battling body image. still.
All over FB this fall, people have been posting haunting images of supremely anorexic models next to those of busty screen sirens, and crying out “WTF?!” Indeed. I thought we were over this, that we could finally be at peace with our internal strengths and beauty, and yet, there we are: mired in an argument that seems serious each time it arises, stuck in the socially-fueled beauty myth.
And, then, the proof of our need to continue the conversation rears its ugly head this summer in the locker room at the local high school pool.
Three tweens change from suits to clothes, quickly and shyly as 12 year olds are wont to do. Yet, one halts to make a proclamation to her peers.
Girl 1: I have a stripper’s body. I just do. (Girl 1 is already deep into puberty, round and curvy in a way that spells T.R.O.U. B. L. E. – and this she already knows. Obviously.)
Girls 2 + 3: (Ignore comment. Continue dressing.)
Girl 1: I do, I really do have a stripper’s body. Janey told me. I’m just that way.
Girl 2: (Skinny as a rail, gangly as a baby giraffe.) Yeah, but you don’t have the face for it. I thought strippers were blonde.
Girl 3: (Tiny, skinny, quickly getting dressed, looking away.)
Girl 1: (Brushing hair, preening in front of mirror.) Yeah, but it’s my body. She’s right. I just have the body for it. I can’t help it.
Sigh. We are so far off the path to being truly healthy and whole.
