Not directly related but it is about slowing down… Enjoy some vintage, pre-Snookie lookalike Christina.
We’re all warned about it. No one should be surprised. Only a select few can hope to avoid it, those who are biologically immune to the inevitable. Although you should be prepared, it will probably start to sneak up on you, gradually killing your…waistline.
Yes, your metabolism will slow down!!! Oh, the (in)humanity!! How dare my body deceive me and decide to showcase the foods I eat and exercise I avoid! Long gone are the days pizza as a late night snack and/or breakfast is a perfectly acceptable idea. Long gone is the bottomless pit stomach or potential modeling career. (Okay, scratch that. I’ve never been THAT skinny and I’ve always loved food.)
While you may not become a hard-core calorie counter or marathon runner, around a certain age, you start to recognize your choices have repercussions. Another reason being a grown-up sucks. You start to feel the need to rationalize (or excuse) your dietary and exercise choices. “If I do this today, I get to/have to do this tomorrow.” “I deserve a treat.” “I’m not supposed to look the way I did at 20. Life has happened.” “But I’m working harder than I used to. This isn’t fair.” and on and on…
Over the last 3-4 years, my metabolism has slowed down, a steady decline. It was time. I was in my mid-twenties, a fitting addition to a quarterlife crisis. And now my body, the thing I just started to figure out and get comfortable with/in, is betraying me. From acne to muffin tops, some of us only get a few “good” years. After that, we start to the painful and annoying process of denying or excusing.
Personally, I’m an excuser. I revolt against the idea of not having the one food I’ve been craving for minutes, hours or days. My cravings are also rather intense. I’ll eat my weight in “healthier” avoidance foods, doing more damage than the original crave, only to give in to the original crave anyway. My only saving grace and reason I’m not currently 400 lbs is the fact that I don’t crave things often. And I like fruits and veggies. Now, don’t get me wrong, there are few things in the world better than fried potato products and ice cream but I believe that most of the time my brain is on my side, or at least on the side of vanity. Sure, health plays a small, pat-yourself-on-the-back part in it but let’s be real, it’s really about vanity.
However, while I am an excuser, I am also an adult, therefore making me a reluctant denier. There are (many) times something like tres leches or avoiding Body Pump sounds like an excellent idea. And then I look at my…slowed body, pick a part. My wasted Gold’s membership is evident in the middle. Sugar and potatoes evident on the arms and legs. I’d even argue my lack of sufficient water intake could be seen in my face and skin. Add a few gray hairs and it’s official, I’m getting older.
I guess metabolism is as dirty a word as thirty or wrinkle. It’s just a part of growing up (Yay!!!). And every time I want to complain about it, I should try to remember the joys I would’ve never experienced if I ceased to exist the day my body started to betray me.
Sure, I can get in shape. It’s just going to be harder than it would’ve been a few years ago. And who wants to do all that work when you can just complain about it and opt for the 4 piece nugget instead of the 6 and congratulate yourself with a cookie?
I couldn’t resist. The song I wish a man I love could sing/say to me and mean AND Miss Piggy and Kermit!!!!
Musiq Soulchild’s “Don’t Change”
When we go off to college, we quickly learn about the famed “Freshman 15”. Supposedly, the first year you’re away from home, you’re supposed to stop eating vegetables (because your mother’s not making you) and pledge to exist on pizza and beer (bought by cooler, older juniors and seniors or the weird kid down the hall with a fake ID). This waist enlarging myth was recently debunked by researchers at Ohio State. (Refer to the NYTimes) According to the study, first-year students gain on average 3 lbs. 15 is an extreme exaggeration. Heavy drinkers gain more (lite beer, anyone?…) and students with a job tend to gain less (other priorities and possible movement beyond reaching for the phone with Pizza Hut on speed dial). Makes sense, right? Ok, a myth debunked.
Besides college, the other time of great weight gain (non-pregnant) people my age discuss or consider a given is what I’m terming the “Relationship 15”. (The 15 is not necessarily part of the general description but it’s a rough estimate for my recent gain.) Supposedly when you get into a long-term relationship, it’s very likely that your happiness will be visible in your growing wasitline. (This is also something said for recent newlyweds.)
There are a number of possible reasons for the “more of you to love”:
1.) Keeping Up Bite for Bite – Sometimes when on dates or out with friends, it’s tempting to keep up with your significant other bite for bite. When you first start dating, it may be tempting to order a salad and appreciate your favorite pair of Spanx. After all we like to put our best, manicured, permed, new outfitted, stiletto-ed foot forward. A few months in and fried cheesesticks and sweatpants might be sounding pretty good.
