Sir Respect-A-Lot
MY ANACONDA DON’T WANT NONE… if you say no, because I respect your boundaries.
‘CAUSE I’M LONG, AND STRONG AND I’M DOWN TO GET THE FRICTION ON… as long as it’s okay with you. otherwise I’m good with a movie and some tea.
SO LADIES, LADIES, IF YOU WANNA ROLL IN MY MERCEDES… please let me know ahead of time so that I can plan accordingly.
BABY GOT… self-respect.
OOH BABY I WANNA GET WIT YA, AND TAKE YO PICTURE… because you really have lovely eyes.
EVEN WHITE BOYS GOT TO SHOUT… I love spending time with you.
I’M TIRED OF MAGAZINES SAYIN FLAT BUTTS ARE THE THING… because I don’t appreciate mainstream media dictating standards of beauty and desire.
Media Beauty Circus: Change the Way You Think About What You Think
We are delighted to have a guest post from one of the most insightful, ambitious, and effervescent writers on the ‘net. Ellie Di is a headologist, spiritual nomad, compulsive scribbler, literary midwife, professional pompom shaker, and master of the delicious mess. She spends her days writing like a motherfucker and plotting the next Big Thing. You can stalk her on her site, The Headologist, Twitter, Facebook, Google+, or Pinterest.
Maybe she’s born with it. Maybe it’s Maybelline.
Wait, so I have to guess whether or not this woman naturally has stunning eyes, perfect eyebrows, shiny lips, and flawless skin? And if she wasn’t born with it, clearly she needs cosmetics to make her that way? Who told her in the first place that she needed these just-so immaculate features in order to be beautiful?
Oh, right. The media. Maybelline. Interesting how that works out, isn’t it?
It’s a vicious goddamn cycle. We feel perfectly fine in your skin until someone or something tells us we’re not. The influence we let in to devour our self-esteem could be our mom, our worst enemy, a teacher, or a random asshole on the street – it could even be ourselves; they’re all informed and fuelled by the media that this is what’s beautiful and nothing else. For some unfathomable reason, we acquiesce to the pressure, permit the lie to sink in, and then we turn to the same fucking source to “fix” us.
We let the media and all its willing minions, including ourselves, tell us that we’re worthless unless we have this body or that face. We actually start to believe and, unwittingly or not, even evangelize it. Buy Alli and TrimSpa! Buy Bare Minerals and Rimmel! Then you’ll have value, then you’ll be worthy.
How fucked up is that?
And now I’m about to make an incredibly complex problem into a painfully simple one. It’ll probably piss you off, but that’s okay. In fact, that’s good – you should be pissed off about this.
You let it happen. You did it to yourself.
Probably unbeknownst to you, the gatekeeper of your Self ushered those “you’re ugly unless you buy (fill in the blank)” thoughts right into your core. There was a vulnerable moment, a flicker of comparison and doubt in the midst of your I’m Awesome-ness, and your Evil Auctioneer pounced on it to sell you every product you never needed to make you into a person you were never meant to be.
The idea sat there and festered, growing like a cancer every time you gave in to the media’s insistence that you’re not good enough without XYZ. You let yourself believe the lies because they’re so pervasive, so ingrained in our society, that it seemed impossible that you weren’t hideous and worthless without shelling out big bucks to cover up the blemish you hadn’t realized you were.
But! There’s always a “but”.
No matter what you let the media and the Evil Auctioneer sell you in the past, today is a new day. Every day, you have the ability to choose what you’ll believe. In the same way you allowed this invasion and destruction of your self-image, you have the power to heal it.
That’s right! Your own brain, your own heart, your own Self – you get to choose what you accept as true and right and good in the world. Not TV, not your parents, not those hotties who made fun of you. You. You let the monster in, and you can kick it out.
It doesn’t matter how or why you came to the conclusion that consumerism and altering your appearance will make you magically better – you put your fucking foot down, hard.
You say NO.
No, I won’t let the media tell me I’m not beautiful.
No, I won’t let myself tell me I’m not beautiful.
No, I won’t buy any more goddamn weight loss products.
No, I won’t buy any more “age defying” makeup.
No, no, fucking no!
And then you say YES.
Yes, I’m able to discern between fun makeup and guilt makeup.
Yes, I’m happy to buy the right size of clothes.
Yes, I’m valuable to the world just as I am.
