I don’t want to write about bikinis. I want to write about the amazing blue cheese dressing I made with buttermilk! (For some reason, I think buttermilk is the coolest thing ever.) And the pizza I found myself absentmindedly dipping in it until I’d eaten a whole piece like that.
I want to write about little victories and subtle triumphs. But there’s a bikini in the back of my mind, its strings tangling in my thoughts, its sliver of a bottom giving my brain a wedgie.
The thing is, I keep lying. Because I’m embarrassed.
This month, my husband Bear and I are going on a trip with my family. My parents won the trip, to a beautiful house in the Virgin Islands, in a synagogue raffle. My brothers and their girlfriends are coming, too. I can’t wait. I am imagining the ocean and that sudden sense of eternity that engulfs you when you look at it. You have to look away, because it’s too big.
Also, I will be wearing a bikini, I’m assuming. Since I have never found a one-piece that was a match for my long torso. Since I am young and sexy and perfectly capable of wearing a bikini.
I hope. Keep reading »
Fairest shmairest! Let’s get real about beauty and body image. Mirror, Mirror is a column running every other Thursday on The Frisky. It is written by Brooklyn-based columnist, freelance writer, and bagel enthusiast, Kate Fridkis who also writes the blog Eat the Damn Cake. You can follow her on Twitter at @eatthedamncake.
I started writing about beauty when I wasn’t skinny enough anymore.
For a long time, most of my life, I was skinny. And everyone always commented on it.
“You’re SO thin!” they’d say in this jealous, admiring way. As though I was doing something better than them. As though I’d earned it somehow, rather than that I just had high metabolism and a health-obsessed mother who raised me to believe that soy milk counted as a “treat.”
My boyfriends were always like, “You need to eat more!”
And then they smiled and kept dating me anyway. Keep reading »
In case you haven’t heard, Kelly Clarkson has a new boyfriend (who just happens to be Reba McEntire’s stepson, Brandon Blackstock), and she’s also looking noticeably slimmer lately. Coincidence? She says no:
“I have a boyfriend, and if I’m being completely honest, no one likes to be not toned when you are dating someone. I’m eating better and working out, but I’ve always fluctuated within 20 pounds. I tone whenever I want, and I chose to now because my boyfriend and I are both really into it. But we don’t work out together. We did that once and I didn’t like huffing and puffing. I didn’t like looking all red and gross, so I don’t do that.”
This got me thinking about how our relationship status often affects our bodies and body image… Keep reading »
Another day, another creative way to lose weight. Discovered on Facebook, the “Moonlight Sonata” Diet is easy. You can eat whatever you want, but you have to be standing in front of a mirror, watching yourself, and listening to Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” through the duration of your meal. I’m just waiting for a celebrity to endorse this one. It sounds way more realistic (not to mention emo) than the Cookie Diet. [imgur]
It’s spring! The trees are blossoming! All six of them! Or maybe that’s just on my block. The several tufts of grass are violently green. I suddenly want to buy at least two pairs of gladiator sandals. Because suddenly one doesn’t feel like enough. And also, because it’s spring, weight-loss advice is blooming. It’s everywhere. Shed those extra pounds before summer! Be able to fit into those shorts! Get your bikini bod on! Or, you know, catchier slogans.
I am going to the Caribbean in a couple months. My dad won a trip at an auction, and he’s taking the family, significant others included. When I found out, my first thought was “Yay!” and my second thought was, “Shit.” The “shit” related to the fact that I have not put on a bikini in well over a year, and since then, I’ve gained about 15 pounds. Keep reading »
By now, many of you may have read Vogue’s annual “Shape” issue and had some reaction to the story of Bea, a seven-year-old girl whose mother was intent on curing her “obesity,” which was, in reality, 16 extra pounds of baby fat.
“One day Bea came home from school in tears, confessing that a boy at school had called her fat. The incident crushed me, but it was a wake-up call. Being overweight is not a private struggle. Everyone can see it,” said Bea’s mother, Dara-Lynn Weiss.
Weiss immediately put Bea on a Weight Watchers-type diet designed for children. Reading this, I felt a familiar pang in my gut. I was also an overweight child who came home from school and complaining about being teased. It was fifth grade, and I was the new kid in school. I didn’t know I was overweight until one of the popular boys spit on my new pair of Vans and called me “fat ass.” The girls were even worse. They attacked me in the bathroom with a barrage of spitballs. I spent most of the school year alone, writing in my journal. There’s one heartbreaking entry I’ll never forget: Dear Diary, Please let me be popular. Please let me not be fat anymore.
Although I’ve moved on and healed from these experiences, which happened more than 20 years ago, it still hurts to write about them. They’re a reminder of how cruel people can be, perhaps without even meaning to. What’s more painful for me, though, is remembering how my mother reacted to these incidents. Keep reading »