The “real women” movement is making another round on social
media. This week, a BuzzFeed article appeared with BuzzFeed writers trying on
Victoria Secret swimsuits and then showing what “real” women looked like in
them. They said that their point was to show that beauty came in all shapes and
sizes, whether you’re a size 2 or 22.
However, the article did not leave me feeling empowered.
Although their final words were “Go models! Go us! Go team,
go! We are all amazing!” that felt extremely superficial to me, especially
since many of the girls individually complained about their own bodies, the
models’ sizes, and models’ lifestyle choices. Instead of female empowerment, I
got the impression that this article was really a way for the writers to say, “Look,
we are better than these models, because we are real women.”*
Okay, stop. Aren’t these models “real” women, too? I mean, I
know that being called “fake” is one of the biggest insults our generation can
throw, and I know that these models are airbrushed and photoshopped in these
pictures and they have personal trainers to keep them perfectly in shape . . .
but aren’t they women? Just because they are models does not mean that they
aren’t real. This doesn’t mean that I agree with the media’s impossible
conceptions of female beauty (I certainly have an axe to grind about that), but
aren’t we all “real women,” regardless of how curvy or straight our figures
are? And last I checked, cutting someone down to build yourself up is a hollow
way to build self-confidence.
I know that this is a complicated issue with centuries of baggage. I mean, we can
look at history for a glimpse of how standards of beauty have changed: the
Gibson girl, the flapper’s boyish look of the 1920s, the curvy 1950s housewife.
Pick a century--pick a decade--and you’ll get a different definition of beauty. The only thing
that doesn’t change is that society’s view of beauty is always out of reach.
The media screams at women (and men, for that matter) to be someone they’re not—that
we are too much, not enough, just take off those extra 5 pounds, just get that
little black dress, get those razor-sharp abs and you’ll be happy, healthy,
rich, popular, and you’ll find true
love.
It’s a problem. Our society is inundated with messages that
tell us to get, get, get, spend, spend, spend, be more, more, more or less,
less, less than what you are and you’ll find the key to happiness.
But we exacerbate the problem when we compare ourselves with
others, and then when we despise them when have something that we want . . . or else we
applaud ourselves for being “better” than them. Fat-shaming and skinny-shaming
both exist. And both need to stop.
I believe that we, as women, are our own worst critics—not only
of ourselves, but of others. Of course it’s human nature—we seem to have this
drive to pit us vs. them, and we hate it when others succeed (even if it’s not
something we even wanted in the first
place). I know that everyone—men and women—are capable of pettiness. Like I
said, it is human nature. We seem to regress to our 7th-grade selves
and simultaneously hate and try to emulate the popular kids, thinking that “they”
somehow hold the secret to happiness, while forgetting that the key to human happiness
was always in ourselves.
Before we know it, we are acting like the stepsisters from Cinderella. And I don’t just mean the
Disney Cinderella you’re familiar with.
I mean the Grimms’ Brothers version, which isn’t your typical Disney tale.
There is blood—and a whole lot of it. Bear with me for a bit while I describe the story--there's a point, I promise.
The basic outline is the same—girl is
mistreated by her stepfamily, she gets a ball-gown and slippers from a magic
tree and birds, she goes to the ball, loses her shoe, prince searches for her,
finds her, and they start a new life together. But the different details make
the Grimm version, well, a lot more macabre . . . and the stepsisters don’t end
up merely angry, annoyed, and heartbroken. They end up mutilated.
When the prince comes by to have the stepsisters try on the
slipper, the stepmother takes her first daughter aside and has her try on the
shoe. The first girl almost gets her foot in . . . but her big toe doesn’t fit.
So her mother tells her to cut it off.
The stepsister and prince are about to ride off into the
sunset when Cinderella’s bird friends alert the prince to the fact that there
is blood in the slipper. So he takes the girl back home and this time the
second stepsister tries on the shoe.
The same thing happens. The shoe almost fits . . . except
for her heel.
And her mother tells her to cut her heel off. “When you’re
queen, you won’t need to walk.”
So the girl cuts off her own heel.
The prince takes her home, but then again is alerted to the
fact that there is blood in the shoe.
Finally Cinderella gets her chance to try on the shoe (but
with all of that blood in it? Ewwww. The things we do for love). She tries it
on, it’s a perfect fit, and they all live happily ever after . . . except for
the stepsisters, who are angry, bloodied, and unable to walk. They have broken and
mutilated themselves in order to obtain what they thought would make them happy—a
prince, a title, power, wealth. And in the process of wanting to be something they're not, they end up unwhole.
Since this is a fairy tale, there are multiple layers of
meaning, and it provides commentary on society—even for us in the 21st century. Here are some things to
consider:
1. First of all, why did the prince choose Cinderella?
Because she was the most beautiful? The tale suggests that. And, you know what,
that is extremely shallow. The prince
has his own issues to work out. And so does society. That doesn’t mean
Cinderella was better or worse than any of the other girls there. It simply
means that she is who the prince chose. But Cinderella didn’t ask to be chosen. Maybe Cinderella went
to the ball simply because she wanted a night out, or she wanted to dance. And
maybe the prince was first drawn to
her by her beauty, but maybe he fell in deep infatuation with her because she
sang really well, or she made him laugh, or they both had a love for polished
banisters, or she could talk political theory like nobody’s business. We don’t
know. Just like we don’t exactly know why one girl is chosen as beautiful in
society’s or a man’s eyes and we are not. But does it really matter? Some of us
are naturally straight. Other gain weight easily. Some of us are models. Others
are doctors, or writers, or business consultants. Some of us will be accepted
by society. Others will not. Some of us will find love easily. Others will not.
