Sunday, February 3, 2013

Sometimes it's hard, being a woman...

I'm not going to claim to speak from a shared totality of female experience here. I always feel a bit of an amateur when it comes to being a girl, so I don't know how much my experiences have in common with "real girls."

There are some things that really punch me in my womanhood. That's not a euphemism for vagina, just so you know. I just mean, stuff that makes me, as a girl, feel bad/sad/desperately inferior.

Maybe my biggest punch - being the heftiest girl in a group. I'm not exactly a fatty boombalada, but I do have perhaps an excess of feminine curves. In my friend group, I'm the biggest. I feel like a lumbering elephant in a room of graceful sprites. I can't borrow anyone's clothes. When we eat together, I feel like everyone is judging me for my gluttony. When I talk about exercise, I imagine them pityingly thinking how little good it's doing me. And I know it's all in my head - but that doesn't make me feel any better.
I volunteered at a burlesque event recently, and we were all dressed in 50's style dresses and petticoats. All the other adorable girls looked cute, ravishing and sexy. I felt ridiculous, bulging out of my dress like an overstuffed sausage.

Another woe - boobs. Unneccessarily large boobs. F cup jubblies, over-ripe hooters. I can see no good in these fleshy bags of bother. They sag, they sway, they bounce around painfully. They make all clothes look  frumpy or slutty. Like the look of those cute, girlish bras in the shops? Tough luck. Need to find an industrial strength sports bra to hold those puppies down? I'll need a specialty store and a generous bank balance.
Small breasted girls speak sadly of their own limited assets, and I glare at them, lost in seething envy. Them with their pretty bras and well-fitting clothes, them that can go bra-less when the outfit demands it. They probably don't carry a permanent indent on their shoulders from their bra-straps fighting a losing battle with gravity. They probably have space between their boobs and their belly buttons.

Make up. Why does it look so natural and perfect on everyone else? Why do I look like a drag queen?

Hair. I have a short crop of fine wisps, unstyleable, unstylish. I have to repress the urge to scalp girls with thick, flowing, princess locks.

Normal women wear heels all day. Some women dance in them. How come when I wear heels for two hours I'm crippled with pain, blistered and bruised and unable to walk?


There are a few consolations.

I got a warm glow watching a burlesque performer's cellulite jiggle at an event. I didn't think any less of her - but I felt a little better about me.

I sometimes look at pictures of "real" breasts on the internet. Real, lopsided, sagging, pendulous, huge nippled, tiny nippled, multi-nippled (!), imperfect breasts. Bless them all for existing.

I lift weights at the gym, and I enjoy my strength. It's not huge, I have so much room for improvement, but I'm proud of every kilo I lift, every kilo I add to my personal bests.

I am ashamed of being such a shallow creature. I am a vaguely intelligent woman with many talents, and I want to be judged on my character, not my appearance. But gods above, that doesn't mean I don't care how I look! As much as I respect people who really do rise above such fluff, I find myself unable to.

Being a girl is hard, y'all!

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