A friend of mine told me (I hope he was joking) that he thinks all my body image issues stem from the possibility that I’m probably just a man stuck in a woman’s body. That comment churned over in my gruesome brain for a couple of hours before… poof! A revelation hit me- one that explains it all.
I’m transgender!
Okay, no not really. Sorry, anticlimactic to kill that totally hilarious thought before I get going on and on about how I wish oh how I wish I had a penis attached to my groin to play with and that’s why I’m dissatisfied with my woman parts. Not that I think that there is anything funny about people who actually are transgender, so please don’t think I’m a close-minded shithead who laughs about people who actually do bear that sort of weight. I have known people struggling with that sort of issue, and it was no laughing matter. I felt nothing but compassion for their pain.
BUT ANYWAY. To the point.
So while I gave the whole… hmmm… would I really want to be a man?… about a whopping four seconds of thought before coming to the conclusion: Hell no! I wouldn’t want some one-eyed alien flopping back and forth from leg to leg while I run! How the hell would I ever accomplish ANYTHING if I had to beat that think on a daily basis to keep my balls from exploding in pain?… an actual thought came to my head that really was quite the revelation.
It’s just so, so painfully true, isn’t it?
And I’m not saying that men are egotistical pricks, okay? So if any extremists run across my blog today and try to rip me a new one, I WILL FIND WHERE YOU LIVE AND PULL YOUR LEG HAIRS OUT ONE BY ONE WITH A PAIR OF TWEEZERS.
Yes, the comic is blown to sort-of-extreme proportions, but in reality, it’s very close to the truth. How many women look in the mirror and focus on the positives? I know I sure as hell don’t. Heck, I hate the mirror. Here I am a very seasoned dancer, and I avoid looking in the mirror at all costs because I don’t want to see a dorky person staring back at me while I make of fool of myself on the dance floor.
And at home… ugh, there are so many mornings that I avoid the mirror and feel relieved when it’s too steamed over from my shower to actually get a good look at myself. Otherwise, I spend those moments scrutinizing every last zit (Seriously? I’m 28 years old. When the hell will my skin stop breaking out? This is ridiculous!), my messy hair, the weird bumps and lumps all over my body made visible from the light casting shadows in a rather unflattering manner. You get the picture.
And how often do I hear a woman next to me in a public restroom sigh, defeated while she fixes an invisible wrinkle at her waistline, or toys with her hair?
We all do it, and it really sucks.
However… men? Take a look at that comic again. Sure, they notice the imperfections as well, but they seem to focus less on those and more on the whole, oh thank goodness, my wiener is still firmly attached… damn, it looks good today! Hey there big guy… let’s make a point to get some action today, okay? Even if it is just with Mr. Righty.
Okay, so it’s not all about the dick, I get it. But what I’m saying is that in general, men just seem to go with what they’ve got and see it in the most positive light possible. They overlook the fact that there’s a big, red zit on their ass, or that they could stand to lose 20 pounds so much better than women can. And I mean, really, as a woman, those things have never mattered to me on the opposite sex. I was actually relieved that James had a pretty bad case of acne when we first met- that way I knew he wouldn’t be grossed out by my own skin problems. I’ve dated guys who were far from perfect, and that has never bothered me. It was just part of them, and I didn’t find it unattractive.
So this got me thinking: how do men see us? Us self-torturing, gawd-I-hate-the-cellulite-on-my-thighs women? Would any man really truly mind the stretch marks on our bodies, or if our breasts are a little saggy? Do they really care if we’re dealing with an adolescent breakout on our forehead, or the fact that we’re carrying an extra hunk of weight on our ass? Do men scrutinize our vagina while making love to us, wishing we were more tight, loose, manly, whatever?
I’m sure there’s an exception to every case, but my guess is no. They probably don’t. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m thinking they look at us with all our awful, ugly imperfections and somehow still us sexy and appealing. The majority probably don’t care if our nose is a little big or we’re complete klutzes who manage to take a bad spill down the stairs. If they’re lucky enough to get us naked, they’re probably so thrilled that they can’t see beyond the whole wow, I’ve got a warm, naked woman in front of me! Hawt DAMN she feels amazing!
I wish I could see myself in the same light as the guy in the comic, but I always manage to notice how big my ass is. I really need to work on it, I just don’t know how.
Do you think society has done this to us, or do you think it’s just part of our nature?
Be nice in your comments, please. I don’t need to hear about what a stupid, ugly moron I am from some extremist who thinks I’m being a sexist idiot in my view of men and women, or how retarded I am to not have seen this earlier. I do enough of that to myself.
Current Mood:
Confused
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