There is a theory of therapy that views the mind as made up of different “parts,” each with its own emotions, roles, and perspectives. I brought what I believe to be my most “clownish” part here tonight. I brought this part to expose it, and to reveal it to you all. I hope we can all have a laugh at its expense. This part doesn’t mind, in fact, it wants to more deeply understand the clownishness of its nature. Because the clown, or the fool, plays around the edges, risking embarrassment and humiliation in the striving for wholeness and completion.

May I introduce you all to Versace. I named this part of myself Versace because Versace is incredibly shallow and obsessed with how I look. Versace exists on the most shallow plane of human existence, and the rest of my parts are deeply, deeply embarrassed that this part exists within me. Because the rest of me would like to be thought of as someone who is focused on substance rather than appearances. Who is true to oneself without seeking external validation. Someone who is internally focused — soulful and introspective, purpose driven and value oriented.

Not Versace, nope. Versace wears a $500 tracksuit jacket with matching Versace pants that retail around $700. His entire outfit is disgustingly extravagant and grossly overpriced, but not to him because he’s willing to pay for it. (Yes, Versace is a he). I understand that the Italian clothing brand Versace is rooted in fine tailoring and craftsmanship, so I mean no disrespect, but this part of me just wants to be seen for the name brand, because it’s externally focused and superficial.

It must have been third grade, I was nine years old when Versace came into my life. He wrote on the palm of my hand, “don’t eat too much.” To remind me just in case I forgot. One of the boys in gym class saw that I had something written on my hand and asked me what it was. I quickly jerked my hand away before he could read it, because no one was supposed to see that. I used to stand on the lid of my toilet, so I could see my full body in the mirror. I would look, and Versace would help by pointing out that my thighs did not have a big enough gap, unacceptable.

Versace is convinced that in order to get and secure love, we must be attractive. Attractive to him means thin. If we’re thin, we’re attractive, if we’re attractive, we’re desirable, and if we’re desirable, we can get and secure love.

The house Versace grew up in was featured in Sheridan Road magazine. It was beautiful, but we didn’t like it very much. The Birger Juell floors in the kitchen were so clean that you could eat off of them, and the landscapers were at the house twice a week. So was the cleaning lady. There wasn’t a blade of grass out of place, nor a crumb, nor a speck of dust to be found — they were just, unacceptable. I used to eat breakfast in my dad’s Paul Stuart fur lined coat, but because the temperature was always too cold for me. A beautiful shell of a house, but on the inside, the walls were screaming. The energy was intense, and negatively charged.

I’m fifteen years old. Versace is still around. One night, my Dad came home with PF Chang’s. I gorged myself with Chang’s spicy chicken, (not spicy) and chicken fried rice until I felt physically unwell. Versace went into panic mode. It would be very, very bad if our body changed due to this meal. So he did an internet search, “how to make yourself throw up.” To be helpful of course.

I went upstairs to my bathroom and locked the door. Versace tried to use a spoon and stick it down my throat, but the spoon was too painful on the roof of my mouth. So then he tried a toothbrush to get the job done, but that felt arguably worse. Versace was desperate, jamming his fingers down my throat again and again. It’s not working! But,”when you want to succeed as badly as you want to breathe, then you’ll be successful.” — Eric Thomas, motivational speaker. Does anyone remember this video?

Versace had had it at that point. So he took me by the hand and led me to the shower. Why the shower? You’ll have to ask him. He shoved my fingers down my throat, jamming them again and again until…food came projecting out of my mouth in massive heaps. There was so much of it, mounds of rice and chicken. Versace had emptied me of all of it.

But there was a problem, the drain. My shower drain was too thin. It had sterling silver linear slits that were nailed to the ceramic tile with sterling silver screws. The food could not pass through, and the water was rising up. Oh God, what now?!

