Zainab Fasiki’s Sexual Revolution (2019) portrays three women who are completely naked but for transparent red masks. The bright blue color of their bodies, their red masks, and their erect postures bring to mind images of superheroes in comic books, standing in formation confronting a common enemy. The sunglasses-like masks show their eyes without irises, almost like robots. Other common features such as red lips and short black hair make them appear as variations of the same body and recall some of Fasiki’s own self-portraits.Fasiki’s illustration of women raises questions about ways of seeing and the gaze, about what is hidden and what is shown, what is normative and what is normal. Her transgression of taboos on nudity in Morocco and in the MENA region exemplifies the strategies of a new generation of Moroccan artists, authors, and activists, such as Abedellah Taïa, Leila Slimani, Fedwa Misk, and Sonia Terrab, whose work and public interventions politicize the body and sexuality in an attempt to reclaim ownership of both and force the issues of individual freedoms, sexual rights, and the rights of the LGBTQI+ community into public debate. With the uniformity and anonymity created by the absence of irises and the use of blue, yellow, red, and black, Fasiki’s image also exceeds the context of the MENA region to challenge dominant and racialized beauty and body standards.The central body exhibits the usual features of unrealistic Western beauty standards—tall body, round and firm breasts, and narrow waist. The two other bodies refute these standards as well as the physical features of perfection traditionally associated with superheroines. What makes the women on the left and the right revolutionary or heroic is their defiance of taboos around nudity and challenge to sameness with difference. The presence of marks caused by childbirth, breastfeeding, aging, and illness demystify the female body, particularly in relation to its hypersexualization. Using striking and provocative visuals to introduce other stories about the female body, Fasiki upends beauty standards as cartoonish reproductions, asserting an alternative normativity rooted in other experiences. The women’s nipples, emphasized by their yellow highlighting, appear as laserlike weapons directed back at the values and norms of patriarchal societies. Rather than reproducing women’s objectification, Fasiki challenges the de facto and de jure repression and policing of women’s bodies. The women in her image are defiant, but their bodies bear the marks of the damage done by beauty standards, even as they wear the wounds of women’s lived experience like warrior marks.In a text in Arabic accompanying Sexual Revolution on Instagram, the twenty-six-year-old Moroccan artist and gender equality activist explains that she felt liberated the first time she drew nudes of herself at seventeen in response to discrimination and harassment she faced in her workplace as a mechanical engineer and on public transportation (Fasiki 2010). Instead of following advice to censor her body (by covering it or changing her behavior) in order to make it more acceptable, she used nudity and social media to normalize and desexualize women’s bodies in art and in public space. Despite criticism from family members and conservative milieus, she sees drawing as a therapeutic and healing process as well as a form of liberation from and resistance to the control over women’s bodies by the state, the family, the media, and men (Bouknight 2018). About Sexual Revolution she states: “I see it as a sexual revolution I am undertaking along with other women who have different bodies. The drawing represents us all” (pers. comm., December 4, 2020).Sexual Revolution is part of the series The New Order, exhibited in the art gallery Galerie Venise Cadre in Casablanca from March 12, 2020, to April 3, 2020. In 2018 Fasiki founded a collective called Women Power, which aims to encourage women’s involvement in art through residencies and workshops. She is also the author of Hshouma, corps et sexualité au Maroc (Hshouma: The Body and Sexuality in Morocco, 2019), in which she explores notions of shame and taboo as they relate to the body and sexuality in Morocco.