Yes, I’m worthy of love without having to alter myself.
Yes, yes, fucking yes!
Remember that the media’s job is to sell you shit. Even the nightly news sells you a perfect image. It’s about money, moolah, cash, Gs. They’re literally tearing you down so you’ll give them your hard-earned money. Don’t fall for that shit.
And just for the record, it’s okay to slip up every once in a while. Shit, I still have moments where I wish I looked like Angelina Jolie (but that’s our secret, okay?). But I’m not some pouty perfect princess, and I never will be. I’m me, with all my beautiful strangeness, all my not-media-friendly qualities. And that difference, that uniquity, is precious, never to be wished away.
Let’s end with a little bit of empowerment music, shall we? Listen. Be inspired. Take charge of your thoughts and refuse to eat the bullshit anymore. You were born this way, and that makes you beautiful.
The Resurgence of the Flapper
Every time I go back to my instincts – my trends-be-damned personal style, my very public political beliefs, my gender-bending accessories and even my tendency to fall for “men’s drinks”* in men’s bars while flirting with too many men – I am newly surprised at how, obviously, I should have been twenty in the twenties.
“Flapper in the 1920s was a term applied to a “new breed” of young Western women who wore short skirts, bobbed their hair, listened to jazz, and flaunted their disdain for what was then considered acceptable behavior. Flappers were seen as brash for wearing excessive makeup, drinking, treating sex in a casual manner, smoking, driving automobiles and otherwise flouting social and sexual norms.”
Oh, yeah. That’s me. But isn’t it also almost every twenty- and thirty-something woman I know these days?
In every generation, fashion reflects the struggles and triumphs of the period. It was no different in the twenties, and flappers were leading the way. In a period of such opulence (history reminder: this was just after World War I and before the Great Depression) women focused on their power at home. Their boyish hair and forays into speakeasies were a symbol of their equality with men, and their resistance to being treated like the “fairer” sex.
“Changes in fashion were signs of deeper changes in the American feminine ideal. The short skirt and bobbed hair were likely to be used as a symbol of emancipation. Signs of the moral revolution consisted of: premarital sex, birth control, drinking, and contempt for older values. Before the war, a lady did not set foot in a saloon; after the war she entered a speakeasy as thoughtlessly as she would go into a railroad station. Women had taken to swearing and smoking, using contraceptives and raising their skirts above the knee and rolling her hose below it. Women were now competing with men in the business world and obtaining financial independence and, therefore, other kinds of independence from men.
The New Woman was pushing the boundaries of gender identity, representing sexual and economic freedom. She cut her hair short and took to loose-fitting clothing and low cut dresses. No longer restrained by a tight waist and long trailing skirts and the need for a man’s help at every turn, the modern woman of the 1920s was an independent thinker. [...] The flapper epitomized the prevailing conceptions of women and her role during the Roaring 20s. [...] She refused the traditional moral code. Modesty, chastity, morality, and traditional concepts of male and female were seemingly becoming invisible. The flapper was making an appeal to authority and was being attached to the impending “demoralization” of the country.”
And, of course, that’s exactly what’s happening now. Though contraception has become a free preventative prescription under health care reform, right-wing religious groups are still wringing their hands over dirty, dirty women having dirty, dirty sex. As more and more of us consider the idea of non-monogamy and how it relates to feminism, the same religious right groups are comparing multiple sex partners to sex with animals. Us crazy ladies (and the men, too) are being told that all of that sex and red lipstick is demoralizing our country. Sound familiar?
That being said, my new short bob haircut, orange-red lipstick and certainty that men and women should be treated equally, in and outside the bedroom, want to congratulate you on being a part of the resurgence of the flapper – twenty-first century style.
Quotes from Wikipedia, which was a surprisingly accurate and concise source. Emphasis mine.
*Bourbon, whiskey, beer…I tend to like ‘em better than wine or mixed drinks. Lindsay loves gin, which is probably also considered a “man’s drink” by polite society. Hm.
365Hangers: This is What Real Women Look Like
You may have heard, just a couple of weeks ago, that Lindsay and I are battling to the death to see whose shape is better.
…Oh, wait. That’s not true.
Firstly, Lindsay and I are sort of the same general shape (hourglass – though mine’s shorter and we are made using totally different kinds of sand) and second, the differences in our shapes are bangin’. I mean, look at us:
How YOU doin’?
