My feminist talk is being put to the test. I've always argued against the pre-pubescent ideal for women. What is this, anorexic nation? Why are we all starving ourselves, and fighting nature?
Okay, yes. A few (very, very few) women naturally look like supermodels. They have narrow hips and slim legs and full breasts. Their bellies do not pooch out, nor do they feel their butts jiggle as they run up the stairs. But what are the rest of us DOING, trying to look like that? OUR bodies were not made that way!! Women come in all shapes and sizes. All of them are beautiful. (Excuse me while I reach over and turn off my hypocrisy alarm. It seems to think that my size 8 jeans and Hilary-Swank-esque cheekbones disqualify me from singing the praises of unskinny women. I can explain, really!! It's stress! I lose weight when I'm stressed!! I mean� uhh� well� I kinda liked losing the weight� it wasn't really deliberate� umm.. back to the story.)
Okay, that's the end (for now) of my lecture on body issues. Now for the illumination part. In the summer of 2000, I met a lovely woman through an online personals ad. (Hey, Montana, not exactly a gay mecca!) After several months of emails and phone calls, we each determined that the other was not an axe murderer, and met. Let me just describe something for you. Holding Kathy was� amazing. Lying next to each other, talking, her arms around me, was indescribably delicious. Why? Well�. because she's big! No sharp, bony angles to work around. We fit together perfectly. Resting my head on her shoulder and snuggling against her was sheer heaven. Everything about her (well, except for her personality: she's something of a spitfire!) was delightfully, wonderfully soft. She had beautiful breasts and glorious thighs, and lush, sweet folds that invite a caressing touch. (Get your mind out of the gutter, I'm talking about her waist and stomach!)
When I was eighteen, I read Emile Zola's novels with great interest. (Partly because 18th century erotica is kinda hard to find, and therefore more interesting!) The thing that intrigued me most, especially since I was still getting over that nasty little eating disorder, was his description of women. The beautiful women were not thin. They were large. They were round and full and soft. In one scene (can't give you much detail, my volume of Zola is currently holding up one corner of my desk), several men are sitting around a table, discussing women. They are recommending a certain young lady to one of the men, who disdainfully replies, "Her! A fine broomstick for a man to hold onto!"
| About a year ago, a figure started appearing with increasing regularity in my margin art. She is full and bounteous, the very picture of abundance and plenty. I call her my Goddess. I think she's a mother goddess. She sits peacefully, in a thoughtful pose. She would be a giving and nurturing ally, a protecting force. I, however, would not want to piss her off. With her size comes power. She owns herself fully, and knows no master (or mistress). I feel a strong affinity with her, yet I've lost another ten pounds in the year since she came to me. | |
Kathy told me I'm too thin. She looked at the photos of me right after giving birth to my children, when I was 50 or 60 pounds heavier than I am now, and said "You were HOT back then!! I mean, not that you're not attractive now, but you were really attractive then!!" Huh? I look at those photos on days when I'm feeling fat. When I've been a little too aware of all the slim, willowy eighteen-year-old women on campus. When I start looking at my body, which has brought three children into the world, and think, "my god, what happened here????" Me, gain ten or fifteen pounds? Me, look more like the women that I find most attractive? Hmm� perhaps I'd better check that hypocrisy alarm again.
"Excuse me, miss? I'd like to return this body ideal I bought twenty years ago. Yes, I know it's tired and overused. But it's simply never fit me."
-- October 2000
Elusive Gorgons: my writings