WTF Wednesday: tiny collar.

One of the more romantic ideals within the BDSM world is that of collaring. But it is not a universal conceit: the symbolism varies wildly.

There are some folks for whom a collar is a nice accessory, an ornament, worn because it looks sexy. And it runs the gamut all the way to those for whom a collar = wedding ring and absolute slavery and ownership by another person.  Some people think the whole thing is kinda crazy.

I am on the heavier symbolism end of the spectrum of this myself.  I have never been “collared” by anyone, And as a result, collars are even more so now a symbol to which I choose to ascribe a very particular meaning.

When I was being formally trained to serve in a Leather Household, it was drummed into my head that collars were something to be earned, over time, and not something that one took on and off willy nilly on a daily basis.  I have plenty of friends for whom that is not at all the case, but since I was in the midst of that protocol, I stood by that choice.

Plus who doesn’t want an accessory that is so fucking highly charged that even the thought of it can get you wet?

Shoe sluts, you know what I am talking about.

Purse whores know this too.

I have made [2] rare exceptions to the casual wearing of a collar. Once was in order to circumvent a situation I did not want to deal with at the time.  I was going to be attending a kink event, and there was someone there whom I wasn’t certain I wanted to interact with. By wearing a collar and in the leash of a friend, I knew they’d back off, and give me the space I needed to reconsider my position and avoid a seriously awkward public discussion.  Amusingly enough, it was as weird for my leash-holding friend as it was for me, as they are not a person who cares much for dominant / submissive play, being mostly into sadism / masochism.  Ultimately, it was a learning experience for the both of us.

The other time was…it was a chance for me to wear a collar that meant a whole lot more to me than it did to the person who put it on. The fantasy of it was delicious. The reality was, it was just a nice accessory to them, although to me, for that period of time, it was more. It was Everything.

Not too long ago I thought about the fact that I haven’t yet had a D/S relationship that had attained that level of commitment. I thought about how that can be a tough thing, because we are pretty much acculturated to grow up get married and settle down. Even among radical pervery there is the sense of “longing” for that level of submission.  You think women who are getting married obsess about a wedding ring? Ppfft. Try a newly collared submissive gushing on and on and on about the sanctity, symbolism, awe and power of her collar of submission.

Shit gets mad florid, yo.

I am a patient person these days, but there are some things I should not have to wait for.

The Tired Negress...with teeny collar.

So I decided to collar myself.

I bought a fetching little necklace on Etsy.

It was originally listed as a children’s necklace, which I find creepy, but maybe this artist is a practitioner of that thing where little girls commit their virginity to their Dads. Purity Balls. The lovely Dharma wrote about that crazy shit in her blog *shudder*

Whatever.  I digress.

The links are wee small little hearts, and the lock is brushed silver.

I love it.

Kink people sometimes ask me about my “collar”, and puzzle if they know I am not in service to anyone. I am glad to explain the collar is a talisman for my commitment to myself, to my spirit, all that happy crappy.  Someties it feels like a brave face.  Sometimes I wonder if there is something wrong with me that I haven’t had anyone about whom I felt passionately return that energy and truly desire and demand that level of love and control.

Who knows.

But on days when I feel as though I want to do that emotional masochism and feel sorry for myself. it is nice to have that silvery reminder caressing my neck quietly whispering “You are loved.”