as we flew home last night we found our mind wandering, pondering our closest friends. recently battling tough days (even tougher revelations) it’s become to us quite clear: no one is possibly harder on themselves than a woman. work v craft. hobbies v passions. relationships, sometimes for the sake of them. crises and curiosities of fundamental identity. we exist in a vortex, challenges there constant: do more. think more. be more.
the quest for better often (unkindly) extends its reach to the relationship we have with our bodies, so many of us on a perpetual treadmill toward the unattainable. thinner. leaner. perkier. a little more here. a little less there. compares, contrasts (whether against subjects real or fantasy). catty comments purposed, hurled to hurt (the insults of the unimaginative).
only once have we ourself flirted a bit too heavily with the dangerous line, let focus morph to fixation as both our body (and our chi) slowly shrank away. first to go was the boobs: they are real, they are spectacular, and they are a leading indicator of our poundage. the rest of us quickly followed suit, until we all but resembled an eleven year old boy. not. hot.
the rest of the time our weight sits in direct proportion to our happiness: the more we have of one, the more of the other. our contentment inspires a little extra: dates spent dishing delectable, afternoons spent in bed when we should have been on the bosu. the lbs of love, heavy with happiness. hell, our man even asks for more: cultivate our curves, revel in our womanhood.
so what of the discrepancy, men finding feminine what women try maniacally to minimize? where went our raphaelite appreciation, disrupting long-standing definition of a beautiful body? we look around us (sticks for limbs, bones for bosom) and wonder why when where and how the fuck this became the norm? why anything but leaves some girls in despair, worried, shamed.
down with the notion that stick-thin (sick-thin) is desirable. down with your desire to look that way at all. brasandranties chooses to live healthy, live happy, live free from the bullying such bullshit imparts. instead we’ll use our blogette to thus-declare: we are fucking beautiful, just as we are. we feel it. we look it. we know it. and we hope you know you’re beautiful too.