My changing idea of beauty...

Lawd knows. I do love this picture.

Bey is right ch'all: This industry is no damn soup kitchen. And, pulling it all back to what this-here is about, I find it fascinating that she was recently named 'the most beautiful woman in the world' by some or other big gossip mag thingy. She really is stunning. In fact I'm shocked (shocked I tell you) by how stunning I find her. A guy at a party (a gay guy; yes, this is relevant as it supplements the genuineness of the compliment) once told me "I love you! You're like Beyonce!" and then he made this badonk-ka-donk voluptuous gesture with his hands. Now I know he meant this as a compliment. But I could smile twistedly in response. Because what my mind told me, in translation, was 'You're fat, but you workin it'. That the list of compliments he could give me, in the urge to sweetly and sincerely just hand one out, was restricted by the fact that my hips and ass were not, that I was a big girl, who managed, despite bootilicious obstacles, to still be desirable. Isn't that sad; that being told you look like the most beautiful woman in the world becomes code for 'you're okay! ... For a fat chick.'

I've found my ideal of beauty changing recently: I remember sitting on campus, watching the people go by, and thinking (as I watched a pair of jeans go by) 'I used to want to look like that girl'. She was thin. Not normal. Thin. But I found her body... unexciting. Childlike? Unwomanly. She didn't fill her clothes. Not that I wanted podge. But there was no... shape. No curves. She was just a skeleton with some flesh around it. Her figure no longer excited me with a desire to shrink to its proportions. I wasn't turned off or on by the thought of her, she was just there. So what was it: She wasn't sexy. Not in her clothes. But that's not all important. If she had on some sexy clothes she would've been a little more... ya'know. But her body language; nothing. No sex appeal. And she didn't have the sexy to compensate for the lack of the first two.

So why do I want to be super thin, very thin, painfully thin. Attention? A cry for help? To look like a 'winner' and feel like one too? The problem is: I'm not happy at my current weight. I feel fat: Physically and mentally enveloped/bogged down by/weighed down by my physical being. But I don't want to be this little unlustful twig either. I watched a film tonight - Shame - and, it's true, we all look the same naked. It's boring. It's so so boring. Sexiness. Sex appeal. Allure. Confidence. That's all a woman can have that would possibly set her apart. I've slept with a girl I think has my ideal body. Very thin, with the perfect figure. And... I wouldn't write a novel about her... or a poem... or go to the ends of the earth for her love or desire. The girl I love the most, and desire the most (or at least I think I think that I think I do, as one does) is also incredibly thin, has a great figure, and big boobs (yes, every women's dream) and you know what: she could not give less of a fuck. And that's what makes her beautiful. She doesn't dress to be sexy. Ever. She snorts when she laughs. She has strange quirky little mannerisms. She drinks and she smokes and she swears and she can be incredibly irritable and offish. And she's interesting. And creative. She has an appeal, a brash and bizarre mystique that makes no sense and has next to nothing to do with her looks. Her looks are just not a barrier to her personality; she's not morbidly obese, or hugely tall, or facially odd. She is beautiful. I wish I had what she has. (I wish I had her but that's a different matter.)

This makes me think that, or hope that, as long as your body doesn't stand in the way of who you are: You will be beautiful. So if it stops you, holds you back, worries your mind, stops thoughts from being spoken. Then try and do something about it. Don't ignore it. Or tell yourself you shouldn't worry. What bothers you, bothers you. And that's that. But don't forget that who you are is what's important. Your body shouldn't be in your way. That's all.