number 12 looks just like you

i've been extremely disturbed by the tyranny of mass conformity to mainstream american/western standards of beauty lately.

this seems like a trite subject for an entry on a feminist-related blog, and that's exactly what i want to avoid, so let me explain...

recently, i've discovered two instances of women who i've known (in different capacities) that have made the decision to get breast implants. while these two women weren't close friends of mine, i was still stunned and devastated by this news. while the third wave girl in me wants to say, "they have the right to do whatever they want to do with their bodies!" there's a much louder inner voice, perhaps the second wave feminist in me, that screams, "why would they mutilate their bodies in this way? why put themselves at risk for future health problems for such a superficial reason? and to what end? to gain the approval of men?!"

each of these women, while not my best friends, were women who i believed were somehow "stronger" than this. one was a high school classmate, whom i always admired for her outspokenness, political awareness (at an early age), intelligence, sense of self, and creative writing abilities. the other was a spunky, independent, and extroverted co-worker who was a talented performer. as a plus-sized (real-sized!) woman who wasn't afraid to strip down and show what a pear-shaped woman w/curves looked like, i felt that she was proudly making a statement against size-ism. i thought that in her own way, she was proclaiming that she should be admired just the way she was, and beneath the glamorous burlesque posturing, i found something admirable in that. was i wrong? were these women not the ballsy and defiant individuals i believed them to be?...or is the decision to have plastic surgery more complicated than that?

i just watched an amazing episode of the twilight zone, written by charles beaumont, that illustrates precisely how oppressive and damaging our society's looks-centric values can be. (the title of the episode is the title of this post.) in it, a young woman unsuccessfully attempts to resist a culture in which the unavoidable rite-of-passage is "the transformation"-- a process by which each person loses their individual looks and personality in favor of a physical and psychological makeover sanctioned by the government. as a result, everyone literally looks and thinks alike. with the transformation acting as a great equalizer, each person is equally externally "beautiful" and internally vapid.

while our day-to-day interactions with the pervasive concepts of mainstream beauty might not be as dramatic or intense as this storyline, they can be just as brutal and devastating to the core of a woman. i know that some men (and women) believe a woman is weak or stupid if she succumbs to the powers of mass media's unrelenting assault (read: having occasional self-doubts, sometimes feeling insecure about appearance, or taking it a step further and actually having plastic surgery done). i now recognize that this is just another shitty double standard. it's yet another example of how women are judged more harshly than men, and as evidenced above by my assumption that women who get breast implants are somehow "weaker" than those who don't, i myself am guilty of this same line of thinking! i somehow felt disappointed or let down by their decision because they don't have the same ideas about plastic surgery that i do. (in all honesty, a little part of me even felt superior for not having had plastic surgery!) while i have a right to my opinions, who am i to judge?

...the pot calling the kettle black?

i do consider myself to have a healthy body image, but i'll admit that occasionally i even wonder and/or fantasize about what it would be like to have a different body type (bigger breasts, tighter butt, pretty feet, thinner thighs, skinny, etc...the possibilities are endless). i think this curiosity is natural to a certain extent, kind of like wondering what it would be like to be a boy, astronaut, sea otter, or jamaican. while sometimes frustrating, it's just another step in exploring my identity-- finding out who i am by honestly recognizing and acknowledging what i'm not. in the end, i try to be satisfied with the knowledge that i'm the only person on earth with this exact combination of my particular physical and intellectual features, and that this unique blend of charming imperfections makes me wholly lovable (as corny as that sounds). i'm still a work-in-progress, and this inner dialogue meets with varied results...