Our Flag Means Stuff

In celebration of Our Flag Means Death season 2 coming out, here is a blog entry about why this show is completely brilliant. 

Let the record show that this blog entry is edited down from a SIX PAGE single spaced essay that I wrote for literally no reason other than loving to write about art that I love. And also probably because I miss school? But I’ll keep things casual for the blog. 

(Am I autistic? Yes.)

First of all, I fucking love that David Jenkins took all of the tropes of a romantic comedy and populated it with actual historical pirates (a convention carried into season 2!). But the actual brilliance of this show goes so much deeper. So as a big ole nerd with one degree in theatre and another in writing, I’m gonna break down why this show is so smart and lovely.  

If you haven’t watched season 1 yet, go do that and then come back, because 

***SPOILERS BELOW***

I’m gonna talk about flags and rom-com characters and feelings and lighthouses and touch and transformation. (I could continue talking about these things in season 2 but I’ll save that for another essay.)

FLAGS

There isn’t a verified historical record of the flag that the real Blackbeard flew, but the most commonly cited one is this one: a skeleton holding a spear that’s pointed at a red heart. In the show, when we first “meet” Blackbeard, his flag is just the skeleton. At the end of season one, after Blackbeard’s perceived abandonment by Stede, the flag has had a new section sewn on—the part with the red heart. (The DIY nature of sewing this addition echoes the first episode, when Stede has his crew sew flags for The Revenge.)

ROM COM CHARACTER 1: STEDE 

Classic romance trope: The Sunshine to Ed’s Grump. 

Stede is blindingly, adorably optimistic. He prefers gentler things, and we know that he always has, from the time of his childhood. (He is, after all, the man who got rid of gunpowder to make room for marmalade.) I think there’s also some interesting gender play at work here. Stede embraces who he is without pretense. He’s a bit of a clotheshorse, he loves books and flowers, and he’s horrified by violence most of the time. These are things that society often codes as feminine. But Stede is just Stede. 

But even though Stede comes from a world of finery—wealth, fine fabrics, books—he longs for something more adventurous. It’s notable that the story Stede reads aloud to the crew is one of transformation. Pinocchio is a story of a wooden doll turning into a real boy. It’s the same transformation that Stede longs for. He’s been a bit of a puppet throughout his life so far…inheriting his wealth, an arranged marriage. Selling land and becoming a pirate is one of the first times that Stede is a “real boy.” 

And he DOES have moments of strength, action, and courage. Taking the hostages back from Izzy and the crew. Banishing the ghost of Captain Badminton. Bringing down the boatful of high society folks with his “passive aggression.” 

ROM COM CHARACTER 2: ED/BLACKBEARD

Blackbeard, by contrast, seems to be MOSTLY a man of strength, action. (He’s also the romcom “grump” in this couple.) When we first meet him, he drips with what society has coded as masculine. He’s wearing leather. He’s got a gun and a knife on him at all times. He’s all fire and action and swinging from ropes. And he’s got that BEARD.

But there’s also a softer man beneath all of that. An “Edward” who longed for fine things as a boy, even though he was told that he doesn’t deserve them. His mother told him that they simply weren’t “those kind of people.” Even his childhood act of violence—killing his father—was born out of a desire to protect those he cared about. After that moment, Ed sees himself as the Kracken, as the monster Blackbeard. His reputation is that of an other-worldly, inhuman villain. And although he truly believes that he doesn’t deserve the finer things, Blackbeard longs for them anyway.

And I think he recognizes the absurdity of the character he’s created. When Stede shows him an illustration of Blackbeard, Ed calls him a “fucking Viking vampire clown.” 

ROM COM CHARACTER 3: IZZY HANDS

Whether Izzy Hands’ love for Blackbeard is romantic or sexual or strictly platonic, he takes on the role of a scorned lover/jealous ex. I think Izzy is in love with Blackbeard…but NOT with Edward Teach. His jealousy is not just about Stede taking a new place of prominence in Blackbeard’s life, it’s about the way that Stede is destroying the man that Izzy loves, the imaginary character of Blackbeard. He tells Spanish Jackie and the British that Stede has “done something to my boss’s brain.” 

