Becuase, No, Your Ass Does Not Look Fat in That

I love women.

More specifically, I love women’s (bodies).

Not only are we more ogle worthy than our XY counterparts, but scientifically (technologically) (evolutionarily) (naturalistically), we are built to feed. And sustain. Life.

I don’t know how to put this, but we’re kind of a big deal.

If man (or woman) kind engineered a specimen that was of equal importance to the sustainably of life and possessed the flesh and blood beauty of a woman in heels, it would be met with hero worship (and fanboy squirming).It would be savored.

It would be valued

and ogled.

and honored.

But iPhones look shitty in stilettos. And women’s bodies are dissected. Perfected. Pinched, prodded, and pressured.

We are told everyday that we’re not good enough. Not thin enough (like a model). Not curvy enough (like a “real” woman). Not toned enough (like an advertisement). Not soft enough (like a painting). We don’t have the right hair color for the season or the right bone structure for the bangs.

It doesn’t matter what you are. You’re not enough.

And then…

And then we overcompensate. We react to the skeletons strutting down the runways and shout “REAL women have curves!” from the rooftops.

We forget. We forget that real women? They come in all shapes and sizes. In fact there are so many variations, we’re practically a Dr. Seuss compendium of options.

There are tall ones and small ones. Flat ones and stacked ones. Ripped ones, big lipped ones, bodaciously hipped ones. There are peary ones and squarey ones. Yes, even hairy ones (looks at unshaved legs ::the shame ::).

But there is one truth: you will never be just right.

You should never be just right.

You are not a bowl of porridge in a Goldilocks story.

You are an enigma. You are what you’re supposed to be.

And fashions, and seasons, and shapes, and styles? Are nothing more than a trend. There will be more Twiggys, and the petite pretties will reign. There will be more Marilyns, and the curvy lasses will hold all the power (and pages in the magazines). There will be more Cindys and the Amazons will be adored.

Your time? Your body’s time? Will come. And it will go. But, no matter what the editors. The designers. The movie mavens and the asshole in the cubicle next to you think: you should always be celebrated.

and valued.

and ogled.

and honored.

But we can’t ask others to do what we ourselves first refuse to. Choose to be fabulous. And perfect. And ideal. Right now (she says as she eats Special K for lunch).

I wish I could say I was so empowered. That I don’t let magazines (and movies) (and TV) (and friends and family and foes) dictate how I feel about my own body.

But I do.

But I also make sure to compliment women rocking the street (and the hallway and the book store, the dance floor, or the milk aisle) All. The. Time. I hope I make them smile. I hope I make them a bit less insecure. A bit more fabulous. Because all the tiny flaws I see in me? When I look at other women: All I see is beauty.

Job of the Day: Underwear Model (Plus Size, Fun Size, No One Size, One Size Does Not Fit All Size)


~ by rubylocks on November 13, 2009.

One Response to “Becuase, No, Your Ass Does Not Look Fat in That”

  1. I look up to you, darling. Because you named me gorgey, and you showed me how to be gorgey (and fabulous).

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