2.) Indulgent Meals – Dates often give us an excuse to eat the things we want. When you go out with friends, the favorite, cheap restaurant or dish might be your goal. If you’re anything like my friends and I, you want it to be good but may not be ready to drop $50+ to hang out with friends. Some people (i.e. I) use dates as the perfect way to try that new restaurant. If you’re going somewhere new, you might be tempted to try whatever grabs your interest or the house specialty. Get dressed up, order wine, make it an occasion.
3.) Alcohol – Along the same lines of indulgent meals, increased alcohol consumption might add a few ounces to your pounds. While you may struggle to justify having a beer or glass of wine by yourself, having someone to share that new or favorite might be the perfect excuse to indulge.
4.) Heart to Stomach Key – The old saying “the way to a man’s heart is through is stomach” is debatable but embraced just the same. When I was single, I cooked “good” meals when I craved them or had a particular occasion to plan for. As a woman in a relationship, I’m more tempted to consider making more “real” meals; meat and potatoes, more than a shake or a salad. There’s also a desire to impress. I was never grown up enough to host or attend “dinner parties”. With a man, there could be a “dinner party” everyone night if I had the available patience and groceries. (Although, I will not be cooking or cleaning by myself. That’s an entirely different post for a later time…)
5.) Adopting Bad Habits – The more time you spend with someone, the more traits you (can) pick up from them. Eating habits are just one of them. If you have a problem with restraint but your significant other likes to have options on hand, chances are their supplies will dwindle while your pant size increase. If your significant other eats light and early but you enjoy late, full, heavy meals, you may see your other getting a little more bootylicious. Etc…
6.) Workouts Interfering with Cuddling – When you’re in a good relationship, it’s normal to want to spend as much time with that person as possible. I’m not condoning anti-social behavior but wanting to cuddle rather than doing most things you do to fill up your time is understandable. There are many reasons to workout including vanity, control, to fill up time and because over all health is important to you (ugh). If you’re like me and it was a mix of some of these things, a comfortable relationship can get in the way. You’d rather be with that person than alone on a run or at the gym.
7.) Loss of Motivation – For some, working out is a means to looking good which is a means to attracting a man/woman. Once you’ve secured a “good one”, working hard to maintain whatever you had may not seem all that important. In the same way, cute little dresses and heels give way to sweatpants and slippers, steady workouts can give way to questioning your gym fees.
8.) Emotional Eater – Relationships can be good and bad. If you’re an emotional eater and things aren’t all pretty pictures, eating your feelings can make you feel temporarily better until you realize you’re still unhappy and you’ve begun trying to justify elastic waistbands to yourself.
Now no one just beat themselves up for putting on a little extra weight. If you still feel confident and your other still thinks you’re sexy, embrace the little extra and move on. Having more than you wanted in some places can be forgiven for having more than you hoped for in others. Think on that…
But a little is not one or two (or three or four) pant sizes for me personally. Physical attraction often plays a big part of the inital formation of new relationships. While a relationship built on love and devotion can be hard to shake, a dramatic weight gain in a few months time could probably still hurt. Thinking you’re getting one thing and being handed something else a little while later can make some people reconsider the whole thing. And that goes for more than just weight, people.
Do what you have to do in your relationship. But if you’re unhappy with your current physique and believe your relationship may an underlying cause, make it a point to figure something else out. Ask for encouragement, explain your concerns, figure out if you can be workout buddies and above all else don’t stop being the you you want to be because someone else loves you. If they really love you for you, they’ll understand the importance of taking care of you (mentally or physically, whatever your motivation).
Despite writing this post while digesting a Thanksgiving dinner/platter, still getting very fed up with her Relationship 15 (or 18 if we’re really being honest),
This song is so ridiculous I couldn’t resist. Christina Aguilera’s “Vanity” (featuring images of the Evil Queen from Sleeping Beauty)
I’ve been thinking about the concept of vanity a lot lately. It’s a term that usually takes a negative connotation but for me it all depends on your point. We are all vain. Some people more so than others but we are all vain.
We care about how we look and hope to be considered attractive. You can go as far as plastic surgery or just spend an extra little money on that hair gel that “really” works for “your” hair. (Unless you’re like Suave or my brother, and then you may pay a little extra for the best shave gel or blades to keep your head “smooth.”) I know that I feel better when my hair is permed, eyebrows arched, toenails painted, legs shaved, clothes fitted, shoes unscuffed, jewelry matching, perfume on, etc. I spend a lot of time (and money) on maintaining what I have or distracting from what I don’t. Nice butt? Pencil skirts. Long legs? Slim pants. Small chest? Ruffles. No upper lip? Play up the eyes.