Izzy is the only other person who calls Blackbeard “Ed” or “Edward.” When Stede uses that name, Izzy violently corrects him. Even Calico Jack’s nickname for Blackbeard isn’t “Ed”—he calls him “Blackie.” Izzy thinks of himself as the most important person in Blackbeard’s life, which gives him permission to use this intimate name. But the irony is that Izzy’s loyalty falls apart when Blackbeard is being Ed. Izzy only loves the idea of Blackbeard, not the man beneath the costume whose name Izzy uses.

I also have a theory that Izzy was once a “Stede” himself in some ways. A man who worked desperately to kill any softness within himself, even though it still surfaces now and then. When Lucius asks him if he’s ever been sketched, there’s a split second when Izzy looks like he wants to connect, to be desired, to be a part of something. But he kills that impulse immediately and tells Lucius to fuck off. 

Still, his ineffectiveness as a man of action parallels Stede’s. The crew is generally unafraid of him, and they mutiny almost immediately when he becomes their captain. Izzy is performing all of the trappings of violent masculinity, but it’s so obviously a performance that everyone else sees it as harmless. 

CALICO JACK

Calico Jack is another ex, and he almost fills the role of “the one who got away.” If not quite that, he definitely serves as a reminder that Blackbeard has a past that Stede has no part in, and a path forward that Ed could take. Stede has been falling in love with Ed, but the character of Blackbeard looms large when Calico Jack shows up. Everything is a performance of masculinity with Jack. Stede can’t compete with it, but he also doesn’t seem to want to. Calico Jack and Stede LITERALLY have a pissing contest, which is fairly one-sided, and later Stede spends hours comparing himself to Jack while watching him and Ed on the beach through a telescope. 

FEELINGS

I don’t think Edward realizes the depth of his feelings for Stede until the night of the fancy party on the ship. I think before that, he’s intrigued. He loves that Stede is doing something “original.” Stede is the break in Blackbeard’s monotony. I think Blackbeard sees Stede as his escape…literally. He makes a plan with Izzy to kill Stede and take his place as an aristocrat. (This plan is the exact one that Stede carries out with Mary later—a corpse showing up, horribly disfigured, but still identifiable.)

After Stede avenges Ed by passively aggressively destroying everyone on the fancy party ship, we get the lovely “you wear fine things well” scene. It’s in the MOONLIGHT, for godsake. Ed has decided that the rich are truly not his kind of people. But he still clings to the bit of red fabric from his mother from all those years ago. Without even knowing its significance, Stede tells Ed that he deserves it. That he’s very sophisticated. That he wears it well. 

The fabric is red, and that Stede puts it in Ed’s breast pocket…almost like Ed’s very heart is “this tatty old thing,” and Stede puts it back into his chest for him. 

(And it’s at the beginning of the next episode that we get a brief “falling in love” montage.)

As far as Stede goes, he doesn’t have a clear understanding of what love is for most of his time with Ed. He knows that he cares about him, but it’s not until Mary describes the feelings of being in love that Stede understands what he feels.

LIGHTHOUSES

There’s the scene when Stede says that he should have been a lighthouse to his family, a guiding light. Ed points out that people are supposed to avoid lighthouses, so that they don’t crack up on the rocks. But the reality is that lighthouses are both guiding lights and warnings. It’s a lighthouse that saves the whole crew from the Spanish in episode four. 

I think Ed has created the character of Blackbeard to serve as a sort of shadow version of a lighthouse…the fire in his beard serving as a light, warning to stay away. Because he’s a monster—the Kracken who killed his father, who doesn’t deserve fine things because he and his family are “just not those kind of people.” 

The tragedy is that when Ed goes towards the light of Stede, he breaks up on the rocks. 

TOUCH

In episode five, when Ed and Stede attend the fancy party, there’s a moment at the dinner table when Antoinette reaches over to pick something out of Blackbeard’s beard. He startles so much that it’s violent. In episode seven, Stede and Blackbeard have a similar moment, but this time it’s relaxed and Ed is open and calm. When Calico Jack shows up, the use of touch returns to violence, even just casually. Blackbeard and Calico Jack initiate things like “whippies” and “yardies” and “coconut wars.” At one point, Blackbeard laughingly tells Jack to whip his balls, all as part of the maniacal, unhinged “fun.” All of the touch between Jack and Blackbeard is a heightened performance of masculinity. By contrast, Stede stands on the beach with a parasol while everyone else drinks plays with knives, not participating in the violence.  

