The female figure. Ah from Ancient Greek and Roman artists to modern pornography, there doesn’t seem to be anything quite like it.
And if (like just more than half the population of the planet) you are a female, then you have a female figure. Is it Greek Goddess? Is it Jenna Jameson smooth curves with sprayed, and plucked extremeties or is it somewhere in between.
Odds are, no matter what it is, there’s something you’d like to change. Some aspect that the mirror (or society) tells you is wrong with it. Me? I hate my small boobs. I’d also like a sixpack, a firmer bum, and more toned arms. My toes are also not particularly textbook. (unless the textbook is Darwin’s Theory of Evolution and you’re still on the page featuring the Missing Link)
I can fix the tummy, bum and arms – with a little extra work off the couch and a little less Vanilla laced white chocolate by Lindt. (Trust me. OMG) But, oh sigh! I can also fix the boobs with a little extra cash, a week or two of intense pain and then a lifetime of living with silicone aliens in my (newly luscious) bosoms. Trust me. I’m seriously considering the latter. I even started saving up to afford the much coveted ‘boob job’. Buuuuut, then my tom-boy masculine ‘logic’ brain took over and I bought a scooter. (Which my friends have dubbed ‘Half-boob’ as that’s the budget it cost. Yes, being a comedian means your friends are usually comedians too, and they have jokes. Sometimes unwelcome ones.)
The bottom line is. Our bodies. We shave them. We pluck them. We subject them to mostly painful procedures. We squeeze them into jeans that are too tight, heels that are too high, push up bras that are too uncomfortable. We cover them with fake tans, lotions, make up, lip glosses and perfumes. And any number of other things to try and create the female form that we believe (through whatever brainwashing we may have decided to fall for) is the appropriate one.
I don’t want to play ‘compare, compare’ because the gender battle is a tired one, and as a “female” comedian, I’m bored to death with having to discuss the differences of men and women in comedy and in life. BUT – can you imagine a man feeling ‘judged’ for not having put wax into places that wax should never go, and then unceremoniously tearing that wax OUT of those tender places, and any poor tendrils of hair follicle that it may have encountered along the way? No. A man would laugh. Guffaw even. Throw his head back in a Shakespeareanesque chuckle fest.
That might be an example of the difference between what men and women find amusing. I might include that in my next interview answer. Men find waxing funny. Women do not.
For whatever *feminist rant* reason. We have started to look in the mirror with criticism instead of love.
A friend recently showed me the Body Bill of Rights. That Marie Claire has put together. I think it’s a pretty wonderful sentiment.
It’s a bill, like the kind the American Presidents all signed – not like the kind we hope the guy picks up at the end of that awkward date. (Don’t make me PAY as well as having had to endure that boring conversation.)
This Body Bill of rights has points like:
1. My body has the right to exist.
Which may seem like a ‘duh’ moment. But not when you think about it, and the way some people view themselves.
2. My body has the right to be heard.
A stop and listen to your intuition, To your aches and pains, smell the metaphorical roses and listen to your body’s response right.
3. My body has the right to bleed without shame, secrecy or fear.
I know right!? Even copy and pasting this one made me wince. Shows you how conditioned we all are. For what? Exactly. Think about that.
4. My body has the right to be loved and honoured.
Something we all profess to know. But do you REALLY believe that?
5. My body has the right to freedom from violence.
Instilling this as a basic right, might make us more confident in the knowledge that no one has the right to hurt it. Not even us. (or our beauty therapists…?)
I Signed it. :)
I’ve also signed up to the Sleek Geek 8 week body challenge with my radio co-host, Kamini. So perhaps I will honour my body the right to be fit, and healthy. Because, whilst I am (admittedly) lucky to have a pretty slim genetic body, I need to keep it fit and healthy… and whilst I don’t smoke and do all that other naughty stuff. I think I’d still have a heart attack if I tried to sprint 1oom. This needs to change.
I have gone through the humbling process of submitting the “before” photos and measurements. (Standing in a bikini for front, side and BEHIND views, with no sucking in allowed) So now I proceed to see if the “after” shots are perhaps a few shades less embarrassing, and possibly closer to 50 shades of Grey. (Ha. Just kidding. I don’t want a billionaire to become obsessed with me. Seriously… although, who doesn’t like a little spanking? It’s my bodie’s right to be loved and honoured. remember… or does that fall under violence? Either way it falls under abuse of the mind because of how badly it’s written… so I’ve completely distracted myself.)
If you’d like to read something less poisonous, then perhaps try the new Marie Claire. I don’t know. I haven’t read it. I’m not getting paid to put this up. But if they are putting a Body Bill of rights up – i feel like it’d be a safer bet than Christian Grey’s riding crop.
Love what you have ladies. Because, to coin a line from my friend the comedian, Peter Sserwanga – Just remember, than somewhere, you are some-body’s reason to masturbate.
*high five sistas*
Tweet at @marieclaire_sa using #MCBodyIssue if you want to accept the challenge to love your body too.