Size Matters, or The Female Form Divine

"This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction ..." ~ Walt Whitman, "I Sing The Body Electric"


I'm not perfect. I pass judgment on people on a daily basis, often over quite trivial matters. I know I'm doing this and that I'm fucking up my karma every time I do, but it's a hard habit to break. Do you know the George Carlin quote about driving speed? Let me share.

"Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?"

This is sort of how I feel when I look at the bodies of other women -- everybody smaller than me is an idiot, and everyone larger -- well, it depends on the mood I'm in. I was not raised to be tolerant of my own body's failings so it is little wonder that I haven't much patience for the (perceived) failings of others. Most of my life I've been slender, an accident of birth and genetics as much as of pathology. Does this mean that at 41 I'm pleased with my form and figure? Lord, no. But why aren't I? My husband still likes my body. Why don't I?

As I said before in Call and Response, I think it is partly simple human nature. I also blame low-riding bikini bottoms. It's summer, I've been trying on bathing suits in department store dressing rooms and I find that I have a gut. It isn't much of a gut but there it is, hanging out over the edge of all these low-riding bikini bottoms. Why do I blame my body? I should blame the suit. It isn't my fault that bathing suits seem to come in two styles only --"child" and "granny." These are my options? Letting it all hang flabbily out, or binding it all up in a corset-style costume I would be afraid to get wet?

I decide to err on the side of letting it all hang out and take home two suits that my husband says look "great" on me. And when I take these suits out for a spin on our beach vacation I feel remarkably comfortable showing myself in them, but only, sickly I admit, because of where I fall along the spectrum of the female form divine.

When I was young I read in Seventeen magazine of all places, the following descriptions of the three basic body types:

• Ectomorphic: characterized by long and thin muscles/limbs and low fat storage; receding chin, usually referred to as slim.
• Mesomorphic: characterized by medium bones, solid torso, low fat levels, wide shoulders with a narrow waist; usually referred to as muscular.
• Endomorphic: characterized by increased fat storage, a wide waist and a large bone structure, usually referred to as fat.

This type of definition is wildly out of date now (the man who came up with it apparently crazy as all get out), but I think the point of this information was to try and get across to teen readers that sometimes you have to work with what nature gave you. I am mostly mesomorphic with some ectomorphic traits as well, with shoulders like bloody coat hangers and an enormous waist in proportion to my practically non-existent hips. I buy pants that fit my butt but ALWAYS have to let the button out on the waist so I can breathe. In short, I am built more or less like a stick with something of a spare tire round my middle bits. Nice, yes?

I saw all types at the beach: rubber-band-like young girls, too thin but fit mom-types, the classic pears and apples (as if women are fruit to be devoured -- and of course sometimes we are) and many women who were quite simply very overweight. One woman in particular my eye went back to over and over. I will admit at first I was appalled by her size. But then I thought of other images, stripped her in my mind's eye of her ill-fitting pink suit (honestly most of the women's suits were ill-fitting -- I mean who designs these bloody things?!) and saw more or less this:


The woman on the beach even had this soft coloring, cloudy strawberry-blonde hair and something of this posture, but in all honesty the woman I saw on the beach probably weighed more than the woman in this picture. But the woman on the beach didn't seem uncomfortable with her physical form. Strikingly, most of the women on the beach seemed relatively comfortable in their mostly naked skins. But were they? How did they really see themselves? How did they see me? Did they judge me the way that I judged them? Do they judge themselves?

Probably.

Does it help at all that I saw beauty, as well as potential ill-health? And what would be my beauty, the gift of image I would give myself? And what would be yours? What is your female form divine?

It's Complicated

"Food is an important part of a balanced diet." Fran Lebowitz


A few weeks ago I turned 41. I'm lucky enough to have had the same best friend since second grade and this year I asked her and her younger sister if they would throw me a birthday party, which they happily agreed to do. It was a lovely party, the theme was Tiny Bubbles, so there was Hawaiian music and plastic leis and Pink Bikinis and champagne to drink and lots and lots of bubbles. After most of the guests had gone home Amy and Heather and their mother, Amy's husband, my husband and myself were the only people left sitting around drinking the last of the champagne. Heather's two girls were still awake but getting sleepy and she went in several times to try and settle them for the night. At one point she came out and stood on the top of the stairs leading out to the patio.

"Shoot me now," she said, looking out past the tiki torches into the dark of the yard. "Just shoot me now. Spencer just told me she wasn't going to wear her new navy dress anymore because it makes her look fat."

Spencer is five.

I have had an eating disorder, in one form or another, since I was thirteen years old.

Heather looked at me and said, "We need to write that book now. What am I going to do when they're older? We've got to figure this out."

Having known Heather and Amy for so long, we've seen each other grow and change, grow up and grow older. We all have our different issues with body image and weight and food. We've talked at times about a book that would share our stories, and I think maybe this blog will be a good place to start that dialogue, to share those stories, to look at our past and see if we can't change the future for Heather's girls. For all girls. For ourselves.

Food is so basic. We must eat to live. But why do we eat what we eat? Why do we care what we eat? Who do we eat with and why? Why do people turn to food for comfort? Why do people restrict what they eat, whether it's for health or culture or out of pathology? How did something so basic become so complex for so many people?

Look at the covers of magazines in the grocery store. Notice how many promise to help you lose weight. Notice how many contain a cooking section. Notice how many are about fitness or food. Think of the television shows promoting weight loss and those that promote eating. Does it feel balanced to you?

I can't help but think of Scarlett O'Hara. You heard me. Women of her time weren't supposed to eat a lot in public. Women of our time -- who knows? We can't eat too little or we're anorexic. We can't eat too much or -- oh, pick something. And what do we think?

That's what I'd like to know.

So share please. And I will share in turn. But keep in mind this is not a site for diet suggestions or weight loss tips or to attack one another whatever size or shape we may be. Vicious commentary will be deleted. Future posts will try and explore the questions raised through personal anecdotes and observations.

You may, or may not, have noticed that I didn't mention any food at the party. That's because food isn't my thing. That's one way to put it. Another way to put it is that I have severe food phobias and aversions. Or maybe I'm just really picky. I told you it was complicated.



Pink Bikinis
Mix one 1.75 liter bottle of raspberry lemonade with 1 3/4 cups coconut rum and 1 cup amaretto liqueur in a pitcher, mix well and serve over ice.