TRANSFORMATION

This theme is at the absolute heart of this show for me. 

Blackbeard’s gender expression softens the more time he spends with Stede, eventually leading to him shaving off his beard, completing his transformation from Blackbeard to Ed. Right before he shaves is the only time we ever hear him refer to himself by his full name. “Edward Teach, born on a beach.” The next time we see him, he really is just Edward Teach. No longer Blackbeard. He’s ditched his Mad Max leather and his black beard, and is in soft, flowing fabrics. A billowy shirt for the kiss on the beach (where he says he just wants to “be Ed”). He wears Stede’s old floral robe during his time on the Revenge afterwards (the same one Stede wore while jealously watching Blackbeard and Jack on the beach). 

Which makes his re-transformation at the end of the season all the more heartbreaking. He tries to “hold on by a thread” to this softer version of masculinity, sometimes by literally holding on to the threads of Stede’s old clothes. But in the end, the harsh Blackbeard version of masculinity takes over again. 

He lets go of the fine fabric that Stede told him he wears well. He lost the finest thing he’s ever had—Stede—so he must not deserve the fine things after all. He lets go of his own heart. And in the next moment, he pushes Lucius overboard…the first time he’s actually killed a man since killing his father. Then he cuts off Izzy’s toe and force feeds it to him.  

The transformation ends with Ed drawing the beard back on, with the addition of dark makeup around his eyes. (This look felt to me like a masculine echo of the “mascara streaming down her face” image, and we see this parallel even more strongly in the shot of Ed sobbing in Stede’s now empty quarters.) Masculinity is a costume he must put on.   

And y’all there’s so much more. Ed and Stede’s musical theme—the little melody that plays in their moments of connection. The fact that so much of the fancy dress party scene is shot from lower angles, as if Ed has to look up towards them. The fact that the first time we see Mary, her dress style is from the 1850s even though it’s the 1700s, because she’s a woman ahead of her time. And the way that it normalizes queerness and anti-racism and women in positions of power. 

DO YOU SEE WHY WE ALL LOVE THIS SHOW? 

The way the fandom has embraced and celebrated and fan-fictioned and cosplayed and taken this show on as their own is just so beautiful. So consider this blog a part of all of that. 

(And then someone tell me how to get into a writer’s room for a show like this.) 

Skydiving on my birthday

Imagine for a moment that you hate the idea of skydiving. That you can’t think of anything you want to do LESS. Imagine that the thought of jumping out of an airplane fills you with so much anxiety that you’re paralyzed. Almost literally—your entire nervous system is just in a freeze response. You might not even be able to talk. But you’re in the airplane anyway, and the door is open. 

Now imagine that a bunch of people you love are on the ground. Somehow you can hear their voices calling up to you from the ground. (Ignore the laws of physics for the sake of the metaphor.) They’re saying they love you and they appreciate you, and it means a lot to hear it. 

But what you really actually want is for them to be in the airplane with you. Or for you to be on the ground with them. You want to sit around and talk and maybe have a campfire and sing songs or share poetry. You want connection. But in this scenario, the only way to get that connection is to jump out of the airplane. 

That’s how I feel every year on my birthday. 

I turned 38 last week. For the first time, I felt a tinge of existential dread about getting older. In general, I think aging is beautiful and embracing each phase of life is beautiful. But I did have a vague sense of not being where I thought I would be at this age. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with where I am, it’s just so different from visions I had when I was younger, and I think I’m still grieving that a little bit. 

But the stronger feeling I had, and have had every year for the past several years, is one of just…loneliness. 

I don’t know how to write about this without feeling profoundly sorry for myself, and worrying about sounding profoundly pitiful. I’m sharing it all anyway because one, writing about things helps me untangle them, and two, maybe someone can relate, or has words of advice or affirmation, or…something. 

I’ve had fairly significant social anxiety throughout my entire life. I have had phases where I’ve jumped fearlessly into social situations. And doing so demanded a lot of me, but it was doable. I now understand that what it demanded was masking, because I’m autistic, and it was doable because I had a lot more resources. And nowadays, I have far fewer spoons* with which to mask. There are a lot of things causing that lack of spoons—it’s age, it’s trauma, it’s capitalism, it’s living physically far away from so many of the people I’m closest to. 

