
Of course I didn’t say any of that when I opened the gift because that may have made me sound crazy, or worse, have been misconstrued as ingratitude, so I simply said “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”