Third, as we’ve said since The Demoiselles took its first digital breath, every shape is beautiful. We’re fans of straights, pears, rectangles, apples…if it’s a shape, and a woman looks like it, we dig it. That’s why we entered 365 Hangers’ Style a Shape contest.
Through August 5, Lindsay and I will be competing with tons of differently-styles and shaped-women (all stunners in their own right) in order to win a fashion prize package worth $500. Though Lindsay listed lots of good reasons to go vote for us earlier this month on Broke & Beautiful, I’m going to add a few of my own:
- Our shapes rock, but they don’t define us. The above styles cater to our hourglass body types, but there’s no rule that says you have to accentuate a small waist, or play up great legs, or pretend you have whatever it is society says the ideal body is. Lindsay’s fashion choices make her look like an apple here, and I’m pretending to be straight-bodied in this outfit post.
- You’ll be helping to promote pro-body acceptance businesses. Just clicking over to 365 Hangers and voting – for anyone! – reminds the rest of the ‘net that you support websites that offer style options for all kinds of women (and voting for us supports the pro-acceptance work we do over here).
- It’s really, really easy to vote. There’s nothing to sign up for, no one to give your email address to. If you have a Facebook, you can vote by simply “liking” our style on 365 Hangers’ website. And you can vote for both of us!
Will you vote for us?
I hope I’ve given you good cause to at least click over to 365 Hangers and consider giving one or both of us a vote…and maybe, if you’re feeling especially generous, leave a comment!
All you have to do to vote is…
- Click HERE to vote for Lindsay and her body-skimming Shabby Apple dress.
- Click HERE to vote for Jennifer, who is wearing her favorite thigh-hugging Five Bamboo dress.
Hating Your Body Before Anyone Else Does
Recently, a few of my friends have made some passing negative comments about their bodies. Usually, I challenge their negativity, they remember I’m not the shame-you-for-everything media, and we go back to whatever it is we were doing before my good friend talked shit about my good friend, forcing me to have to defend my good friend (against herself).
Last week, however, I noticed a pattern. These friends weren’t just shaming themselves, they were doing it preemptively.
In a dressing room: “Sorry, my thighs are really flabby right now and I totally didn’t shave…”
After lunch: “Uuuuugh, I shouldn’t have eaten that. I’ve let myself go. Look at my muffin top. GROSS.”
Talking about summer fashion: “Yeah, I was thinking about buying a swimsuit this year, but I’m not going to. It just wouldn’t look good.”
Is there some new rule that requires my friends to verbally bash their bodies before anyone else gets a chance to weigh in?
frightened woman by Alexey Fursov
I’d like to let everyone in on a little secret: No one is looking. No one noticed your jiggly thighs, your overfull belly, your unshaven whatevers or that one of your boobs is shaped differently than the other. They’re too busy worrying about their thighs, their bellies, their boobs, their whatevers. Anyone judging you is doing so because of their own insecurities – they need to find an outlet for their fear and self-hate. Everyone else (aka everyone cool) isn’t worried about your “problem areas.” More often than not, we don’t even notice them.
So there’s no need to direct us to them.
(In fact, it seems counterproductive if you ask me.)
Have you ever caught yourself apologizing for the way you look?
PS: I need someone to draw me a super hero called Thunder Thighs. Bonus points if you draw two super hero ladies, with my and Lindsay’s faces, and one of them is named Thunder Thighs. You can name the other one whatever you want (and either of us can be Thunder Thighs). I will post your drawing on The Demoiselles and link to whatever your heart desires. (I <3 bribery.)
Down in Old Soho: S Magazine Challenges Androgeny
Until its latest issue, I’d never heard of S Magazine. A few days ago, however, Lindsay alerted me to a photoshoot by Rafael Stahelin, featured in S Magazine’s latest issue, that presses the bounds of androgynous male models to the next level, garbing them in gothic makeup and a combination of men’s and women’s fashions.
Those eyes!
The designs shown here are modeled by Alex Dunstan and Callum Wilson, who do an impeccable job challenging the idea of gender aesthetics. I love them (and Stahelin) for it.
I also love it when models smile on camera. Sometimes, it feels like the most “subversive” kind of photograph there is.