For much of my life, I’ve been a part of social structures that automatically gave me connection on my birthday. I lived with or close to family, or I had a spouse, or I was part of a close-knit and active social group because I was in college and that’s what my college experience was like. 

But nowadays, my family is spread far and wide, and I don’t have a spouse, and while I have friends, many of them live far away now, and I don’t have one “friend group.” And we’re mostly “real grownups” now, with jobs and kids and not as much free time in our social calendars. 

So it means that every year on my birthday, when all I want is time with loved ones, it feels…out of reach. And because of my social anxiety and my autism and my abandonment trauma, reaching out and asking for connection feels to me like jumping out of an airplane. 

For my allistic (non-autistic) friends, or those who don’t experience anxiety or “rejection dysphoria,” this may sound absurd. It may sound like I’m describing something very simple as extremely difficult. But that’s just where my nervous system and psyche is right now. I’m working on it in therapy, and we’re making progress, but I may never be “over” my social anxiety just because of the way my brain is permanently wired. 

Here’s another metaphor. If your arm is working fine, lifting a gallon of milk is no problem. You do it without even thinking about it. But if your arm is broken, lifting a gallon of milk takes a lot more care. You may even need help to do it or you’ll make your injury worse. 

Because of my autism, my arm is never going to be at 100% when it comes to lifting gallons of milk. And my arm isn’t fully BROKEN, but there are some old wounds that haven’t quite healed. So lifting a gallon of milk by myself (e.g. putting together a birthday party for myself with friends) feels challenging at best and dangerous at worst. 

So for the past few years, while I’ve been stuck in the airplane with the door open, hearing loved ones far below, I’ve done the best I could to make the airplane as enjoyable as possible. I get a massage, and/or a new tattoo, and/or go to a play or do an improv show. I read the texts and social media messages and feel grateful for them. I take myself out to eat. 

But this year, it feels worth acknowledging that it’s not quite what I ACTUALLY WANT. The best birthday I’ve had in recent years was one where I had brunch with a significant other, got a massage, went to a play, and then sat and talked with old close friends in a car for hours and hours. That perfect birthday included the things I can do myself and usually do (massage, a play), but it also includes things that nowadays would demand jumping out of an airplane, or lifting a gallon of milk with my weak-ass arms. 

I don’t know why my birthday is when this comes up for me. Maybe I have a strong sense of “should” because of all of the cultural things associated with birthdays. I spent a lot of this last birthday “shoulding” all over myself. I should be married with children by now. I should be more established in my career. I should host a birthday party. I should have a significant other. I should have an established friend group. I should ask for what I want. I should be strong enough to lift this gallon of milk. I should be brave enough to jump out of this plane. 

I heard recently that when you are using the word “should” with yourself, you can try replacing it with “want” or “need” to see if it’s still true. If you’re saying “It’s a nice day, I should sit outside” you can try saying “I need to sit outside” or “I want to sit outside.” And if you don’t actually want or need to sit outside, then don’t do it. I think the majority of the tension I feel around my “shoulds” are because some of them are things I actually WANT, but the things I NEED to do in order to get what I want have some significant barriers for me right now. 

I’m not sure how to conclude this. I want to clarify again that with therapy, I’m learning how to lift gallons of milk and jump out of airplanes. And part of me is worried that this blog will make me sound like I’m not grateful for the expressions of love I do receive. Maybe I’m just asking for a little compassion? For each other. For ourselves. Maybe this is just a reminder that yes, be kind, everyone is fighting some battle or other. Or maybe I just needed to untangle this, and have it be witnessed. 

Anyway. 

Here’s to learning to sky dive, and being gentle with yourself when you’re not able to jump yet. 

* Spoons refers to the “spoonie” metaphor, where those with chronic illnesses or nervous system diagnoses or neurodivergence have a limited number of spoons per day, and each task takes a certain number of spoons. 

"When I go to sleep, I can't count sheep for the white lines in my head" --Bruce Springsteen

Let’s imagine, for a moment, that I prioritize travel. 

I’m actively silencing the voices that say “it’s too expensive” or “that’s not for you.” 

Why the hell not? Why not take the extra $1,000 that sometimes comes in from a well-paid gig and go explore some part of the world? 

