6 December 2014


Body confidence was something that I contemplated blogging about when I initially planned 'Smell the Roses', but it's bubbled to the surface lately after the release of the song 'All about that bass' last month, causing bloggers to type eagerly away at their laptops in a frenzy to join in with all the nitty gritty. 

These days 'real beauty' or 'real women' are terms that are thrown around as often as 'skinny' and 'petite' and while I'm very fond of the whole born-beauty metaphor, I struggle to feel comfortable with the common misconception that we look to the use of the word 'real' as a positive affirmation of body image.

In my early-mid teens I was somewhat of a late bloomer, my jeans hung loose across my hips and I wasn't yet busty enough to fill the cups of a AA. For a long time I didn't really take too much notice of that fact that I resembled a much more similar shape to my best guy friend than that of the majority of female peers. I can't seem to pinpoint exactly when I became body conscious; I just remember feeling more and more unformed and inadequate as a woman.
For a few years I willed my concave stomach to curve so that my tops might hug me in that way that they 'real'ly should. I felt no place of comfort amongst my friends, who were busy bickering over who would win the award for the chubbiest arms, as they labelled me confident for not sharing in their puppy fat years, innocently overlooking the guilt I felt for my inability to be good enough; to be womanly.

Isolated by these nagging feelings I decided to ask myself why I felt so meagre, solely because I didn't slot comfortably into the 'real' beauty category. I was real, I didn't participate in any fad diet, or restrict myself to sucking on one watermelon segment a day, nor did I take up my Grandma's suggestion of supplementing my smarties with chicken fillets. I was just me, flat chested, straight up and down - little me.

This skewed definition of beauty is no more healthy than that of which it was designed to counteract, yet we open-heartedly applaud anybody who chooses to rock this mantra. To me, there's some disunity about it all. 

What seems to be deemed too tough to chew is that insecurity does not discriminate. It does not favour those who are conscious of weight, height or skin, it affects every-body, regardless of size. We could have the juiciest of J-Lo curves, the tiniest waist band, but there would always be that one thing about ourselves that we struggled to feel confident about. So why is it that we are so quick to assume that skinny is equal to happiness? 

I don't dispute that women with love handles, gapless thighs and spare tyres are sexy, and that they should attempt to attain hollowed middles and sullen cheeks, rather that they are just as beautiful as those without. The slimmer girls among us are in no way unremarkable because we have less booty to shake. 

So, if we have to cling to the word 'real', then let's not relate it to any physical attribute, instead that gentle moment when a woman knows her own body and accepts her naked self, feeling empowered and confident in her skin.

Nowadays when I look in the mirror I see something pretty special. So although I will always hold a slight distain for the wrinkles that gather across my forehead, and the knobbliness of my knees, I really like having blue eyes and it may not be Kim K's but I have been blessed with a damn fine derriere - there, I said it! So, with that in mind, I'm asking you to have a kind look at yourself and leave a comment below to let me know which of your features you feel are simply too good not to share - let's celebrate each other <3 


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