| Tuesday, October 04, 2005 |
| eye of the beholder |
I've had this post's pictures hanging out in my Blogger queue for almost a month. It was feeling quite comfy in it's drafty stage, and even bought a new bedroom suite and matching comforter set during it's long stay.
I can't say I have much of an excuse for not publishing it or for publishing in general, other than 22 pounds of pure happy dawdling around my home these days. Life happens, isn't that how the song goes? You come home, you sit on the floor and start watching Oprah when a middle-age mother of five, who bears an uncanny resemblance to SJ, starts belting out a tune she wrote called "Ruby's Shoes" that gets you, Oprah, and Farkota blubbering big drops of fluid emotion on the carpeted floor. And then you go to Wal-Mart for two hours of pure shopping hell because your family can't eat cardboard and cabinetry after all of the food in the pantry is gone. Then it's time for bed.
Then you remember about your dear old post just waiting to see the light of blogland, if you'd only click on that delightful orange "Publish Post" button just this once. All right, you win.
SEVERAL weeks ago Ern and Susan wrote thought-provoking pieces about Dove's new Campaign for Real Beauty.
The Campaign for Real Beauty models are in fact, not models, but regular cellulite-ridden, pasty and patchy, bad hair day women like me. When I was young, I wore too much make-up and hairsprayed my state fair bangs to the point that I had to put conditioner in my hair before I washed it. I had a flat stomach that I didn't appreciate, and I didn't think once about ever having to buy a clothing item in the women's section of the store.
These days I don't wear make-up except for special occasions (like on huge forehead zit day), my hair is tied back in a standard company issue rubberband, and I appreciate my stomach on the days I can look down and still see my toes. Although lately it's not always the stomach's fault I can't see my toes, it's entirely the fault of the boobage.
Dove's campaign makes me wonder what kinds of teenage body image issues my daughter and I will face together. She is destined to be short and well-endowed, which is a bad combo no matter how you look at it. Hunched-over humpback teenage girls are never good ingredients for the recipe of popularity. But even I don't necessarily yearn for my daughter to be uber-popular and have a perfect body. Even perfection comes with its fair share of torture.
I commend Dove for having the guts to defy every marketing and advertising scheme that we've been fed our entire lives: TV, movies, print, radio. It encourages girls to become something most of them are not, either physically or financially. Isn't it enough that young women already have such low self-esteem.? Let's pound you into the ground even further because you will never ever look like Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie or heaven forbid Britney Spears. Shame on girls who find happiness in being who they are.
So what's my idea of beauty? I've gathered a couple of pictures during my lifetime to illustrate my views. Hey you, time to get off the bed and get to work.
In the beginning...
When I was pregnant, I felt like the fattest cow that had ever roamed the Earth. I have so few pictures of me in this stage of my life that I sometimes have to remind myself that I did, in fact, endure 9 months of incubatory hell. Okay, so it wasn't hell, but it's a good thing we don't have the gestation period of elephants.
Although I felt as though I was the ugliest I had been in my life, my feelings paled in comparison to the love I felt for the beautiful human being I created. It wasn't about me.
Lord of the Things: The Lone Tower
I was sixteen in the picture above. I had just moved into my new high school dorm, and was a tad overwhelmed by the er, BOOKS excitement of it all. I'm sure you're wondering what the heck I'm doing in a dorm when I'm sixteen, but that's a WHOLE other post. I promise I'll get to it one day.
I remember this day in the photo very well. It was the first day I didn't have to live with my parents 24/7. I felt what it was like to be independent for the first time in my life, after I asked my dad for his gas card, of course. But the independence I felt, it was still beautiful.
There is more hair visible in this picture than skin.
I was about 12 or 13 in this Glamour Shots picture with my sister mom, Granny Grin. I knew that they were caking on way too much make-up for a kid my age, but I still let them make me feel like a grown up. Oh, how I regret that decision to this day. Just look at the difference between my mother and myself. I look like I'm trying to make it into the centerfold of Playboy's March 1990 edition, while my mom is just stunning. My mom is beautiful.
This is just another example of why I was so ticked at my mother for having such a better photo shoot than I did. I remember going out to eat at a restaurant after the state fair Glamour Shot shoot. My dad was with us, and he just had this "WOW" look on his face the whole time. For my mom, I'm sure it was "Wow, I married such a wonderful woman" and for me, it was probably more like, "Wow, I'm going to have to lock her in her room until she's 30." I still remember some of the other people in the restaurant looking at me, almost staring. I didn't really like "feeling" all that grown up.
Party on, happy girl.
My dearest Lauren, if I have only one wish for you, it would be that you would learn early on to feel good in your own skin. You will always see the popular girls and wish you were them, but sweetheart, if you were one of them, I wouldn't be your mommy. Fads, jealousy, and angst are a part of growing up. Soon, you will find beauty in things other than outward appearances. You will find beauty in freckles, cellulite, and stretch marks. Yes, even cellulite and stretch marks. For without them, I wouldn't have you, who will always be my beautiful little girl. |
| posted by ieatcrayonz @ 10/04/2005 |
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