By Parthosarothy Mukherji

The Bare Bottoms Club

The idea came to him quite unexpectedly while writing his doctoral thesis on the ubiquity of the derriere in language, literature, street talk, slang, euphemism—the whole argot with all its varieties of usage, evolving and dissolving with culture, yet remaining steadfastly anchored in it as a shorthand for much more than its actual anatomical role. Never in the history of linguistics had so many meanings and so much expressive use been owed by culture to so few muscles: the gluteus maximus.

Its expressiveness wasn’t just linguistic. It was kinetic—physically communicative. A twitch could signal sarcasm. A clench, defiance. As eloquent as a raised eyebrow or a haughty upper lip.

All of them, from Dumas to Shakespeare and the modern literary canon, had paid homage to the derriere in their works, mining it for farce and ribald mirth—comedy gold worth tons of rump roast. A stand-up comic could revive a dying set with a quick butt joke and a theatrical posterior jut. It was Pavlovian—reflexive laughter.

Ash Wole, PhD candidate in Comparative Semiotics at a small but self-important liberal arts college, had his Eureka moment between a half-eaten bagel and a heavily annotated copy of Bakhtin. “The buttocks,” he muttered, scribbling furiously, “are the ultimate signifiers.”

The dissertation could wait. He was keen to see “Dr. Ash Wole” someday etched on a faculty cabin door—his Walter Mitty fantasy painted him as a tweedy Dan Brown. But now there was something more urgent than doctorates and departmental reviews. Now there was *Belle Bottoms*.

A cultural moment had to be seized.

The Movement Begins

Ubiquitous and fundamental, the role of the derriere in human civilization was unmatched—yet never had there been a hero role for it in literature or poetry. The Bum, the Tusch, the Arse… all acknowledged in hushed tones or wink-wink puns, but never celebrated on its own terms.

Well, that was about to change.

Thus, the idea of *Belle Bottoms* was born.

A gallery—yes, a proper art gallery—with gilded, classical-style frames mounted on viewing walls. Behind each frame, a discreet cubicle. Participants would enter anonymously, disrobe waist-down, and insert their buttocks into the frame’s aperture. The viewer’s side would reveal only the posterior, framed like a Rembrandt.

Ash wrote out the guidelines with solemnity:

* All participants must be hygienically clean.
* No aesthetic criteria would be imposed.
* Buttocks only. No faces. No genitals. No identity.
* Viewers were free to critique the contours, symmetry, and emotive resonance, as one would a Kandinsky or a Klimt.

“This is not a Miss Bum Bum contest,” Ash declared to his reluctant collaborators. “This is dignity through exposure. Democracy through anonymity. Art for the masses—by displaying their asses.”

Resistance is Predictable

Like any artistic movement worth its radical salt, *Belle Bottoms* met resistance. His first test audience—his on-again, off-again girlfriend Gita—reacted as though a sumo wrestler had farted in her face. Gita, who was into Ang Lee films and Japanese haiku, listened in horror as Ash laid out the vision at Starbucks.

“You want to open a **what**?” she asked, halfway through her matcha latte.

“An anonymous buttocks gallery,” he said simply. “Framed dignity. Public-private inversion. Cultural catharsis.”

“You’re deranged.”

She stormed out, her latte still hissing on the counter.

Art galleries scoffed. Academic departments distanced themselves. Even the Vice Chancellor’s office issued a warning about “conduct unbecoming of institutional affiliation.”

Ash was undeterred. Underground venues, eccentric patrons, fringe artists—those were his allies now. He built alliances with burlesque performance troupes, installation artists, and disgraced gallery owners eager for redemption.

The First Viewing

It was held in a disused shipping container parked in an abandoned parking lot once earmarked for a Whole Foods. Ash called in favours, borrowed lighting rigs, and set up classical music speakers playing Bach’s “Cello Suite No. 1” to lend gravitas.

The first buttocks revealed—rumoured to be that of a retired theology professor—drew audible gasps and thoughtful murmurs. One critic described it as “a poignant topography of loss and resilience.” Another whispered, “It reminds me of late Caravaggio.”

Someone live-streamed it. Within hours, #BelleBottoms was trending.

Going Viral

TikTok exploded. Reaction videos, parodies, and earnest video essays appeared overnight. A famous pop star tweeted, “Finally, an art show that speaks to my soul (and backside).”

News outlets caught wind. Debates erupted. Was it empowering or exploitative? Art or exhibitionism? Conservative pundits called it the collapse of Western values. Art critics compared it to Duchamp’s urinal.

Ash was invited to a BBC Radio debate with Basil Lardington, longtime cultural gatekeeper and defender of “serious art.”

“This isn’t art,” Basil snorted, adjusting his ascot. “It’s cheeky sensationalism.”

“Ah,” Ash replied. “And yet here we are. Debating the semiotics of buttocks on national radio.”

A Movement Solidifies

Annual events followed. Belle Bottoms became part Burning Man, part Venice Biennale, part ironic renaissance fair. People arrived in costumes from the waist up and anonymity from the waist down.

Ash tried to remain humble, but soon appeared on late-night talk shows and TEDx stages. His lecture, “Gluteal Democracy and the Post-Visual Aesthetic,” went viral.

Even Gita, years later, attended a show in Kyoto and left a note: “I get it now.”

Ash smiled, sipping sake, cheeks relaxed.

The Establishment Strikes Back

With growing popularity came institutional backlash. The International Art Council issued a statement denouncing Belle Bottoms as a “provocation disguised as democratization.” Grants were denied. Sponsors pulled out.

Undeterred, Ash launched a cheeky counter-campaign: *Expose Yourself to Truth*. The movement gained steam. A coffee-table book followed, *The Rearview Mirror: A History

of Posteriors in Public Life*, featuring essays from anonymous contributors and rear-only photo spreads.

Soon, universities began offering courses in “Gluteal Semiotics.” Belle Bottoms became a recurring topic in media think pieces. Protestors in Paris mooned the Louvre in support. A rogue AI trained on buttocks recognition was accidentally developed by overzealous coders. Ash disavowed it immediately.

In a moment of satirical triumph, a prominent Nobel Prize-winning author declared, half-jokingly, that Belle Bottoms had achieved what years of decolonial critique could not: “an actual opening of discourse.”

Ash chuckled, then paused to admire a new submission: taut, but tender—”a meditation on resistance,” he noted.

Full Circle

A decade later, Ash returned to the university—not as a student, but as a visiting professor. His course, *Aesthetic Anonymity: The Politics of Unseen Expression*, filled up in minutes. A bronze plaque now stood in the campus courtyard, half-joking, half-reverent: **”In honour of the backside that moved the world.”**

Belle Bottoms was no longer fringe. It had become folklore. Ash walked the gallery in Kyoto once more. A child asked her mother, “Why are they showing butts in paintings?”

“Because,” the mother said, thoughtfully, “sometimes what we sit on says more than what we stand for.”

Ash smiled, and for once, said nothing.

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Parthosarothy K Mukherji is an Indian scientist, writer, and innovator whose literary and scientific work spans fiction, poetry, theoretical physics, and medical innovation. He has been an invited member of the Atascadero and Pune Writers Groups and has written acclaimed stories and poems that explore the intersections of identity, loss, and imagination. His work combines emotional depth with sharp observational humour, often inspired by his diverse experiences across health care, engineering, and literature. His previous fiction and poetry have been submitted to leading magazines including Rattle, Clarkesworld, and Strange Horizons.