Now do I work that hard every day? No, I don’t have enough energy for all of that. Although I value being well put together, I do my best to just look put together, not obviously spending 45 minutes on my hair, 30 minutes on my makeup and an hour assembling that ensemble. (Hint: It helps when your entire wardrobe is black, white and grey. J ) Regardless, I get upset or feel bad when I look in a mirror and my hair’s doing something crazy, my mascara has smeared or I get a run in my stockings. And if it’s not something easily fixable, it can bug me for hours.
But if it’s just caring about how you look why consider it vanity rather than just looking good? Because my mascara is just as unnecessary as a nose job. It simply costs less and doesn’t involve cutting and therefore is more “normal.” If I can’t be happy with the way I look clean faced and in sweatpants (or god forbid naked), everything I do to look better after that is due to vanity. I go to the gym to look good in my existing clothes, not for my health. Therefore it’s vanity. The things I do to my hair are not good for it but I’ve convinced myself harsh chemicals and prolonged heat make me pretty. Vanity. Acne is not unhealthy but it sure is unattractive, so two face washes (one for deep cleaning and the other exfoliation, haha) and two acne products later, I’m closer to clear. Vanity. Showering should be sufficient but perfume lingers (in a good way). Obviously my eyelids are not a dusty lavender with dark brown shading but it matches my outfit. Crooked teeth don’t affect my well-being, just my self-esteem. So thousands of dollars and years in braces later, I can confidently smile. Vanity.
My point: vanity is normal. And although we all get annoyed at the people who constantly strive to prove how attractive they are or drive us crazy with their complaints of a lack of beauty, we’re all there is some way. When we step out of the shower, into our closet, in front of a mirror, out of the salon/barbershop, into of the tanning booth, out of the gym, or into a dressing room. So when I get annoyed at those that go overboard, I have to remember it’s not hard for someone to tear apart my regiments.
TLC’s “Unpretty” (Remix featuring 2Pac – His rap really doesn’t fit but that’s kind of why I like it…)
Sitting under the dryer at the hair salon, I can’t help but wonder “Why am I doing this to myself?”. Every 4-8 weeks, I’m paying someone to straighten this, highlight that, thread those, wax that. On special occasions, I pay more to have this cut, those painted or that lasered. (I’m no longer just talking about the hair on the top of my head.) To keep in line with the costly exterior upgrades, I also pay to have access to those weights and run on that treadmill. In short, I’m a normal, healthy, self-conscious, vain 25-year-old woman.
Now, I understand all of these “services” are voluntary but I see most of them as necessary to stay in line with my contemporaries and expectations. And to be completely honest, I feel better about myself and my appearance afterwards. No one believes my hair’s naturally straight with red highlights, eyebrows perfectly arched, or that my toes naturally appear in various shades of reds and purples. BUT I imagine more people would notice bushy eyebrows, kinky (and not in the attractive afro style) hair, and a mustache. I do what I can and what I think I need to. (Sometimes not the same things.)
A few months ago, I went to see Chris Rock’s documentary “Good Hair”. If you’re at all interested and/or curious about the processes, costs, stigmas, and assumptions about black hair, I’d highly recommend the film. As my friend and I found ourselves laughing and nodding our heads in agreement with the commentators, one particular moment, or better statement, stuck with me.
A well-known, arguably renowned, hair stylist preparing for a major hair show and competition decided to go the extra mile for vanity and try Botox. The costs and pain were worth it for him to look his best. After the procedure, once the bleeding had stopped, he looked in the mirror and said, “I don’t feel as beautiful as I anticipated.” I couldn’t help but laugh and wonder “Do we ever?”. This man’s in the business of making people look and feel better and he’s still unsatisfied with himself. Of all the people, shouldn’t he have more realistic, and therefore more achievable, expectations?
For good or bad, God made me whatever I am. While I’m not considering anything as drastic as plastic surgery (although an upper lip and cup sizes proportional to my backside would be nice…), my actions are, in effect, trying to improve on His design. He loves me hairy legged, nappy headed and ashy. I should be able to too. And you know, I do love myself. I just like myself more well put together. Hair, make-up, outfits, shoes, they’re all a front. The question really isn’t “if I’m putting up a front with my efforts” but “if I can accept and admit a front’s all it is.”
Not anticipating beauty (just hoping really hard for it),
Timbaland featuring Nelly Furtado and SoShy “Morning After Dark” (Thinking of famous women with tattoos is just too easy. SoShy’s a new artist.)
Is there such a thing as a classy tattoo? I would venture to say no. Sure, there are artsy, artistic, personal, simple, intricate, etc tattoos. But can you really call one classy, especially on a woman? I recently had a conversation with a young lady who tried to use “classy” as a term to describe her tattoo. For whatever reason, that just seemed comical.
