The Beauty of a Woman BlogFest III

This post is part of August McLaughlin’s Beauty of a Woman blogfest. She suggested writing an encouraging letter to your least favorite body part. Her blog and other entries can be found at http://augustmclaughlin.wordpress.com.  

not me

Dearest Loathsome Midsection of Mine,

You crept up on me so stealthily that I hardly recognize you. I can’t say that I like you very much, if the truth be told, but I’m sure you really don’t care. You’ve changed, and I don’t like the transformation. Years ago, you were practically unnoticeable when I unveiled you in only a bikini top, cut-offs and flip flops during summertime and wasn’t embarrassed. Perhaps that was simply adolescent naivete of someone fooling herself.

So many things in my life are different now. Age and slower metabolism is taking its toll. Bad habits have ingrained themselves, no matter how innocuous they seemed at first. Yes - I know I need to give up sugar, pasta and Diet Coke. Bagels are not kind to me. Chocolate is not my friend, regardless of how good it tastes at that moment.

Don’t even talk to me about the gym, damn you!

You honestly deserve some credit. You held my baby while his body and mind developed, while my “advanced maternal age,” as they called it, did me no favors. My son was nestled safely within my body while he waited to face the world, and his is the greatest gift of my life.  

While I owe you thanks for accomplishing that herculean task, I’m still fighting against you. A metamorphosis took place after the doctor performed a c-section and later a hysterectomy. It’s not his fault, though, because hormone changes (or the absence thereof) necessitate lifestyle changes. Knowing that now doesn’t make me fit in clothes any more comfortably until I do more about it. I need to be healthy enough to see as much of my son’s life as possible.

That’s why I go to yoga class even when I don’t feel like it. I glare at you in the mirrored wall while I try to stifle all the negative self-talk going on in my head. Giving you the stink eye does no good. It’s funny how I feel so much better afterward, although my brain played tricks on me and said I could skip a day because I was too tired or had something else to do. Becoming even more active could bring about the weight loss I want.

Ultimately, the way you look is not the sum total of who I am. You are a part of my physical self but not who I am as a person, a woman, a mother. My family and friends see the real me, not just the size 6 I used to be or the size 10-going-on-12 I am now. My stomach, waist and hips do not determine my beauty or my worth.

How I live and how I love are what make me beautiful. So I’ll continue to try to convince myself of that fact and not suffer over days long gone. Funny, I don’t remember if I was happier back when I looked different. I can only worry about being happy now, and you can’t keep me from it.

Sincerely,

Me

P.S. I just ate a fun-size Butterfinger and loved every second of it. 

  

(image via collectivewizdom.com)

August encourages us all to share our thoughts on beauty, and comments are welcome below. How do you define beauty? What makes you feel beautiful? Any thoughts to share on this year’s fest overall?

Madge was never my role model ...

She was never actually on my radar much.  A male friend of mine adored and still adores her.  He has always claimed to enjoy his "Madonnarama" of marathon Madonna music.  Sure, she was an icon of the '80s (my generation), but I was more of a Pat Benatar person.


It simply annoys me to still read so much about her in modern press.  I'll give her the fact that she branded herself well enough to still be relevant now, and she is super versatile in re-inventing her image.  But it was probably the Britanny kiss that changed my mind about her.  In my opinion, it was no different than wanna-be lesbians getting attention in a bar or party setting by kissing each other.  Pure "look at me" syndrome.  It's attention whoring.


Now Madonna is back ... again.  She's popping up in pop culture "news" because of her new album.  She's getting attention, so good for her.  It just pisses me off to have women of a certain age being referred to as menopausal, as it that is a classification for them.  

Madonna's Mighty Menopausal Comeback, Still Sexy or Still Selling Sex

These types of articles also beg the question, why do women have to use sex to sell themselves (literally and figuratively).  I don't think shaking your ass or spreading your legs in a video is role-model material.  As I've said before, it's all about perfection and touting an image that an aging woman can still be "viable" if she looks good enough.  


That has been the case all throughout movie history.  A film where an older woman is with a younger man, ala "The Graduate," is all about a so-called cougar (*gagging on that word*) chasing a kid.  Of course, the woman has to look especially good, like Mrs. Robinson in her day, to be able to score the man-ling.  It makes me think of the beautiful Julie Christie and a young Jonny Lee Miller in the '90s flick Afterglow.  Their affair, and her age, were central to the story line.


However, any movie -- and they're usually all doing it -- about an older man involved with a young woman is just a plain ol' movie.  Case in point, the biggie, is 1999's Entrapment with Sean Connery and Catherine Zeta-Jones and a 39-year difference in their ages.  Whoa.  Their love affair was a bit of an issue but not the central plot line.  There's The Island from 2005 with Ewan McGregor and Scarlett Johansson, and the 13-year differences in their ages ... not a factor.  Another is Knight and Day from 2010 with Cameron Diaz and Tom Cruise and their 10-year age gap ... not a big deal.  In 2011's Crazy, Stupid, Love, at least Ryan Gosling only has eight years on Emma Stone.  And relatively closer in age were Sandra Bullock and Tom Hanks, paired in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, in 2011 with only nine years  between their ages.  These older leading men with young leading women are totally commonplace and hardly, if ever, mentioned within the plot or any hype surrounding the films.  Why is this?


Which leads me to the menopause issue ... none of these iconic males are ever gigged for their ages.  Neither are they ridiculed for wrinkles or fat.  The timeline of a male's presence on earth is never considered relevant, much less a factor regarding his talent or notoriety.  Is there a male menopause they'll reach when their age will be a topic of conversation?  Hell to the no.  Their body chemistry is certainly never mentioned in any headline about a "come back" to fame.  


