Thursday, July 22, 2010
It started when I was young, 6 or 7, I was painfully aware that I had the knobbiest knees and twig-like arms. Teachers would grab my upper arm, close to the armpit and squeeeeze, like the witch in Hansel and Gretl, testing JUST how bony I was. In junior high, when my classmates were busy cultivating curves and honing their skills at brassiere buying, they also made it a point to regularly pull my baggy uniform tight to check and see if any breasts had budded over the weekend. In high school, classmates, male and female, just couldn't help commenting on my lack of makeup and unflattering outfit choices and comparing them to my much better-dressed cohort.
I was kidding myself that these comments would cease as an adult. I feel they have gotten worse, to be honest. The straightforwardness of checking my wing to see if I'm done has morphed into a passive-aggressive comment-question-smirk routine. Yes, I understand that women's bodies are scrutinized, analyzed, and snarked about on a constant basis in our culture. I have the unfortunate knowledge of who has the BEST bikini body of 2010...and who should have just stayed home in their period-stained jogging pants with the elastic waistband. And all of this information from just trying to check out at the grocery store and glancing at the covers of magazines.
But seriously. SO WHAT if my pants are a little tight today? I DON'T CARE what you think about my hair color choices. It's NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS what I had for lunch, ok?
How do you deal with other women talking crap about your body to your face? Karate. Chop.