Now, I am a proponent of tattoos. If you have a design or image that means enough to permanently add to your body, I say go for it. Obviously, some people go too far and end up more tattoo than skin (think circus freaks and Lil Wayne….), but a couple choice things in choice places? Sure, why not? I doubt I’ll hate either of my tattoos 30 years from now but anything’s possible. The tiger on my side/stomach might look pretty silly if I have children or just gain a lot of weight there and the musical symbol on my back will no doubt make picking out evening gowns or wedding dresses an interesting process. But for now, I’m happy they’re a visible (but not too visible) part of me.
Being a generally conservative person, most people are surprised to learn I have any tattoos. My ears aren’t even pierced (mom thought I had keloids, long story). My hair, make-up, clothes, shoes, bags, etc are all generally simple, tasteful (I hope) and classy. Form-fitting, a-line, black and grey, chic, rounded toes and straight cuts. While I may never grab and hold many people’s attention, I pass through their subconscious as appearing “nice enough.” (Looking good and looking interesting are not always the same thing or anywhere near it.)
Being somewhat “traditional”, how do I justify two tattoos with the possibility but not plans for more? I don’t. Luckily, I don’t feel the need to. I made decisions, paid someone to carry them out and clenched my teeth through the pain. My tattoos don’t affect anyone but me and I like them. But I also realized they may not always be situation-appropriate. I chose strategic-enough places. If I want them to show, they can. If not, it’s pretty easy to cover them up. Considering covering them up in the location may seem like a cop-out to some and yes, it is. Much like other aspects of vanity, I may be happy to have them but not willing to also put them on display. Relate them to a chiseled 6-pack….
But the question still remains if a tattoo can be considered classy. It’s easy to spot the opposite. Trashy/douchey tattoos are intriguing. If you find yourself staring and shaking your head at the same time, it’s probably trashy. Pin-up girls and names of new lovers are pretty trashy. Anything on the lower back of a woman is considered a tramp stamp. (However, longer t-shirts and less extreme low-rise jeans are helping to limit the public sightings.) Thankfully the armbands, especially barbed wire, seem to be falling out of favor. They were pretty douchey. Tattoos in very intimate places are also pretty trashy. But considering (hopefully) only choice people are going to see them, if you’re willing to go through the pain of a needle on skin that sensitive, go for it. Just hope if doesn’t scab badly….
But classy? I just don’t see it. It’s body art. If gone to extremes, tattoos can make you look bad. But they’re not really designed to make you look classier. The things we do to ourselves to look good and feel somewhat like an individual seem to generally follow this line of thought. Are holes in your ears classy? No, not really. The jewelry you hang from those holes may be but the holes themselves, not so much. Classy haircuts? Eh, not really. It largely depends on the total package. But you can definitely go trashy that way, mullets, side rat tails, bad weave… Classy eyebrows? Probably not. But the drawn-on Chola look is pretty trashy.
I’ve realized I only consider attitudes and attire/accessories to be classy. Since tattoos are permanent, in moderation, they’re just part of the total package. If you’re not classy, you’re tattoos can’t possibly be.
A clip of the song “Almost There” from Disney’s “The Princess and the Frog”
Over the Christmas holidays, I took my mother and grandmother to go see Disney’s “The Princess and the Frog”. Three generations of black women sat in a movie theater in the middle of the day on a Wednesday to somewhat celebrate Disney’s first black Disney princess.
I won’t give the movie away but it IS a Disney movie afterall. There’s a sweet, smart young woman facing hardships that can only be righted with hard work, magic, music and a man she hates only to eventually love.
Now when the buzz about the movie began a few months ago, I heard critics praise Disney’s move to finally include African-Americans in their special princess clique and others berate Disney for having the first and only black princess only be a human for 1/4 of the movie. (You see Tiana turns into a frog when she kisses the cursed prince…)
You know, I get it. I see both points and why people would be so upset. What other princess is an animal the vast majority of the movie? The closest I can think of is Ariel in The Little Mermaid. But at least she was human-like from the waist up. Is this unfair? Maybe. Would I prefer to see Tiana as the beautiful human rather than the adorable frog? Maybe. But do I (want to) believe Disney was being racist? No, not really.
Of the nine “Disney Princesses“, four of them were already princesses. The other five were peasants, poor, lower class beauties who strived for equality and success and became princesses. Tiana is one of these five. Would it’ve been nice to avoid some of the stereotypes? Sure. Were the accents and assumptions of lower education all that necessary? Probably not. But the fact that Tiana is a poor, black, and from New Orleans isn’t such a bad or surprising thing. Disney (and most entertainment companies) play on stereotypes. While the heroine was poor and black, her rich, spoiled friend was a little round, blond and always in pink. The prince was beautiful and immature. The villain was thin and dark (in fact he looked very much like The Lion King’s Scar). Her friends were bumbling and sweet, parents supportive and wise. And most importantly, Tiana’s success was based (mostly) on her determination, intelligence and big heart.
