body rant

Okay, this may get a little ranty. You've been warned.

One of the things that frustrates me about my culture - especially about my culture vis-a-vis being a woman in it - is the whole crazy appearance-body size-food thing.

For example: a sizable number of our female students have had "breast enhancements."

I have to say - that is something I do not get. I mean, I understand in the sense of "if you're in some kind of performance field, it might help." And I understand (believe me, I UNDERSTAND) how you can be emotionally screwed-up if you think there's something "wrong" with your appearance. But most of these women were proportioned just fine before (or at least, I'd think so), and now, a lot of them look...well, kind of overdone.

And - I'm a C cup, so I know whereof I speak - having big titties isn't the be all and end all of wonderfulness. Granted, maybe it's different when they're saline or silicone, but there are certain times where it HURTS to be a woman. And trying to find flattering clothes can be difficult - there has been more than one occasion where I've had to go up a dress size simply because the top was not generously-enough cut. The damn dress fit me everywhere else, but it was too constricting up front.

And I'm not even going to discuss sports. I always think of how the Amazons allegedly cut off one breast so they could be better archers. Things have a way of getting in the way.

And the whole "you're not allowed to age" thing frustrates me. The whole subtle pressure to dye your hair - I'm not saying no one should be allowed to do it; I'm saying that people who choose to go gray should not have to put up with people talking about how they've "let themselves go" or suggesting they get a dyejob. My hair, my business, thankyouverymuch. I won't talk about the fact that you're 65 and your hair is "still" raven black if you won't talk about the fact that I have a few gray hairs showing.

And Botox. And creams and lotions and potions and all that crap. Look, I count it a good day when I leave the house and:

my hair is combed
I remembered to put foundation on
my teeth are brushed.

Adding MORE steps to some supposed "beauty" regime is not what I need. I don't need to have to gunk five things on my face at bedtime.

And when you watch the ads - or see the ads in magazines - the implication is, if you don't do all this stuff (and take additional hormones when you start to enter The Change), you're going to dry up and shrivel into the croniest crone that ever croned. That you're gonna be Instant Babushka.

And you know what? A lot of that is pure crap. I'm coming to the conclusion that at least 50% of how you age is genetic. My mom is in her 70s. She flatly refused to take HRT, saying she was ready to be done with "all that" and the associated stuff with The Change didn't bother her. And that she didn't think the hormones were all that good for your body. And she's never dyed her hair. And she's never had plastic surgery. And at most, she puts a moisturizer on her face and wears sunscreen out in the sun.

And you know? People take her for a woman 20 years younger than she actually is.

And I think at least 30% - maybe more - is how you take care of yourself. I eat a healthful diet. I make an effort to get those veggies and fruits, every day. I don't drink sodas. I don't load up on meat. I don't eat fast food, except for very rare instances when I'm traveling or something and the choice is hungry 'n' cranky or Fried Chicken Sandwich*. I work out an hour most days. I make an effort to get 7 hours of sleep a night (I'd really like 9, 9 would be ideal, but I simply cannot do it with my schedule). I don't smoke. I don't tan.

(*And dammit, I don't care what the Food Police say; some fast food - if it's not been sitting under a hot light for twenty minutes and if it's prepared properly - tastes GOOD. I like a nice Fried Chicken Sandwich once in a while. I don't eat it more than once a month - because of all the stuff that's in it - but I'm not going to say "Oh, I would NEVER eat that" like it was a piece of dog poo.)

So anyway, to sum up: decent genes, careful lifestyle. I don't feel like I need to add "crazy whale-placenta cream and extract of stinging nettle" on top of that. I just don't.

And yeah, I have crows feet. Got them because I laugh at stuff. (That's probably the next thing: telling women to neither smile, frown, nor laugh, because it causes lines).


But anyway. The size rant part of the program.

I'm a big woman. I think we've established that before. I wear a size 14/16 dress. My measurements (just for the record, just for veracity) are 39-30-42. I'm a big woman. I have broad shoulders and "cheerleader legs" and a little potbelly and all that kind of stuff.

I am not, however, morbidly obese. Yes, I'm big. But I think I'm a "healthy" big - my blood pressure is low-normal, my cholesterol and other blood thingies are well within the "healthy" range. I can walk 10 or 15 miles easily in a day. When I'm out in the field with students, I always outrun them - and these are people, some of whom are 20 years my junior.