“S. Magazine’s love for the human body is irrefutable. Whether in a fashion shoot or a photo-essay, S. Magazine just can’t resist showing some prime human flesh. And issue 12 is certainly no exception.
Rafael Stahelin’s fashion story ‘Down in Old Soho’ [is] a curious affair that develops on all of the Gothic imagery that has been so visible in fashion in recent years. Whilst the svelte androgynous models certainly have an air of the living dead about them that wouldn’t go amiss in a stylish vampire movie, here the mood is more one of Bowie playing his role in ‘The Hunger’ whilst hanging onto his Glam Rock wardrobe.”
-S Magazine (click here to buy Issue 12)
What do you think of this spread?
Be honest: does it make you uncomfortable, or even a little turned on?
You Don’t Love Yourself If…
The ever-rising world of self-love and body-acceptance is a roller-coaster of emotions for me.
I know, what sense does that make, given that I’m technically a “body image blogger?” Trust me, if I added that to the pre-existing mix of confusion, my eyes would roll back into me head and I’m start twitching and singing the theme song from the Smurfs. It’s happened once before.
I love that the movement of acceptance is becoming more visible – people are really thinking about things. Advertising is starting to become less shiny and glazed, fashion is starting to broaden its beauty ideals, and I couldn’t be more thrilled as I watch things roll out, and people’s minds start to work.
…Then I consider my own life, thoughts, and issues.
And, oh baby – have I got ‘em. I am still at odds with my body, brain, emotions, culture, spirituality… not all the time, but a good portion of it. There are so many niches of “self-acceptance” now, spanning from the mental approach of loving yourself to the physical act of being okay with your body. So why am I always so conflicted?
Many of these methods and paths that self-acceptance movements are taking are very exclusive and comparison-based.
It seems so counterintuitive. We’ve talked many times before about the whole “Real Women Have Curves” issue (thoughtfully written by Birdie of Bonne-Vie), which is continuing to make naturally thin women everywhere feel “less than” when it comes to “real beauty.” Being one who possesses curves, I can only imagine the effect of that idea… Where I really feel the burn is (what might be considered) more unusual methods of positive thinking. Here are the sources of some of my twitches (and by that I mean the “twitch” of inner-struggle I feel upon hearing/seeing these messages):
Natural Beauty
Ohh, women – they’re so gorgeous. They’re gorgeous in all skin tones, with all features, and from all cultures and nationalities. So gorgeous that they shouldn’t wear makeup. Why are you trying to cover up your natural beauty? Are you conforming to media ideals of beauty by piling on the concealer and loading up on red lipstick? Are you doing that for men? Do you need to feel sexy? (And my favorite…) “I bet you sure are pretty underneath all that makeup.”
So, when I get up in the morning, wash my face, and reach for my moisturizer that boasts “natural anti-aging formula” (it’s organic, yo), am I a fallen victim of societal pressure? When I get a big sample box of lipstick in the mail, and I fall in love with a deep red that make my lips look amazing… Am I just trying to be accepted as “pretty?” What if I freakin’ like to wear makeup? I just watched a video wherein 365 days of makeup was applied to a woman’s face, titled “Natural Beauty” – she looked atrocious at the end of it. Does this mean something? Am I a hypocrite?
Being a body image blogger doesn’t stop me from feeling a little ashamed of myself.
Plus Size/Fat Acceptance
It’s no secret here, my other blogs, or really anywhere else that I am an inbetweenie (that means in between straight size [0-12] and plus size [14+]). I am definitely no sample model, and I’m okay with that.
That being said, this “fat acceptance” community that has come into my line of vision over the last couple years has really interested me. “You mean, there is a group of strong women who are totally okay with being fat – and even embrace the word as a positive thing?” So novel! When I tried to immerse myself, and get into the community, I felt shunned. I was told I was “only” a size 14, and I didn’t “really understand” what it meant to be fat. I didn’t get it.
So my entire life, you’re telling me I felt like a fat, ugly ogre and it wasn’t even warrented because now I’m not fat enough? Good lord! So I wasted 23 years hating my body only to find a group of women who don’t hate their similar bodies but also don’t accept mine because my body is too close to what’s considered “good”? My goodness. I guess I don’t fit anywhere (including into a size 6 – but that wouldn’t be okay either).