Growing up, my mother made a conscious effort to surround me with dolls who looked like myself. Why get me a blond Barbie? Beauty was defined as blond, blue-eyed and pale everywhere outside of my home, even on the television and books within it. Why force her daughter to stare at and idolize something she’ll never be? Was giving me all black dolls a little extreme? Yeah, maybe. But you know what? I grew up thinking Christie was just a pretty as Barbie. Barbie just had better outfits. Plus, my grandmother and stepmother added a little diversity to my dolls with Barbies (blond), Midges (red head), Teresas (brunette/Hispanic), Skippers (blond little sister) and Kens (blond boyfriend). And you know, Christie didn’t even need Ken. She had Steven. I played with them all. Barbies, Cabbage Patch dolls, average baby dolls. If I’d had more/any asian dolls, my trunk would’ve looked like Brangelina’s brood.
Conclusion: If I were 7 (shoot, maybe even at 25), I’d want a Tiana Barbie. She was pretty, smart, brave and successful. And it’s finally nice to have a Disney princess who looks like me. And you know what else? After Pocahontas, Tiana’s the 2nd American princess. Fancy that!
Contemplating asking for my first Barbie in 15 years,
Even legends like Phil Collins have off days. Phil Collins “Against All Odds (Take a Look at Me Now) Live”
As I’m preparing to head back to Nashville for Christmas, I started reflecting on the type of person I was when I lived there. I left right after high school and have only returned to visit….
I’m what grandmas would call a bit of a late bloomer. My youth and young adulthood were spent largely playing catch up with my contemporaries. Teeth, walking, talking, puberty, a “womanly shape”, whatever the case might have been, I was physically behind. Having finally caught up, I remember vainly hoping my body would just hurry up. “Come on. What’s taking so long? Grow those, shrink that, fill out here, just do something.”
High school was especially interesting. I had the personality of a 40-year-old with the body of a 12-year-old boy. (Maybe not really the boy part but that’s how it feels when you think everyone else looks like a coke bottle and you more closely resemble a ruler.) That was not exactly a winning combination. I never really had to worry about the boys falling head over heels. To be honest, I’m a little thankful for that lack of attention now. I, at least, never have to deal with losing that level of interest. I can imagine that change would be even more upsetting than never having it. But, trust, it sucked then. The only people who paid any attention were good friends who just seemed to realize I was a female. Very flattering. 🙂
My mother being the oh-so-sensitive person she can be once told me she’d worried about me getting her families voluptuous tops and my father’s family’s full-figured bottoms. I may have gotten a bit of the bottom but the top….not so much. When it became obvious that wasn’t going to be the case, she stopped worrying about fighting the boys off with sticks. Yes, it’s funny NOW. But not then. Thanks, Mom…
In fact, the only curve I seemed to truly develop didn’t really enter the picture until the summer between my sophomore and junior year of college. I came back that fall semester and my close and close-ish male friends all tried to find ways to tell me or ask where my ass came from. Having no idea what it was they were trying to say to me made the entire experience comical. I had 4 or 5 normally outspoken guys trying to not offend me but overly curious what I’d been eating that summer. I’ll never forget that. Haha.
Anyway, with this delayed overall development, I never quite learned how to take compliments and general interest from the opposite sex based solely on my appearance. Past middle school and junior high, I never thought of myself as truly ugly. I could recognize I had traits that could be worked with. But I never truly felt pretty. Just somewhere in-between. Now, I’m not saying that I consider myself to be gorgeous now. I just recognize that things could be a lot worse for me. And most importantly, I’m more comfortable with myself.
We always hear it. People become more comfortable with what God’s given them as they mature. Sure, there are things we’re never going to like about ourselves. But we also come to accept that’s just the way things are going to be. Some people are so stuck on perfection that they find expensive, potentially dangerous ways to “fix” things about themselves. To be honest, I’m not knocking plastic surgery. I agree that some people go way overboard but one or two procedures? Why not? If it’s that important to you and you are content with the “improvements”, go for it. Who am I to define your happiness? However, for myself, I’m simply too lazy to go under the knife to look good. I’d rather take that money and travel to a far away, exotic land. Who cares if I’m not beautiful as long as the scenery in the background of my photos is?
