out of the (big) mouths of (mouthy) babes
yapping about yappers
I recently found myself at a suburban Top Golf with eight of my coworkers. No, this is not the beginning of a horror film, though it certainly felt like my own personal hell. Even the double rainbow gracing the sky felt eerie:
Torturing employees in semi-athletic two-hour “team building” exercises is not my company’s normal M.O.—one reason I’ve lasted over five years working here. There’s no forced “bonding” via finance-bro-coded activities, outside of one awkward, day-time holiday party at a bowling alley. The rarity of the exercise, however, didn’t stop me from complaining profusely. And, trust me, I complained a lot.
In one of the two rented bays, I played rounds with three other executives, one of which reminded me mid-complaint, “you played basketball, Cassie, so you’re athletic! You’ll be fine!” I scoff at this—bouncing a 28.5 inch ball down a wooden court is markedly different than swinging at a 2 inch ball with a metal stick. Also, he doesn’t realize I have visceral memories from that one summer before the sixth grade when my parents convinced me I should learn how to play golf. I took a week’s worth of golf lessons and came home crying every day because I would rather just read my books at home with snacks and A/C.
I settled into it though—I didn’t want to admit my coworker was right, but I did manage to whack the ball 90% of the time. And, once the food came out—greasy fries and a surprisingly decent chicken Caeser salad—I had enough fuel to muse a little. Half-jokingly (but, like, 100% seriously), I told our CEO that she has managed to find the things I am not good at for these “team building” events, and that I promise (!!) I am good (!!!) at other things (!!!!).
“Like what?” my CEO asks, benevolently amused.
I start rambling: I’m good at ordering food at a restaurant for a large group of people, I’m good at cooking, I’m good at organizing a brunch. I’m good at navigating a metro system in a foreign city in a different language. And, actually, I’m good at traveling generally, especially road trips. I’m good at wordle, crosswords, scrabble, and trivia games, sometimes. I’m good at book club—like, really really good at book club. I’m good at yapping on a couch over a chilled bottle of French red wine. I’m good at small talk with strangers.
As I sporadically listed things I am good at, it dawned on me that so much of it involves yapping or gabbing or orally doing something. In other words, I excel at activities involving my mouth.
There’s a lot of discourse about mouths right now. Or, at least, this is what my IRL algorithm looks like. The zeitgeist has an oral fixation, or something. I’m not taking us down Freudian Lane today, but perhaps someone should?
I’ve been steeped in some mouth-centric literature. I’m currently reading Mouth: Stories, by Puloma Ghosh. Within the past few months I’ve read Nightbitch by Rachel Yoder, Candelaria by Melissa Lozada-Oliva, All Fours by Miranda July, and Woo Woo by Ella Baxter, which all tackle a woman’s plight using varying amounts of oral imagery.
On Saturday, I picked up a copy of Maggie Nelson’s slim new tome Pathemata: Or, The Story of My Mouth—the structure of the title and its punctuation alone were enough to make me drool in anticipation of devouring its contents. Perhaps Nelson is the best person to connect these mouth dots! I can’t wait to read this book, if for no other reason than to continue personal discourse with my bestie and fellow Yapper Extraordinaire Amanda, who is the ultimate Maggie Nelson scholar.
Speaking of mouthy characters, I’ve been obsessed with vampire literature ever since I studied gothic literature in college. Just two Sundays ago, I revisited an old favorite classic—Carmilla by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, which is one of the earliest vampire novels. If you haven’t ever read Carmilla, it’s worth an afternoon. It’s short and sweet and the inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula. I cleaned out my closet while listening to the audiobook version—my own mouth frozen in a wry smile the entire time, as I was reminded of the gothic obsession with vampires and the sharp-toothed, blood-sucking othering of women in particular. Some things are constant, eh?
It’s not just the classic vampire canon I love. I was OBSESSED with Twilight in the early aughts—still am to a certain degree. Whether taken seriously or via cringe-filter, Twilight is still a superior cultural moment and captures something about Millennials that is hard to describe. This is the skin of a killer, Bella! During the pandemic, my best friend and Professional Theatre Maven Marley turned me onto the Black Dagger Brotherhood. (Come to think of it, perhaps all my best friends are “mouthy” experts?!) God bless Vishous, Wrath, and Phury, forever and ever, amen. This series is a little “iykyk”, but just imagine vampire lit meets a 1990s urban cop-procedural. You can’t help but love it, true?
Literary fiction aside, my TV preferences are also mouth-heavy. For example, Big Mouth is a personal favorite animated series and is one of the best coming-of-age comedies of the 2020s. Nick Kroll nails the cringe-filled emotion of what it means to be a pre-pubescent adolescent with perfectly absurd and over the top comedic timing.
Be it vampire high- or low- brow art, coming-of-age stories, or sucking, eating, chewing women confronting their own brand of femininity and aging, the zietgiest is reflecting women’s mouths back at us.
To control, to subvert, to subdue? Or, to empower, to inspire, to relate?
Consider putting fillers in your lips. “You’re such a big mouth.” Find a lipgloss/lip liner combo that gives you a perfect pout. “You would be pretty if you smiled more.” Have you ever considered a lip flip? “There she goes again mouthing off.” Don’t wear red lipstick, men hate it.
Admittedly, even I contributed to the discourse with a love letter to red lipstick.
But ultimately, Big Mouth is (well) actually a nickname (insult?) that I cling to. As an overly verbal Gemini Sun/Libra Rising (full of hot air and adaptable curious tendencies), and Scorpio moon (deep well of internal emotional discourse), I always have something to say. The fixation with words is what led me to study literature in college and law after the fact.
Embracing the mouth is second nature to me. The oral fixation must have never truly left my pysche—Freud and Maggie Nelson may have something to teach me on that front.
But the thing is, I love to eat. I love to sing in the shower. I hate going to the dentist, but don’t most folks? I have an open mouth in every candid photo ever taken of me…like, ever. I have waking nightmares about losing teeth. I’m an enthusiastic yapper, a professional yapper, a small talk yapper, an internal yapper, a book-loving yapper, a confidant yapper, a confident yapper.
This is why I’m here—the mind-mouth connection is who I am. It’s what I’m proud of.
It’s what I’m good at.