I Just Don't Get It

I feel like we’ve gone backwards.

When I was a little girl, no one ever made sure I felt “pretty.”  Concerns about what I ate or what I weighed were for health purposes.  My hair was cut to a style to make it easy to take care of my baby fine hair with no one having to gently pull out the knots at the ends each morning that otherwise occurred from sleeping . No one worried about when I would finally get a boyfriend or when I would get married.  Clothes were purchased based on quality, comfort, and, for me, if they were purple.   The only makeup I was allowed to wear in high school was pressed powder and neutral eye shadow.

In other words, I was never taught that what I looked like was important.

Rather, I grew up learning to embrace my athleticism, my passion for reading, my ability to do complex algebra problems in my head.  I was taught that I deserved respect, and also to respect myself.  I learned to be choosy with my friends, to look for people with good character and integrity to keep in my circle.  I was raised to see everyone for what was on the inside, especially myself.  I was taught to love myself for all my strengths, and despite any flaws. I was never told I needed to prove to be equal to a man, I was shown I already was and to live as such.  

I knew that attention from a man was not what gave me worth, that one that wanted a relationship with me needed to deserve to have a relationship with me, and that “me” was not what I looked like,  how much skin I showed, or my breast size.  Me was my perfectionism, my ever present sarcasm, my love of cooking, my tightwad qualities, my need for alone time, my drive, my propensity for using words you may not know in everyday conversation, my love of art and Disney and animals and knowledge….

I was taught to be so much more than a sexual object.

Perhaps what you learn really does color your world, because today I’m supposed to be happy that a “curvy” woman is on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition, and I just don’t get it.  I am supposed to feel empowered over the fact that it is now acceptable to objectify more body types, and even more ecstatic that women are now proud to be objectified.  I am supposed to be joyful that this is just the beginning and maybe one day a 48 year old woman like me can get naked and pose on all fours for a national magazine cover so men will think of me when they are with their significant other, because that is now what gives you worth as a woman.

Call me when everyone else feels good about themselves with their hair in a messy ponytail, their feet in their favorite Crocs, in jeans and a sweatshirt that keeps them from being cold when everyone else thinks it’s hot, sitting next to their family who loves them for their witty insults and their ability to do the income taxes, not caring if some stranger finds their body type to be “hot.”  To me that is what empowerment is, being respected for your soul.

In the mean time, that’s why they have wine.