Granted, right now I’m prioritizing raising funds for my intimacy direction certification program, and I will always have bills to pay. But I’m daring myself to ask “What would it look like if I prioritized exploring the world?” 

I’m also actively silencing any voices that come from outside of myself, about the dangers of traveling alone. I’m not really worried. Our world looks less like that dumb dumb movie “Taken” than people think, and I’m confident in my ability to navigate potentially dangerous situations safely. (Maybe I shouldn’t be, but I am. *shrug*) 

I also have no qualms about navigating a new city or transportation system by myself, figuring out where to eat, or getting lonely. I’m an introvert and homebody at heart, and most of the things I’d want to do in a foreign place are things that can be done alone–read, wander, eat, write. 

(That said, if anyone I love wants to join me, let’s make plans! We’ll go out dancing!) 

I’ve had wanderlust for a few weeks now. Maybe even months. But I picked up a copy of National Geographic labeled “100 Unforgettable Destinations” and now I’m revisiting my globe-trotter Pinterest board and making lists. 

Amsterdam. 

I’ll bring my tattered copy of “Anne Frank” and my own journal when I visit the place that feels so familiar to me already, see the location of a story that has informed so much of my life. 

Paris. 

An airbnb will probably be cheaper by the month. I’ll find some little place and walk to marketplaces every few days to buy food, sit at cafes and write, visit museums. I’ll eat at an outdoor table with a book in my hands. 

Tahiti. Or Bora Bora? Someplace tropical. 

Because for some reason, I just assume that tropical locations are not for plebes like me? But I don’t need an all-inclusive White Lotus resort experience. Just sun and sand and sea. 

Machu Picchu. 

Apparently it’s a whole-ass PROCESS to get there. But I bet it would be worth it. I’ll stop by the salt flats in Bolivia while I’m nearby. Swing up to the pyramid of Chichen Itza. 

Egypt. 

The pyramids at Giza. Hapshetsut’s palace. Amarna. Karnak. They’ve held me in thrall for as long as I can remember. It seems absurd that I wouldn’t visit them in person at least once. 

England. 

Plays at the West End, and a trip to Stratford-upon-Avon. A pilgrimage for the hopeless theatre kid I am. 

But while I make all these plans, it’s been deeply fulfilling to think back to all of the magical traveling I have gotten to do. Through the generosity of family and friends and happy sets of circumstances, I’ve been able to explore more corners of the earth than some people get to do in their lifetimes. (And I've gotten to do it all with some incredible people!)

I’ve eaten Black Forest gateau in the actual Black Forest of Germany, and explored the fairytale castle of Neuschwanstein, wandered the cobbled streets of towns centuries old.

I’ve strolled the National Mall and wandered past Ford’s theatre, walked through the museum of the home where Lincoln died. 

I’ve snorkeled in Hawai’i and Mexico.  

I’ve climbed ancient ruins in Belize and walked beaches in El Salvador. 

I’ve explored the ruins of ancient Greece, where I ran a footrace in Olympia, had a philosophical discussion in Athens, wandered the alleys of Pompeii, spoke the words of Sophocles’ “Oedipus Rex” at the ancient theatre Dionysus. 

I’ve wandered past Italian families playing soccer on Sunday afternoons to get to the Coliseum in Rome, and I’ve taken a train through Tuscany to stand before Botticelli’s “Birth of Venus” in Florence. I’ve eaten pizza in Naples. 

I’ve walked through the maze of the Grand Bazaar and slipped my shoes off to enter the Hagia Sophia in Instanbul. 

I’ve wandered the French Quarter of New Orleans, jazz music pouring out from every open door, a new pack of tarot cards in my purse. 

I’ve looked up at the Redwoods and looked down into Crater Lake. I’ve hiked slot canyons and hoodoos in southern Utah, and looked up at the stars from the waters of Leigh Lake in Grand Teton National Park. I’ve spent entire summers in Yellowstone. 

I’ve taken a ferry across the San Francisco Bay and taken an elevator to the top of the Empire State Building. 

When I list it out like this, I feel astonishingly lucky. 

So I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, listening to some weird voice that says traveling isn’t for me. It clearly already is for me. I just have to ask myself what it looks like when I make it a priority, instead of something I do when others invite me.  

I guess we’ll find out.