I’ve been told and recognize that this new found sense of contentment/comfort is attractive. Unless you’re pretty enough to excuse all faults, few people are interested in a completely insecure person. Let me be pleasantly average physically with confidence, a brain and a decent sense of humor. I’ll be happier with myself. Anyone that’s willing to take on the challenge that is getting to know me, come on. I welcome you. Trust me, a bleeding, guarded heart is an unusual combination. I like to be different. 🙂
Back in my awkward days, I assumed anyone that showed any interest in me was completely full of shit. Of course, no one would realistically be interested in me. Unfortunately, at that age, the young men are just as insecure and not willing to be persistent. Rejection hurts both ways. However, as I’ve grown up and been forced to realize I’m not all that bad, I haven’t seemed to outgrow the initial assumption people have an agenda. Either it’s a test or a trick. Either way, I’m not interested. Just let me be the friend. I like that role and I’m comfortable in it. Tell me I’m smart. Tell me I’m funny. Tell me I have a big heart. But as soon as you tell me I’m pretty, I will shut you down. Yes, I realize I have some issues to work on. I’m just airing them in this post. Hopefully, one of these days, I’ll be able to write that I took a compliment with no arguments, blushing or downcast eyes. I’ve got a lot of work to do. But then again I’ve already come a long way…
Ahh, to see. For those who’ve never needed assistance and/or tools to do so clearly, seeing just seems a given. You open your eyes and the world presents itself to you. However, if you’ve ever opened your eyes only to see the world out of focus, I feel your pain. Now, I recognize that having whatever bad eye sight I have is better than having none at all but for the purposes of complaining, I am only comparing those in need of contacts and/or glasses to those who’ve only considered these options to cosmetically change the color of their eyes or to “look smarter.”
I’ve had glasses since age 6. Yep, I was a scrawny, thumb-sucking, know-it-all first grader with glasses. (Very little has changed since then sadly…) At that age, glasses didn’t mean much else than something you had to be careful with because mom would get really upset when you broke them. Of course, you didn’t understand why. You just went back to the doctor and got more. (Ah, the ignorance/innocence of youth.) I don’t believe I ever really liked my glasses. I just don’t think they began to bother me until middle school/junior high.
As hormones started to kick in and the pretty girls were identified (for at least the next 10 years), being scrawny and boyish was bad enough. But I had to wear these thick plastic glasses too?! They were just setting me up for social failure. Beauties never wear glasses. You don’t see singers, actresses or models with glasses unless they’re playing the part of the nerdy and the less attractive. Glasses were like having braces, being flat-chested and having short hair. You just didn’t want that. Glasses did not equal attractive.
When my mother told me I’d have to get braces in 8th grade, I almost cried. Well, could I at least get contacts before? The last thing I wanted to happen was to look like a nerdy boy with crooked teeth that needed to be fixed. Now, of course, I was far from the only one going through this helplessly awkward phase. But at age 12/13, other people’s awkward phases don’t make you feel better. Most people don’t seem to adopt the mean “at least I look better than them” mentality until they’re further into their teenage/early 20 years. Thinking I was just being ridiculous, my mother didn’t want to deal with costs and issues associated with contacts so I ended up not getting them until I started working at Sears my senior year of high school and could afford them myself.
To not avoid the cliché, contacts opened my eyes to a whole new world. Nothing looked better with contacts than it did with glasses except for my reflection. There was a sense of beauty (or at least less ugliness) and freedom. In my clouded, naive teenage brain, glasses made me unattractive. Contacts at least helped to level the playing field. I could now really play with makeup, eyeshadows, eyeliners, mascaras. I could dress up my face. They didn’t do anything for the acne or other flaws but at least the glasses were finally gone. And with the braces having been removed the year before, I felt I was starting to look more like a young lady and less like a slightly more feminine Steve Urkel. (No, seriously. Urkelina was my nickname on the junior high volleyball team. At the time, no one could think of Myrtle – the name of Steve’s southern belle cousin who came to visit a few times.)
Fast forward 8 years and not much has changed. Aside from family and my roommate, it’s rare that anyone see me in my glasses. (In fact, if you see me in glasses, it generally signals it was a rough morning and will probably not be a very good day so stay of my way as much as possible. If it’s glasses AND my hair is tied back/wrapped up, stay clear. I’m probably either sick or exhausted.) Contacts and the insecurities tied to years of glasses are still very much a part of my identity. I still believe I look better in contacts and usually have at least a bit of eye makeup on. Luckily, I don’t really wear the bases, foundations, creams, powders and the like. Genetics and the dermatologist have helped me maintain relatively clear, consistent skin. But those eyes are a different story.
