“The beautiful and the bad: Seems as if only models and rock stars get good sex? Insecurity eats away at desire and anyone can have a hang up. Don’t let pictures of the beautiful and famous make you feel inadequate. Actually, the top performers, models and stars probably feel more insecure than you do.” (Chapter 4, Incredible Orgasms: yes, yes Yes, YES, YESSS! By Marcelle Perks.)
Yeah. Right. Okay. Of course I’ll buy that one, Ms. Perks. How many top performers, models and stars do you think she asked before she felt righteous in making that statement?
Here’s a secret from the peanut gallery: I am extremely (and I mean EXTREMELY) body conscious. To the nth degree. It doesn’t matter what anyone else says or thinks, I worry and fret and am at my happiest when I am at my smallest. “Small” being a relative term, of course, for a 5 foot 9er with big feet. And a large upper bodyish area (more on that later) About three or four years ago I was a size 4…and I was in heaven. Now, not so much. I mean about the size 4.
I think it all started when I saw my great-grandmother in the bathtub. Mind you, she was an 80 year old Polish woman from the old country…and all I saw where her breasts that were stretched down to her lap. From that day on (I think I was 6 or 8 and FAR from the world of bras) I kept that picture in my head as a Body Don’t.
And to think that all I thought I had to worry about was sagging breasts.
Being involved from the age of 12 to 19, and then again at the age of 30, in the world of fashion, I was uber uber aware of what everyone around me looked like. And how I thought I should look. And how I found myself lacking. And that led to a VERY warped sense of how I saw people. NO, this is not a pretty fact about me. I am judgmental about strangers…you know, like the little latina walking down the street with her boobs popping out the top of her shirt and her belly out of the bottom. But, I am jealous of those women who have bodies that are strong and flaunt them with without thinking they shouldn't. I see a wiggle in my upper arms and I swear off tank tops forever. A ripple in my belly? No more bikinis. It’s just an inherent mental flaw. That I would LOVE to replace.
I embraced the Dove campaign that uses ‘real women.’ But even with those, do you see any cellulite? Trust me...I looked closely.
Danielle Steele has largely used the stereotypical ‘desirable’ woman in her books: lithe women, usually mid to late 20’s, with long flowing locks of gold (or chestnut or ruby red) with shining clear green (or aqua or violet) eyes. DISASTEROUS for reality. She DID, however, have an effort out recently, The Big Girl, where her protagonist was overweight…and ridiculed by her family. But check out the cover of the book…. http://www.randomhouse.com/catalog/display.pperl/9780385343183.html. Jennifer Weiner is a storyteller with an EXCELLENT female character insecure of herself because of her weight. Check out “Good in Bed.” But even when modern writers try to make their women more believable, they fall short: “He gazed appreciatively at her rounded hips, gently swelled stomach and full breasts. He knew they would fit perfectly in his hands.” Oh, I just made that up by the way, loosely based on a book I just read.
WRONG! Truly full breasts will NEVER fit in a guy’s hands unless he is Shaquille O’Neal.
God has inked a design of my physical body and I am not rail thin or a ‘string bean.’ It seems that I am to be statuesque…which in Hollywood standards would mean that I am a mountain. I am almost starting to think that short of major reconstructive surgery that will make me look like Joan Rivers, I should embrace the fact that I have a strong body (um, well, once I get those PX90 or whatever the hell that exercise crap is from my ex…he IS aware that he is no longer my beneficiary, right??).
This topic came to me while I was in the shower today…a whole onslaught of thoughts as I was shaving my calves (one of the truly ‘thin’ areas left on me!!)…and then was supported when I came across the aforementioned chapter of the aforementioned book (which, by the way, was one of the ones that got this whole bloggy thing started.) This diatribe is certainly NOT a plea for compliments or reassurance or recrimination (if I read ONE comment about how I'm fine the way I am, etc, I will DELETE it!)…but really just to say that I am scared to get naked and I need to fix it PRONTO!
Until that happens….LIGHTS OFF.
I told you months ago that you had big feet and you said they were normal. I knew I was right!
ReplyDeleteI'm not going to argue with you on any of the above. I will take this opportunity to offer my assistance, if needed when you're 80, in holding up you're breast for you when you bathe so you can wash underneath them. I mean really, that's what friends are for isn't it?
Thank god for my friends!!
ReplyDeleteRegarding the quote from the book about the breasts. Women seem to think that ALL men crave big boobs. This is not true.
ReplyDeleteAdditionally, what you fail to see in the quote from the book is the quality of male attraction; the size of the woman's breasts has nothing to do with them fitting perfectly in an interested party's hands. His point, in the quote, is that he just wants to get his hands on her tits!
Which brings me to my third point (and please, forgive the terminology): Tits are Tits. No matter what a man's preference when it comes to breasts, whether it be based on volume, shape, or nipple-to-breast-size ratio, it all flies out the window when her blouse comes off. A man is generally pleased just to have the privilege of seeing them naked, up close, and within welcome reach; within the dimensions of his preference is just bonus.
^^^^^^^^^disagree with point 2 & 3 above. I would gladly trade a 36/38cd now for 36/38 long later in life.
ReplyDelete