But society’s view of your worth or beauty does not add nor take away from who
you are.
2. I feel really bad for the stepsisters. Their story is
tragic to me. They are trying to fit this “one-size-fits-just-one” standard of beauty,
love, and acceptance. And it’s just not going to work. They are never going to
fit in that shoe. They just aren’t—they’ve grown into their feet and their feet
aren’t changing sizes, no matter how hard they wish or try. The only way they
fit into the shoe is by mutilating themselves and making themselves unwhole. It’s
tragic because so many of us do the exact
same thing. We give up important parts of us in order to fit the mold of
the “perfect woman.”**
For example, I once knew a girl who told me that she was
known as the “smart girl” in high school. She hated it, because she felt that
the “smart girl” was not—and never would be—the “pretty girl” or the “hot girl”
to the guys she knew. She felt unnoticed by boys and she wanted to be known as
beautiful. And so, she changed in college. She dumbed down and tried to become
what she assumed others wanted her to be so she could be called beautiful. And
she was called beautiful. By many
men. But they stopped calling her smart. As she told me her story she
whispered, “I wish they would call me smart again.”
It broke my heart, because she had given up an important
part of herself to fit a mold—a preconceived notion of “true” womanhood. This
is not my story, but most—if not all—of us have done things like this. We give
up a good part of ourselves in order to fit a mold—in order to fit a glass
slipper we might not even truly want. When we focus too much on what we are
not, we miss who we are. And when we try to force ourselves into a mold of
beauty, we end up bruised, squashed, and mutilated.
3. The stepmother is the scariest person in this fairy tale.
Why? Because she is the one enforcing
and encouraging her daughters in these impossible standards of beauty. The
stepsisters didn’t get the idea to cut off their heels and toes. That came from
their mother. The stepsisters didn’t make Cinderella the household slave. That
was their mother. For better or for worse, mothers play a HUGE role in the way
their daughters view themselves and their place in society. And, regardless of
how our mothers taught us about our bodies and healthy relationships, we can choose how we will teach the
children we will raise, teach, and mentor about their own body images. We can
teach them to be kind to others, to build instead of tear down, and to exude
the beauty of confidence that will draw others to them so they in turn can
heal, lift, inspire, and bless.
I once knew a fourteen-year-old girl with straight brown
hair, big glasses, and a shy smile who was terribly insecure about her changing
body. She was convinced that she would never live up to the expectations
created by society, her peers, and her mind. I also know that what changed the
way this girl looked at herself in the mirror was that her mother noticed that
something was wrong, took her aside, and talked to the girl about what true
beauty really was and where her worth truly began. It wasn’t in a dress size,
shoe size, IQ, the number of school dances she went to, or the age when she had
her first kiss. Her beauty and worth could not be measured. Beauty—true beauty—real womanhood—was in the curve of her
smile, the light in her eyes, the furrow in her brows, and the crinkle in her
nose. It was in the spread of her hands and the size of her heart and the swing
of her hips. It was in the strength of her legs and the point of her toes. It
was in the truth she spoke and the love she gave, even when nothing else was
given in return except silence and scorn. It was the forgiveness she offered
and the care of her touch. It was in the resilience of her spirit and the grace
of her soul.
That little girl was me. And my mother’s example,
encouragement, and goodness have taught me more about beauty and being a “real”
woman than any manifesto, celebrity empowerment song, or social media campaign.
I do realize that not everyone has a mother like this—a mother whom they can communicate
with and trust. Nor do I have everything figured out. But I do believe that we can be in control. Healthy bodies,
healthy body images, and healthy relationships start with us. We don’t have to
put others down to make ourselves more “real” and therefore more “beautiful”
than the other.
If I should have a daughter, I want her to know this. I
want her to know that there is nothing quite so powerful as a girl or woman who
knows that her main strength isn’t her beauty. But rather, true beauty is
strength. Because once we know who we are and stop wishing for what we aren’t,
we are better able to love others for who they are—and who they can become. We
don’t compare ourselves to others. And we know that someone else’s beauty does
not mean that they outshine us or we outshine them. We see beauty everywhere, because we walk in
the beauty of confidence.
Real women aren’t silhouettes.
We are powerful forces for good.
*I also realize that maybe all these girls wanted to do was
start/continue the conversation about “true beauty.” Well, congratulations. I
took the bait and have entered the conversation.
**I know that body dysmorphia, anorexia, and bulimia are
very real and serious issues, and they deserve special care and attention . . .
but I am not qualified to give that attention. I certainly did not write this
blog post with the intent of making anyone who might have eating disorders feel
ashamed. If you or someone close to you is struggling with any of these issues,
please know that there is hope. You don’t have to deal with these difficulties
on your own. There are people who can help you.