While I like to fancy myself rather intelligent, I don’t want to look like a nerd, just maybe sound like one at times. Over the last two years, I’ve started to reconsider my opinion of glasses and me in them. As I’m trying to force myself to wear these $400 pair of glasses more often than between my bed and the bathroom where my contacts are in the morning and the bathroom to my bed at night, I still find myself preferring the image of a glasses-less me. Ideally, I’d love to get lasik surgery. But last year my optometrist quoted me around $6,000 for the procedure. Are my eyes and vanity worth six grand? Yes. I just don’t have the available funds. Trust, as soon as I do, I’ll happily toss out my glasses, glasses cases, lens cleaning clothes, lens cleaning spray, contacts, contact cases and cleaning solution bottles, and stare blindly into the light. Only to open them later seeing the world the way it’s meant to be seen – clearly. I simply can’t imagine waking up in the morning and being able to see. It must feel like a miracle. (And I don’t care how overly dramatic that might sound. 🙂 )
Realizing it’s time to schedule her annual eye exam,
I would’ve used Kanye’s “Workout Plan” but I’m still pissed/disappointed by his VMA stunt. So…. I’ve decided to go with a new millenium Madonna video. True, she seems to go overboard but it’s evident she works out.
Over the last 6-7 months, I’ve managed to lose a few pounds and inches. I don’t know the specifics of both but let’s just say it’s been enough to make admiring my closet a less enjoyable endeavour. You see I have a shopping problem. And nothing like unemployment makes you realize the need to use what you’ve got (at least as it relates to clothes). So rather than add to and complement what I have, I’m having to figure out what would be tailor-able and pay more just to be able to wear something I already own.
I know that as a typical female I’m not supposed to complain about losing weight… but I can’t help it. The whole (okay, well maybe not the whole) reason I changed up my gym routine enough to see a change (you know like actually going more than once a week) was that my clothes were getting a little snug. I wanted to not have to go up a size. Obviously, I went too far b/c now I’m forced to go down a size (or two in certain cases). This scenario might be wonderful if I had the funds to replace all those 8s with 6s but that is sadly not the current case. Thank goodness I have a wonderful tailor. (For one of my interviews, I HAD to keep my blazer buttoned. The shirt and skirt were so big it looked like I was playing dress up in my mother’s clothes. But not necessarily my mother since we’re about the same size but you get the point….)
Aside from clothing adjustments, my weight loss has caused a number of people to speak out, either in support or lazy envy. No one is negative toward me. It’s just difficult to hear a sentence start “You look great” and end with “but look at me.” Sure, we all have areas we could work on but for the most part, the people in my life look good. (But I won’t deny we could all benefit from a few extra hours at the gym. Flat abs don’t just appear and jiggle-y butts don’t suddenly firm up.) However, in these and similar scenarios, I always wonder if people are saying those things b/c they believe them or b/c they’re hoping I’ll disagree. Do I feed into the obvious set-up for a compliment or agree with their assessment (whether I really agree or not)? Either response could be bad. So I generally opt for the silent shake of the head “No” and smile. Anyone can read into that what they like but having that conversation with someone like me could be potentially dangerous, especially if you pick the wrong side.
I have to admit that it’s interesting that my weight loss has prompted others around me to feel more comfortable to point out their faults to me. Flabby arms, extra butt cheeks, non-pregnancy pouches, whatever. It’s as if they project their insecurities onto me. Obviously I too must have been unhappy with my own reflection to change it as much as I have.
My roommate recently made a comment that just made me laugh. She’d been off in her own world thinking about something when she suddenly turns to me and asks “Is it bad that looking at someone else makes me want to work out?” It took me a second to realize what she’d meant and then I just couldn’t help but laugh out loud. I’d made similar comments for the last few years and been told that I was just being mean. It was reassuring to have someone else say it out loud.
You’re not necessarily judging the other person. You don’t know their situation. But when you see someone else with a lot of extra fill in the blank you just might think to yourself “I don’t want to look like that.” You’re not saying that person should change or that there’s even anything wrong with their fill in the blank. But you are realizing that you’d personally like to avoid that size of a fill in the blank. You don’t think you’d “carry it well.” Arms that continue to wave after you’ve stopped, ass cheeks that spread to your hips, love handles you hate, fupas, cellulite (no explanation necessary), whatever your case might be.
There are only three ways to handle that situation. Regretfully accept the evolution of your own fill in the blank, exercise and diet/eat healthy (I refuse to “diet”), or rely on drugs and/or tactics to limit your food intake. I hope that no one makes themselves sick and understand that some evolutions just have to be accepted. But I also realize that I am 25, single, not a mother, financially able to eat healthily, and physically able to exercise. I don’t really have any excuses. So I had to stop creating them when my pants didn’t fit anymore.
Alternative title: My Body: More than the Sum of Its Faults
(I couldn’t resist. Gotta love Youtube)
Like any normal, American woman, I’ve had issues with my body image. And by issues, I mean minor annoyances. I’ve been blessed enough to not feel the need to go to extremes. When I was skinny, I accepted being skinny. When I had a roll or two, I just had a roll or two. Deep down I knew my issues were minor. But nothing’s truly minor to a 14-year-old, 19-year-old, or even a 25-year-old. You just debate whether the pain and cost of doing something about it is worth the benefits. In my case, it never seemed to be.
