Image

Yesterday, I went to a bookshop and read a book called ‘How Fat Do I Look?’ and it made me feel uncomfortable. Not because I have anything against fat people or because I don’t get what the author was trying to say but quite simply because in the rush to make fat people feel ok about their being fat, most authors and various other assorted do-gooders seem to have quite simply forgotten that the need to conform to societal expectations is not limited to fat women. And the women who aren’t fat don’t get half as much attention, or support, for that matter.
Honestly, when was the last time you saw a book entitled ‘It’s OK to be XS and not use make-up?’Or have a body worth showing off and not actually show it off?Or be sensible and not grow your nails so long that you can’t make a fist with your hand?Or wear what you’re comfortable wearing instead of wearing what you look most sexy in?Or that it’s ok to be thin without having a well-toned body?...
Personally, I’m not convinced that there is any such thing as the perfect figure – there are times when I’ve gone into shops with a 22-inch waist and still not been able to find a pair of trousers I can actually pull up over my hips. (And no, I do not have a humungous butt or thunder thighs.) And even assuming that you do happen to have what fashion mags and designers, who presumably get their measurements using mannequins made of match-sticks, consider is an acceptable figure, there’s always something else that you don’t have, be it the right shoes, hair, make-up, nails, skin, eye-lashes... and guess what, that you never will have.
No matter what it is that you do have, it turns out that it’s never enough. It isn’t about being fat and therefore not feeling good enough to exist. It’s about not looking good enough in any number of ways and consequently not feeling good enough to exist, and, even worse, being told that you aren’t.
We spend a mint trying to look like re-incarnations of Venus: apart from continually being told that – thin or fat – we should look a particular way, the yardstick used to define the ideal itself keeps changing – the most obvious way in which this happens is through fashions which never remain the same for more than a season, so to be able to look fashionable – and by extension, acceptable – throughout the year, the average fashion-conscious woman’s expenditure on clothes, shoes and handbags literally rivals the annual budget of a small country. I’m sure it helps the economy but that isn’t the goal, is it?
And then of course, there’s makeup. Take something as supposedly simple as lipstick, for example. It’s not one swipe by a long shot. Lipstick with a cold cream core to keep lips moisturised. Split down the middle: metallic on one side and matte on the other. Gloss, if required. Powder over it. And don’t ever forget that you apparently simply cannot get good looking lips with just one colour. Fancy brush to blend the two colours (if not more). And if that isn’t enough, don’t forget that you apparently need lip-liner too. Otherwise, it’d smudge and seep over the lip-line and look absolutely ghastly (not that it doesn’t sometimes look ghastly anyway – a green core with black glitter?)
It’s not just the fashion industry and the media which promote the image though. Or get sucked into believing in the image, depending on how you see it.
Speaking for myself, I’m petite – read ‘slightly underweight’ – have pimple scars, a plain haircut and little enthusiasm to doll up. I don’t easily get clothes my size – they’re either too small or much too large – have got more advice from well-intentioned friends about what I should wear than I’ve ever wanted, have one who actually takes me shopping for face creams, and have come across more not-so-nice people than I’ve been able to keep count of who’ve made comments about my lack of fashion-sense that I wouldn’t venture to repeat.
And I’m not entirely sure why that’s the case. I’m not saying that I want to make a special effort to look dowdy – all I’m saying is that I don’t want to have to spend a large fraction of my time trying not to look dowdy. And I certainly don’t want to spend a large fraction of my time being told that I do look just that way for the sole reason that I’m not up on all the latest fashions or because I haven’t got a facial done for over a year (make that three, actually)…
Frankly, does it really matter if my skirts are an inch below knee level instead of above it? Or if my sleeves have a bit of a puff on them? Or if the heels of my shoes are shaped just a little differently? Or if my kurtas aren’t tight enough to cause respiratory depression?
I’d like to think that it doesn’t matter. I’m told that it does. Never mind that most of the women I know who do get it right look like they spend so much of their time in getting it right that they have little time for anything else (except, possibly, studying for exams) and the result is that they are so much more style than substance that irrespective of what they wear, they wind up looking like dolled-up scarecrows.
Not that there is anything wrong with looking like a dolled-up scarecrow, I suppose. It just isn’t what I want for myself. And I don’t want to be continually told that not wanting that for myself makes me inadequate in some way, that it makes me a source of continual embarrassment to myself and everyone around me, that I have an obligation to duck and run for cover every single time there’s a camera in the vicinity, that not being dressed up means that I have nothing at all to offer anyone, that looking different involves desexualising myself – although I’ve found that that isn’t always a bad thing.
After all, not being viewed as a sex object makes it easier to hold your own and to avoid being hit on. It’s another matter that I don’t really understand why being treated as an individual is usually closely associated with being non-sexual… are you treated as a person (particularly by men) when you look so awful that they simply can't stand the thought of treating you like a woman, and, as a result, have no choice but to treat you as a non-sexual individual simply by default?
I sometimes wonder if I spend a lot of my time looking like anything but the stereotypical wannabe fashionista simply because, at some level, I want to. Because I don’t particularly enjoy being hit on. Because I enjoy not being treated like a dumb babe. Because I don’t enjoy the competitions which women tend to get into while hunting for a man in which their most potent weapons are stilettos, foundation and concealer. Or perhaps it’s because I’m afraid of just that. Because I don’t know myself well enough to know what I would do or what I’m capable of doing. And because I’d rather not find out.
Either way, one of the very few things which I do know for certain is that I’d like to be able to make my own rules. I don’t want to have anyone tell me what constitutes an acceptable image. How thin or how fat I should be. What I should wear. And how much make-up I should have on.
I’d like to feel comfortable in my own skin. I’d like to be allowed the opportunity to feel comfortable in my own skin.