It Just Might Be Your Fault, Part One

To my mothers, big sisters, girlfriends, aunts, and other role models out there:

Have you ever complained about how we are constantly bombarded with images of women with bodies that are unreachable by most humans? How you’re tired of the gold standard of beauty being the fake, sliced, botox-filled, airbrushed tartlets posed contrapposto across the covers of various magazines with a certain lack of expression that can only indicate that they are too hungry to feel? Are you appalled that girls have started dieting and thinking about their weight in a negative way at younger and younger ages?

If you answered “yes” to any or all of these questions, then you deserve to know the truth of the matter. You might be the problem.

Yeah, I know. Stacie, you’re usually about the empowerment and the feel-good. Well, we’ll get to that, but sometimes you have to lay down a lot of manure before a plant can grow. The fact of the matter is that we all are to blame for the distorted standard of beauty running rampant and we’re teaching it to our daughters, cousins, godchildren, friends, and it has to stop. Now I know that some of you are saying right now,

“Hey, I am as ticked about this stuff as you are and I tell folks about it!”

And I’m sure you are, but are you practicing what you preach? How many of you chuckled a couple of years ago because Jessica Simpson looked so “fat” in her size 8 jeans? Do you applaud every time Beyonce goes from size thin to size skinnier? Don’t even get me started on the one thousand and one diets for celebrities who can afford a personal chef. What do you say about celebrities and their bodies and who is listening?

More importantly, what are you saying about yourself? I’ve known too many women and heard their negative self-talk.

“Oh, I’m not getting in a swimsuit this year. People will think I’m a beached whale.”

“I’m so tired of being fat.”

“I used to be so hot before I had my child.”

“Oh, she’s so thin. I just hate her.”

You aren’t just sabotaging yourself, you’re sabotaging your daughters and sons. You are telling your daughters that self-deprecation and insecurity is a desirable trait and how not to find themselves beautiful. You’re telling your sons that a woman’s worth is directly correlated to whether or not she has stretch marks from the act of giving him life. You’re telling them these things because they are listening. And they learn far quicker than you can possibly imagine. If you don’t believe me, look at the proof. I was in eighth grade the first time I tried a crash diet.

Listen, there are two things your child knows without question. They know that Mommy is always beautiful and they know that Mommy is always right. So what are you telling them when you hate your own body? Don’t worry, I’ll answer for you. You are telling them that they are wrong to think you are beautiful. You are teaching them to hate the pieces of you that they see in the mirror. You are redefining their image of beauty to fit a standard that they cannot hope to achieve. That is unfair and we all owe them an apology.

I am not saying this to make you feel like crap. I’m saying it because someone has to break the cycle and it might as well be us. It’s not too late to go from “uh oh, you got Gramma’s birthing hips” to “I bet you’d look great in a pencil skirt.” Instead of asking “does this make me look fat”, maybe try “how do you like this dress on me?” If you are going through a lifestyle change, learn how to tell the children in your lives about it without it being a display of what you currently hate about you. Tell them about how eating differently and exercising is a means to improve your quality of life so that you can live longer and enjoy yourself more in the process.

It’s not the easiest thing in the world for us to be kind to ourselves, but if it means that just one of my baby cousins or nieces never has to sob in a fitting room because she had to “go up a size”, it’s worth every effort.

Until next time (when the menfolk will get an ear full), this is Stacie, your friendly neighborhood Actress Geek, saying love yourself. Do it for the children.

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Actress Geek in a Two-Piece...maybe

This is a fantastic problem to have.

My bras are too big in the band while staying the same in the boob and the bottom of last year’s tankini falls off like I’m auditioning to be the new Coppertone baby. Most of my dresses look like I’ve raided mom’s closet for a tea party with beanie babies and don’t even get me started on my pants. None of my clothes fit.

I repeat: this is a fantastic problem to have…but it’s still a problem. See, as it turns out, clothing is not free and I am not rich. I also am going to the beach in two weeks. My first priority has to be a new swimsuit, but what do I buy? I’ve been fairly married to the tankini since its introduction into society about a decade ago, but I’m also a busty lass which means that halters tend to be the most flattering. I also can’t spend much on the swimsuit because it will likely only get one or two uses before the summer’s out and next summer will be a completely different ballgame.

Finally, and most poignantly, there’s the simple truth that I have always had a distorted image of my midsection.

Maybe it was the magazines with the tiny models. Maybe it is the echo of my grandmother’s voice whispering about a random girl on the beach who was wearing a bikini when she “ought’nt”. Maybe it is remembering my girlfriends from high school struggling to pinch an inch of flesh to complain about their own “fatness”. I don’t know.

Likely, it stems from the fact that I have always been my worst critic when it comes to my body.

I have currently lost 29.8 pounds. My waist is only three inches away from the smallest I’ve ever been and I still haven’t gotten up the guts to publicly wear the pair of black shorts I bought in June. I usually feel great in clothes. I wear my clothes like a champ. It’s where the clothes aren’t that’s the problem. Thus, the terror of shorts: I fear them. I fear them like they have giant zipper teeth, waiting to rip my flesh.

I swear I don’t need a therapist.

The most honest thing that I can say is that, quite simply, I have absolutely no idea what my midsection looks like. I mean, I know what it looks like, but I don’t understand where it scales with the rest of the tummy world. I could look at just about any other person and say whether their best look would be a string bikini or a strategically placed tent, but me, I’m a complete mystery. Am I still a tankini girl or can I venture into some more revealing territory?

Quite frankly, it was while writing this particular blog entry that I realized I probably have some sort of mental disorder regarding my body image. An anorexic girl looks in the mirror and sees fat. I’m not there, but I certainly don’t see me accurately. If I were a therapist, I’d probably tell myself to buy a modest suit that displays some of my midsection, go into public, and suffer through the fear. Maybe then I would learn that nobody else cares if I have a little extra on my tummy. Maybe that would help me with any tendencies of narcissism.

Then again, if I dealt with my narcissism, I probably wouldn’t write a blog about my weight loss for the world to read.

I’ve already figured out the solution to my problem and it’s not spending money on therapy or purchasing my very own tent. I am passing the buck. Since I don’t know what my tummy looks like, I’m taking a friend with me who does…and, since she’s personal shopper, I know I can trust her to tell me the truth and help me find something that works. But, before I do, here are some truths that I know in my head, even if I can’t convince my heart:

1. No one owns the exclusive rights to wear a bikini. If you want to wear one, by God, wear one. Whatever your body type, I respect the fact that you can do something with ease that I fear like nobody’s business.

2. Whatever style you’re wearing, wear it in your size. We’ll only notice the size of what you’re wearing if you’re wearing it a size too small.

3. Confidence is the sexiest thing you can ever wear. It never goes out of style and pairs well with a cocktail and a great pair of shoes.

Until next time, I’m Stacie, the Actress Geek (in a two-piece) (maybe)