Link to original post: [drupal=2694]Things which I've been thinking.[/drupal]
More text. I know, right? What is this, livejournal? A fair number of you seem to have read the last one. Let’s talk about self-image. I’m going to reference people I know, but the information is already out there in many forms, so I’m not taking advantage of trust.
I had a conversation with a woman trying on a dress recently. She came out of the changeroom and, as I was telling her just how fantastic she looked in it, she nonchalantly pointed out how much better it would look if only her stomach was flatter. Not seeing anything the matter with her body, I disagreed. It didn’t matter, though. To her, she didn’t measure up. Plain and simple.
I see it every day. I know this girl, and I wouldn’t have to tell you she’s gorgeous. Coated in tattoos, hair always phenomenal. She’s a dynamo. This girl, she won’t wear dresses. She tells me she’s built wrong. Like she got a lemon. She looks at me like I understand. I don’t. I get this look all **** time.
I spent most of my life, from puberty to post-secondary, thinking the same things. Somebody had ripped me off. Here I was, whip-smart and full of attitude wearing a size nine. What was the deal? I couldn’t lose weight without strict diets. Everybody who saw me naked, I figured I was lucky. They were tolerating me, when I knew they could do better. I thought I needed tattoos and wild hair and crazy outfits to distract from my weight. Utterly convinced of my own grotesqueness. Are you cringing yet? Tell me honestly, girls of all sizes, that you’ve never felt like that. I know you have.
Some other friends tweet, blog and rant about calories. I love them to death, but it kills me inside. They’re driving themselves to ruin over a literally impossible ideal. All that energy, hateful and parasitic. As if one less cookie is going to make you perfect. You ARE perfect. Jesus. You don’t need to change. Not for that.
I’ve known girls who can’t try on clothes without saying they’re too fat for them. I AM one, or was. Maybe it’s different for me because I see girls from this split perspective. As peers and as interests. Women are so beautiful. Guys say it, and I think it’s true, that we’re generally the more aesthetically pleasing of the sexes. I could get into that, but it’s a whole other tangent. The point is:
Everybody’s heard a thousand speeches about being true to yourself, knowing you’re beautiful, it’s what’s on the inside that counts. We shed a tear for sisterhood, then we hop on the treadmill and hope to god we’ll look like models some day. When life backhands us with a shovel, we cry into our cupcakes. The cycle begins again.
I’ll tell you, something I hear from guys a lot (getting insight from both sides: a fun bonus!) is that you are what they want without even trying. In the morning with smudged makeup and socks still on, you’re everything. They talk big when it comes to celebrities, but really, they love the way you crinkle your nose when you laugh. Same as you love them even with that t-shirt you absolutely hate on. They are not settling, making due or waiting to upgrade. When he kisses you, he wants you, and you are the only one worrying that he’s going to be disappointed in you.
You girls are ****ing beautiful.
More text. I know, right? What is this, livejournal? A fair number of you seem to have read the last one. Let’s talk about self-image. I’m going to reference people I know, but the information is already out there in many forms, so I’m not taking advantage of trust.
I had a conversation with a woman trying on a dress recently. She came out of the changeroom and, as I was telling her just how fantastic she looked in it, she nonchalantly pointed out how much better it would look if only her stomach was flatter. Not seeing anything the matter with her body, I disagreed. It didn’t matter, though. To her, she didn’t measure up. Plain and simple.
I see it every day. I know this girl, and I wouldn’t have to tell you she’s gorgeous. Coated in tattoos, hair always phenomenal. She’s a dynamo. This girl, she won’t wear dresses. She tells me she’s built wrong. Like she got a lemon. She looks at me like I understand. I don’t. I get this look all **** time.
I spent most of my life, from puberty to post-secondary, thinking the same things. Somebody had ripped me off. Here I was, whip-smart and full of attitude wearing a size nine. What was the deal? I couldn’t lose weight without strict diets. Everybody who saw me naked, I figured I was lucky. They were tolerating me, when I knew they could do better. I thought I needed tattoos and wild hair and crazy outfits to distract from my weight. Utterly convinced of my own grotesqueness. Are you cringing yet? Tell me honestly, girls of all sizes, that you’ve never felt like that. I know you have.
Some other friends tweet, blog and rant about calories. I love them to death, but it kills me inside. They’re driving themselves to ruin over a literally impossible ideal. All that energy, hateful and parasitic. As if one less cookie is going to make you perfect. You ARE perfect. Jesus. You don’t need to change. Not for that.
I’ve known girls who can’t try on clothes without saying they’re too fat for them. I AM one, or was. Maybe it’s different for me because I see girls from this split perspective. As peers and as interests. Women are so beautiful. Guys say it, and I think it’s true, that we’re generally the more aesthetically pleasing of the sexes. I could get into that, but it’s a whole other tangent. The point is:
Everybody’s heard a thousand speeches about being true to yourself, knowing you’re beautiful, it’s what’s on the inside that counts. We shed a tear for sisterhood, then we hop on the treadmill and hope to god we’ll look like models some day. When life backhands us with a shovel, we cry into our cupcakes. The cycle begins again.
I’ll tell you, something I hear from guys a lot (getting insight from both sides: a fun bonus!) is that you are what they want without even trying. In the morning with smudged makeup and socks still on, you’re everything. They talk big when it comes to celebrities, but really, they love the way you crinkle your nose when you laugh. Same as you love them even with that t-shirt you absolutely hate on. They are not settling, making due or waiting to upgrade. When he kisses you, he wants you, and you are the only one worrying that he’s going to be disappointed in you.
You girls are ****ing beautiful.