We all age.  Celebrities are human, and they age, too.  The viewing/listening masses would like to think these people are super human and do not grow old or go to ruin.  Except women AGE and men mature.  Males become more distinguished ... Sean Connery, hello ... or sexy with age, or so people say.


Maybe Madge is considered a role-model type because of her brazen behavior and against-the-grain choices made throughout her career.  And she seems to be intelligent when interviewed.  I just don't agree with the "shake your money maker" attitude of fame.  It comes with a high price, self-respect and dignity among those costs.  Pretty soon you're kissing a young woman at an awards show to stay in the headlines and placed as the butt of menopause jokes later.  If these women let the criticism wear on them enough, they may end up still grasping for perfection but in re-hab with Demi Moore as a result of their frantic efforts to look young and keep partying to feel young for the moment.  


No man has had to publicly defend his Peter Pan syndrome (except maybe Chaz Sheen), a weak prostate, or use of erectile dysfunction aids.  He's instead applauded as a renaissance man with a solid body of work in his past.  His face, gut, and butt stay virtually off the radar.  His "change of life" doesn't suffer a public examination.    


It's the human condition.  We all grow older, and our bodies change.  We can all rage against these facts, but aging remains a factual circumstance all the same.


I hope the newer generations evolve enough to try to equal such gender disparity in general and hyper-criticism of women specifically in the media.  Sure, lofty hopes but we can only try to set things right.  How can any of us be role models for children otherwise? 

I hate tiaras!

     Walking through the lobby at work yesterday my eyes caught (to my horror) a pair of middle-aged women on the television wearing tiaras on their heads.  Was this some sort of Disney-induced, walking nightmare?  
     No.  It was apparently an afternoon info-rama called The Doctors, where Dr. Lisa and her interviewee sported matching headgear in an episode called "Menopause Party."  The esteemed t.v. doctor had many "menopause must-haves" in her box (no pun intended), including some hot-flash spray and a tiara.  I was aghast. No kidding, the episode is on their website, Menopause Party. 
     A tiara ... of course!  Right along with my own surgically-induced menopause from an early-in-life hysterectomy, I ran right out and grabbed a freaking tiara for my menopause party. 
     This past the weekend I was nauseated to see that you can make your own tiara from a kit at Hobby Lobby.  If you are self-absorbed enough to want a tiara, for any reason, would you buy a DIY version at Hobby Lobby?  Surely there's one on ebay pretty cheap.
     See, I just don't understand this whole societal princess obsession. The princess fantasy seems to be about being beautiful (in a socially acceptable American way), wearing lush gowns, batting your eyelids, and waiting to be rescued by some only-existing-in-fairy-tales prince.  Guess what, girls? Prince William got married.  Kate Windsor, you are not!  That's the only kind of princess there can be today.  Lil' Harry is too much of a player to get hitched, and you don't have a shot anyway!  It's such a daydream waster to imagine being a celebrity on that level.

     Maybe tiaras are kind of a fun accessory, in a wry bachlorette party sort of way.  The last hurrah of being single thing, you've found your Prince Charming, all that shite.  But how do females get sucked into it in the first place?  I blame it on that damn Disney.  Society feeds little girls such lies of how playing the damsel in distress is how to snag a man.  He'd be lucky to have you, sister, if you'd only believe it.
     The lies are ever present in modern media depictions.  I'm not saying all media is evil.  It's there because we want it.  We want to watch imagined lives to at least momentarily escape our own.  Escapism is why we go to the movies in the first place.  I simply wish adults wouldn't feed into this princess nonsense.  Sure, kids should be able to make believe.  Why not make believe about being a scientist, a musician, or going on a safari instead?  I would have loved to fly an airplane or drive a motorcycle.  Meh ... princesses.  
     So many people watch that god awful Toddlers and Tiaras, too, it's frightening.  Those over-the-top megalomaniac moms who subject their young daughters to this mania at such a young age.  The young ones are living the "look at me" nightmare early on, as if only their looks and shaking their booties are what will get them somewhere in the world.  It sure didn't seem to get their moms anywhere beyond their prom queen pasts and subsequent suburban existences lived vicariously through their children. 
     My last soapbox point here questions the value of these fairy tale fantasies.  According to Bruno Bettleheim (Bettleheim), American psychologist, there are specific uses for enchantment.  He claimed children gain courage by envisioning themselves as heroines or heroes who battle evil and win, thereby overcoming subconscious fears (Enchantment book).  

     But alas, the ways little girls see it, princesses are always saved by their prince.  They lift not a finger in preventing their own demise.  The ultimate goal is, after all, winning his love and that prized crown.  I'd rather see a character like Fiona kicking ass for herself, ala Shrek The Third.  Apparently she even saved the day in Shrek Forever After.  Missed that one.

     On a more somber note, one of my childhood fears was living in poverty.  We were somewhat poor, so I worried more about having enough groceries than having nice clothes, dates and being popular.  I obviously didn't want to remain poor as an adult and knew I had to make sure that didn't happen.  But ... not by marrying a rich man!  I was the only one who could work hard, go to college, and make a wage above the poverty-level so apparent in mid-America.  For myself.  
     No frilly diamond-encrusted crowns and happily-ever-afters can ensure a dreamy future. Little girls shouldn't depend on that happening for them either.  Maybe my worry was a heavy burden for a little girl growing up in the '70s, but Sunday nights spent watching Wonderful World of Disney weren't going to solve any problems facing females in the world.  Neither were Cinderella, Snow White or Sleeping Beauty.