If you’re a woman what do you see when you look in the mirror? Does your eye zero in on your thighs, your breasts, or your butt while ignoring the whole of you? Can you stand the sight of yourself naked? Does trying on swimsuits in a clothing store hold all the appeal of a gynecological exam?
Is there a woman alive who thinks her body is perfect as is, I have yet to meet her. If you’re like most women, you’re focusing on its flaws, whether real or imagined. Thunder things…big ass…belly fat…thick ankles…If you’ve ever used such terms in describing herself, you’re one of us. One of the legions of women in the Western World (I imagine the women in Third World countries have bigger worries than the size of their butts), who don’t think they’re good enough, thin enough, toned enough, or all the above. I’ve heard women who are a size two and perfectly proportioned moan about some “flaw” no one else can see. My husband the reporter who interviews movie stars for a living confirms this is true of actresses whom we mere mortals would kill to look like as well.
I used to think it came from the X chromosome since it seems to be mostly a female thing. But really, does it have to be this way? Why are we so hard on ourselves?
In my younger years, I obsessed about my thighs. They were out of proportion with my small breasts. They jiggled when I walked. Skinny jeans? Forget about it. I’d have to be rolled through a pasta machine until my legs were linguini-thin. Even when I was at my goal weight, I hated how I looked in a swimsuit. I was cursed with cellulite along with curvy (to put it nicely) thighs. (Thanks, Mom). I spent more time sunbathing than strolling on beaches. Coverups were a must and when it came whipping a towel from around my middle at surfside or poolside before jumping in the water, I was quick as a magician’s sleight-of-hand. Lying down, I was the queen of the artful pose.
Nowadays when I look in the mirror I bemoan the wasted years in which I failed to notice my wrinkle-free skin or my youthful glow while I was obsessing over the state of my thighs. What wouldn’t I give now for all that lovely collagen I thought nothing of back then?
A conversation between two women I overheard in a department store dressing room:
Girl #1: “Does this dress make me look fat?”
Girl #2: “Not at all! You look amazing!”
Girl #2: “You’re sure?” (sounding uncertain)
Girl #1: “Of course I’m sure. Look how it accentuates your small waist.
Girl #2: “You don’t think it makes my butt look big?”
Girl #1: “No way! Besides, guys love big butts. Look at J Lo.”
A stark contrast that to when it’s just us alone in the dressing room. Then we’re like, Oh God. I look fat in these jeans. Am I really that fat? How can my boyfriend/husband stand to look at me naked? My thighs have their own zip code! My rear end is the size of a Volkswagen’s! ARRRRGH. I HATE my body.”
Here’s a suggestion: Instead of beating yourself up, have the dialogue you’d have with a friend if it were she standing in front of that dreaded three-way mirror. Look at the pleasing whole rather than focusing on your flaws. And if you worry about being judged by the man in your life or men in general? Forget about it. Most want to see us naked whatever shape we’re in, simple creatures that they are.