And dammit, I'm tired: tired of being made to feel that there's something wrong with me because I'm not 140 lbs. or less. Tired of being told that because I'm carrying that extra weight, I'm x percent extra likely to drop dead of (choose one)
heart attack
stroke
undiagnosed diabetes
cancer
DVT
depression (Depression? Hells yes, you've been telling me all the other scary crap I could die from!)

And I'm tired of the women's magazines. Tired of their dichotomy, their double standard. I'm tired of the fact that in a typical magazine, 1/3 of the stories will be devoted to delicious recipes you can make: casseroles. Breads. Pies. Whole dinners. Mexican style food. Chinese style food.

And then, another 1/3 of the magazine is devoted to diet-plans that suggest you should never allow yourself to eat any of the delicious food featured in the recipes. Or they're "inspirational" stories about some person who lost 75 pounds "just" by giving up the soda they drink every day (and that kind of thing frustrates me: there's really not anything "unnecessary" I could give up. I do eat a small amount of chocolate on a regular basis; I do once in a while eat dessert. But to me - I feel like life is short and fragile and it's good to enjoy something that tastes good once in a while).

And it frustrates me. It's like, there's this dichotomy: prepare all this lovely food - but don't you dare eat more than a bite. Love yourself, but change yourself. Woman power, but the true power comes from eating less than 1250 calories a day and working out for an hour and a half. Gain wisdom, but don't let them see your gray hair.

It all came to a head this morning. I was flipping through "Better Homes and Gardens" (which, to its credit, has fewer of those maddening "I did it!" stories where someone hires a private chef and personal trainer and loses all this weight...invariably by taking more hours in a day to work on it than I actually have as free time).

There was this advertisement. It was for some kind of diet pills. (I hate the diet pill ads. I hate that people buy into them. Look people: if there were a pill that safely and effectively made people lose weight, every doctor in the nation would be prescribing or recommending them. And don't give me that "medical establishment doesn't want you to know" conspiracy crap. Trust me. If doctors could make us be thin in some other way than berating us to diet, they would.)

Anyway. It showed a photo of a young woman in a bikini, sitting all hunched up on a scale. She looked sad. The caption was something like, "Do you need to lose weight."

And, I swear, girlfriend was a size 6 at the most. I mean, she was wearing a feckin' BIKINI in a feckin' ad. And there wasn't any extra flesh hanging out.

And that kind of thing maddens me - it's like, it's a moving goal. Get down to a size 8 and then that's not enough, you need to be a 4. 30 minutes a day of exercise isn't enough, you should really be getting 90. Five servings of vegetables aren't enough, you really need seven. And on, and on.

(Sometimes I wonder if maybe the conspiracy isn't on the part of the diet industry; keeping us all preoccupied with our weight so we don't see something else going on in the world.)

Anyway. I just sat looking at the ad in dismay (I could work out 3 hours a day and exist on nothing but protein shakes and I wouldn't be a size 6).

Then I turned the page.

And on that next page, there was an appeal put out by Smile Train. This is an organization that sends doctors to developing nations to perform plastic surgery on kids born with cleft palate - so the kids have a shot at a normal life, where they can eat and talk and not be ostracized.

And you know, the whole absurdity of the whole appearance-crazed media in the U.S. hit me - here's a case where plastic surgery will make a real difference in someone's life. Here's a case where, instead of wanting to cover up the signs of age, all that is wanted is something close to normalcy.

We've redefined "attractive" in this country. Redefined it to the point where what would be celebrated in some other places as God-given beauty - because everything "works" and there is basic good health - is seen as not good enough, as something to be altered.

And while I understand that for some people in this country, a nose job, or removal of excess fat, or something, brings their bodies in line with their mental images of them - and ends what may have been lifelong feelings of inadequacy - I think we also need to think about our definition of what is "normal" and "beautiful."

Having two eyes that see is beautiful. Having a mouth and palate that work properly and allow you to eat and talk and make a living and not be extra prone to dental or respiratory diseases is beautiful. Having legs that are strong enough to carry you is beautiful.

So often, it seems, that the more people have, the more they want. I wish sometimes we as a society would say "enough" and be happy with what we have, rather than chasing after some new, increasingly unrealistic, standard.

(And: that we'd accept that it's okay, really okay, even for "fattish" people like me to enjoy a cookie or an ice cream bar in public once in a while, without sometimes feeling like people are judging us for what we've chosen to eat).