Growing up, I, of course, saw the same models, singers and actresses everyone else did. They were all beautiful because someone else said they were. But in my head, Whitney Houston was gorgeous b/c she could sing (despite the ridiculous crimped blond wigs). Naomi Campbell was intriguing b/c she would’ve failed the paperbag test miserably and everyone still loved her. Cindy Crawford was cool b/c no one seemed to care she had a mole, oh, excuse me, a “beauty mark”. Madonna had a big gap that no one seemed to notice. I found these women and countless others interesting because we were all supposed to pay attention to what they could do and not the small things that would’ve been hinderances to people in the real world.
As I got older, I began to identify with women and characters who suffered the same ill fates as I did (or what I considered to be ill at the time). Storm was my favorite X-Men, not b/c of her powers (although controlling the weather would be pretty cool) but b/c she was tall, slender and black. (Don’t even get me started on Halle Berry being cast in the movie. I love her but she’s SHORT!!!) Kate Hudson became cool in my eyes not b/c of her skills but b/c she’s rather flat-chested. The Jet beauties were interesting b/c they always had big butts. Tyra Banks never lied about her weaves. (I’ve never had one but I understand the desire.) Etc…
Most of the women I’ve named are black. This is not to say that I don’t see the Catherine Zeta-Jones, Angelina Jolie, Jennifer Lopez, Lisa Ling or Heidi Klums as beautiful. Of course they are. But they’re just not who I generally measured myself against. What was the point? My mother worked very hard to surround me with milk chocolate-skinned, dark brown-eyed and raven-haired dolls, pictures, barbies, books, etc.
I went through a brief phase of imagining how much easier it would be to be blond and blue-eyed but I emerged content to be brown. Next came the feeling of not being black enough. I seemed to lack the desirable attributes of black women. Instead of full, luscious lips, my top lip all but disappears when I smile (think Jim Carey’s Fire Marshall Bill from In Living Color). The voluptuous coke-bottle figure lovable even with a little extra padding completely missed me. With my small chest, no-existent hips and lack of waist, I was much closer to the $1.79 2-liter bottle. As puberty ended, it became apparent I’d never be a Jet Beauty or Cover Girl. While missing out on those particular careers was fine, the sad truth was still sad.
You see genetics had not been as kind to me as they could have been. The women on either side of my family are uniquely beautiful. Faces aside, you have apples and pears. My mother’s side of the family generally rocks the apples. Red delicious, granny smith, pink lady, take your pick. Top-heavy w/ smaller bottoms and, dare I say it, skinny legs. That shape may not be everyone’s ideal but it is what I saw growing up and expected to resemble. My dad’s family on the other hand were the classic pears. Petite tops and small waists poised upon “thick” bottoms. While one side struggles to find button-ups that don’t gap, the other struggles to find bottoms that fit the ass AND the waist. I could’ve been the classic coke-bottle, big-little-big. Instead, and in keeping with the fruits, I ended up a slightly deformed banana, straight up and down with a butt, only one of the desirable curves. :- ) This realization was only worsened by a “harmless” comment my mother made during my teens. “I used to worry I’d have to chase the boys away with my family’s top and your dad’s bottom. But now, I guess I don’t have to worry.” Thanks, Mom. It’s all pretty funny now but not 10 years ago when I was 15.
To be fair to her, the boys weren’t all that interested in high school (or college for that matter). Between going to a small school, being a smart-ass, and strongly resembling Steve Urkel, no one had to worry about me and the boys. This complete lack of attention (despite my “amazing” outfits haha) probably impacted my self-esteem more than I’d care to admit. Rather than just accept it for what it was, I gave them excuses. “Well, of course he wouldn’t be interested in someone who looks like a 12-year-old boy when I could talk to her…” Colored eyes, longer hair, bigger boobs, a better butt, whatever the case might be. I’ve since outgrown those excuses. A lack of interest is nothing more than that. I’m not interested in every man I meet. Why should I expect or hope for the same? But sometimes you can’t help but slip back into asking “why not me?”
So where’s the resolution you ask? There’s not really one. Am I stressing as much as I used to about my image? No. But I’m also doing more proactively to adapt what I see in the mirror to what I’d like to see. I’m just too lazy to daydream about changes I couldn’t make with a few extra hours at the gym or a trip to a hairdresser. I’m cheap and have no desire to go under the knife now that my wisdom teeth have been removed. If plastic surgery’s the only thing that’s going to make me love the way I look, I guess I’ll have to accept just not hating it.
Realizing why she loves banana bread, smoothies and laffy taffy so much,
The Truth: According to Jo'van 