My Evolution

(Disclaimer: This post contains content that those of the male persuasion might find objectionable. This means YOU, Dad. There is frank talk of female undergarments. Please read at your own risk.)

This post has been a long time in the making. I'm so fired up right now! Let me explain what has led to this camel's back breaking straw.

About six weeks ago, I realized that my pants were getting just a bit snug. (Yes, this is to be expected when one is expecting.) Anyhow, since all of my bigger/maternity clothes are in England with my sister right now, I decided to take myself to the mall to get some new, bigger, pants and a new, smaller, bra. (I had just stopped breastfeeding, so just trust me.)

While at the mall, I made my way into Victoria's Secret to be measured and to find something, anything, that didn't have flaps. With the help of an amazingly nice sales person, I learned that either I would have to purchase the largest size that the biggest bra making company in the world makes and "arrange" myself to to make it work or I could go right across the way and see what Lane Bryant had to offer. I was already so frustrated by trying on 15 bras and finding nothing that I could have cried. (Not to mention how this pregnancy has made me VERY emotional.) But, alas, I jaunted right over and checked out the cool store for voluptuous women.

As I am so obviously trying to make sense of the bra section, I am offered no help. (And just to let you know, people are generally VERY helpful here. It is in no way like shopping in MD.) There is someone at the cash register looking a little bored and a couple other sales people hanging out at racks discussing what I can only assume was an incredibly important top secret matter of Lane Bryant security. The point, I don't think any of them even thought to help me. As time went by, more customers came in and were immediately helped. I was annoyed, so I left and bought the mediocre fitting bra from VS.

I was feeling pretty good that I actually found something to buy and headed to my next stop for a pair of pants at the ultra exclusive, Sears. While taking a little time to peruse the racks of jeans near the entrance to the store I heard a woman's voice say something like, "Those are for skinny girls." I looked up to find that this random customer could only have been talking to me because there was no one else around for at least a mile radius, more or less. By the time my surprise wore off and I thought of a witty response, she was gone.

To recap: on this ONE shopping trip I was ignored by the Lane Bryant staff because, I can only assume, that I was not big enough for them to grace me with their clothing expertise AND a random shopper at Sears decided to take it upon herself to inform me that there was no way I would ever fit into any jeans on that particular rack. (Which, by the way, I did, I bought, and I am still wearing them 7 weeks later! OK, I can only zip them up about 1/8 of an inch, but still.) So apparently, I am too thin AND too fat.

So here is the straw: I just watched the finale of America's Next Top Model. (Yes, I am admitting it for the betterment of womanhood.) After the decision was made, the girl who ended up being the runner up confided to the camera that she has never thought of herself as being pretty. And then, so emotional that she can barely speak she says, "but now I do." ARE YOU KIDDING ME? This girl almost won what is probably the biggest modeling (beauty) competition in the country, if not the world. And she is only NOW realizing that she is beautiful?

What has that girl at Sears bought into to point out that she thought a random stranger was too big? (Maybe that was the only way she knew to deal with the pressure that she feels?) Why am I and pretty much every female I know convinced that we are too fat or too thin or hate something about our faces? Why do we exercise to lose weight or just give up instead of exercising to be healthy? Why do we risk our lives to surgically alter our appearance, risk skin cancer to be tan, put on 15 layers of makeup to cover what? Why do I remember that idiot in high school who walked by and said, "I hope that's diet." while I was attempting to get a drink from the soda machine but I can't even remember someone on Facebook who I worked with every day for three months in college? Instead of marveling over the miraculousness of my body why was my joy over finding out about this new baby just a little less full because I was finally only 8 pounds away from my wedding weight? And why do I even remember what I weighed on my wedding day?

Seriously, what is wrong with us? Is it the media? Is it the way we are objectified? Is it perfectionism? Is it ourselves?

I just switched over to You Tube to find a commercial for Dove that I wasn't able to find, but I did find this one:



After watching this I am thinking, maybe the media does have more to do with this than I had originally given it credit. I mean, go to an art museum and look at what was considered beautiful before there were TV and billboards bombarding us.

So to all of you, my most brilliantly beautiful friends and family, watch this and see if you don't look just a little bit like this beautiful woman before the gazillions of people help her to become more "evolved".



YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. I am beautiful. Let's lift each other as women, stop judging, and stand up when we see one of our sisters put down. If you promise to pay less attention to the images out there and more attention to the astoundingly perfect way that God created you (and do the same for your adorable little girls), I will too. We will probably never completely get there, but at least we can try...together.