Dieting
I was an athletic kid. Apparently, when I drink, I really like to talk about it and get into arguments about why left handed fielders are better at first base than righties. Whatever. I have muscles all over my body, and I love to use them. When those muscles are covered in more fat than I really would like, it makes it hard for me to use them, and that bums me out. I enjoy endorphins, I enjoy clear skin, and I really, really dig the feeling of accomplishment and pride in knowing that I am treating my body well.
Oh, and right now, I’m technically on a diet.
But wait – I’m a body image blogger. Diet? Body image? Self-love and self-acceptance? These words… they are… so confusing in terms of exclusivity… I have found myself embarrassed to tell people that I’m on a diet, and an exercise regime. Not because I’m heavy and embarrassed about it – God knows they have eyes and can see I’m not a waif – but because it insinuates that I’m not happy with my body and want to change it. This is both true and false. Am I happy with my body? For sure! It works, I’m a babe, things are great. Do I want it to be better – aw hells yeah. I am even counting calories, and typing that just now knowing that it’s going to be published here makes me a little anxious. Will I be judged because I am someone who promotes body acceptance – yet logs everything she eats? I just saw a tweet that said “Don’t count calories – count memories.” DEAR GOD, AM I BEING BRAINWASHED INTO COVETING MEDIA STANDARDS AND WASTING MY LIFE IN THE PROCESS?
—–
There are a lot of opinions out there – and the internet, blogging, and digital communities amplify them at a rate which is both awe-inspiring and a bit terrifying. I love reading people’s passionate arguments about what they believe is great versus what they believe is evil – love it. But I have made a commitment to stop comparing. I have lots of opinions – this we know. I think lots of things are really scary and horrible – especially in the world of body image and media standards… and comparisons are inevitable. I believe that comparisons can be made without ostracizing, critiquing or shaming anyone. I mean, hell, this whole Slutwalk movement is all about not shaming women and victims – so why is it okay to shame women who like to do things that can (only can, not universally do) contribute to a vast, complex issue like negative body image?
I understand and accept that I do a lot of thinking about thinking, and a lot of asking about asking… But I’m not a big ball of nerves. I believe that the issue of negative body image can be presented in a way that doesn’t make people who do participate in activities like dieting, wearing cosmetics, and embracing their figure – whatever it is – feel like they’re doing something that contributes to the demise of a culture.
What do you think? Have you ever felt shamed by an acceptance movement?
Back to Basics: Advertising’s Image of Women
Sometimes it’s best to get back to the basics. The Demoiselles is founded upon the idea that every body – our real bodies, without cosmetic enhancements and Photoshop – is beautiful, and that we must fight against a greedy, marketing-based media to remind ourselves and others of our natural beauty to avoid losing ourselves and those we love to the idea that only someone thin (but curvy) and flawless (but unique) can be beautiful.
The video below, crated by the Media Education Foundation, is a well-argued reminder of just what we’re up against:
For me, the objectification of specific body parts is the hardest to deal with. That perfect thigh, her perfect lips, her smooth skin at close, close proximity…to be honest, it all makes me squint at my body parts a little too long. It makes me wonder why my toes don’t line up just like that and why my collar bones don’t make a neat little curve, instead of remembering that my body is, well, a whole body and that, when taken as a whole, is pretty damned gorgeous, if I do say so myself.
What media stereotypes have you been fighting lately?
What does the objectification of women in advertising make you feel?
My 23-Year-Old Bottom
“I weigh more now than I have before, and now that I’m older it’s settling differently…
…aka in my ass and thighs…
…but I’m kind of on board with it.
I feel hot, so fuck it. Frankly, I don’t feel like devoting my energy to sculpting the ass of a 12 yr old out of my decidedly 23 yr old bottom.
Also, weight loss would cut into my World of Warcraft time. And we can’t have that.”
-Katie Eastwood, psychology student and disability advocate,
learning that loving herself is the first step to doing everything better.
Then They Came For Me
“First they came for the Jews,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a Jew.
Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a trade unionist.
Then they came for the communists,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a communist.
Then they came for me
and there was no one left to speak out for me.”
-Martin Niemöller, a German pastor and theologian opposed to Hitler, imprisoned in the Sachsenhausen and Dachau concentration camps for “not being enthusiastic enough about the Nazi movement.” (Source) You can read more about Niemöller, and his journey from staunch Hitler supporter to pacifist (“If I live to be a hundred I shall maybe be an anarchist”), here and here.