I shoved the massive chucks of PF Chang’s down with my foot. I had to squish it down there, and to our relief, it passed through the drain, but from then on, Versace had me use the toilet. Versace discovered something new that night, and I suppose the feeling felt similar to when a baby first discovers it can do a cool trick for the first time. Versace didn’t like this new role, but he felt it necessary at the time, it was not a matter of choice. He had to take on more extreme measures to ensure my safety and prevent anyone from ever leaving me.

Versace spent over a decade feeling like he had to make me throw up my food. I am happy to report that he has been permanently resigned from that position. This took a combination of therapy, growing into myself, and the very real threat that I would permanently lose the enamel on my braceless, cavityless teeth. Versace was glad to be relieved as well, because it was a huge commitment and intensely energy draining. That being said, he still felt responsible for protecting me from future abandonment that did not exist.

For instance, during the pandemic, Versace came up with an affliction of sorts called, “luscious lip insecurity.” He really wanted me to share this one with you. Luscious lip insecurity was when everyone was wearing a mask at the gym and no one could see your face. Versace got very worried that once I took my mask off, people would notice how “un-lucious” my lips were. Versace then decided to inject my lips with Juvaderm, which subsequently caused some bruising. When my boyfriend at the time asked what happened to my mouth because it looked like someone beat me, Versace made up that I “hit myself in the face with a stick-mobility stick at the gym.” He thought that was a really great cover up. I don’t know which was worse, that we lied, or that I was now “uncoordinated.”

I asked Versace, why are you still doing this? “Because I’m the real fucking world Rachel, that’s why. You think you’re going to be loved for your soul? Honey, take a look around. You’re about as good as you look. You want someone to love you? You gotta be perfect. You want someone to stay with you? You gotta stay perfect.”

Because of all the years I spent turning away from Versace, I didn’t realize just how deep these beliefs were until I got to know him, until I turned towards him. This twisted, demented clown who’s wearing an outfit I absolutely abhor, needs me.

Versace came to understand that all the effort and energy he exerted trying to manipulate my body made no difference, it changed nothing. After the bruising on my lips healed, you couldn’t even tell the difference (thank God), and after all the binging and purging, there was no visible change in my body. My relationship status remained single, my relationship with myself remained fractured, my creative life wasn’t taking off — I had to tell him, Versace, look, I don’t want to make you feel bad, but YOU are the reason we do not have what YOU want so badly. What you are doing, and what you are believing is moving us further away from love in all of its forms.

And that hurt him a little, because he spent so many years trying so, so hard. That being said, there’s something funny about Versace going through all that effort, just to find out that he’s the one causing the chaos, not protecting me from it. I don’t know what the joke is here, but I think it’s funny because it’s ironic, and you’re not supposed to tell people why a joke is funny but…

Even though there is truth to what Versace says about the “real world”, that there is most certainly is a shallow plane of existence in which people are rewarded for their external appearance versus their internal makeup, what Versace now understands, is that if he had continued to go about his ways unchecked, he would have only attracted relationships with people, and even scarier, romantic relationships with men who also operate out of that shallow plane of existence, and then we really would’ve been in trouble. (Oh, and yes, Versace is gay).

As corny and as obvious as it may seem to my other “superior” parts, I am regularly reminding Versace that the most powerful force in the universe is a woman who loves herself, and that no degree of attractiveness can ever secure real love. Like bro, it doesn’t work like that. He’s getting it, he’s like “ohhhh, I can make her the most beautiful woman in the world if I can help her feel more WHOLE, and that has to come from the inside.” Yes, bro, yes.

So, through this clown of mine, Versace, I have, and am (as it is a continuous process) integrating a part of myself that I had not been able to live with or accept. As it turns out, the dude in the $1,200 tracksuit is not a bad guy, in fact, (and he wants everyone to know this), is redirecting his powerful “Versace energy” into matters of the soul, and that this will be the reason why I feel the love, security, and creative momentum I’ve been craving for so long.

I have urged Versace to change into what we find to be a much more tasteful, Italian luxury brand like Loro Piana, but he refuses on account of being intentionally distasteful and ironic.