THE BEAUTIFUL TRUTH

Apparently, 93% of American women are unhappy with their underarms, or so the folk at Unilever would have us believe. When I read this recently, it took me about half a minute to dismiss it as the total bullshit it is, yet not before I wondered for the first time in my life whether my own underarms were ugly just as all those American women ‘surveyed’ seem to think theirs were. I don’t know about you, but I simply cannot recall a time when any woman ever turned to me and said, ‘Gee I really, really hate my underarms’. Coincidentally, the underarm survey results were released around the time Unilever began advertising the Dove deodorant ‘Go Sleeveless’. Hmmm. Go figure. 

Fat shaming, wrinkle shaming, hair shaming, age shaming, menstruation shaming, odour shaming, sweat (or any sign of moisture) shaming, pimple shaming, dental hygiene shaming, cellulite shaming, breast shaming and now underarm shaming! Cover it, fight it, hide it, rip it out, smooth it, lift it, shave it, moisturise it, dry it, perfume it, whiten it, botox it (if you can afford to) because the message is you shall be disgraced if any of it is detected.  

Over the centuries, attention has been turned so acutely upon our bodies that even open pores are a deadly sin in the Beauty Bible. How and why did this happen? Can you imagine a cave woman stressing about a stray hair protruding from her chin? And I doubt my lilywhite ancestors stepped off the boat into the harsh Australian sun after 9 months at sea and worried about their fine lines and wrinkles.

Is it any wonder that I have never really been happy with my body? I challenge you to find any woman who does not have a What Would I Change list. Mine includes double chin, turkey neck, blotchy skin, cellulite, chunky calves and body hair - no matter how much I laser, wax or pluck, the little suckers have never got the message. They are like mini-Terminators, even after 25 years they are still coming back. Sometimes I find body maintenance is like house maintenance. Fix up the kitchen and the rest of the house looks tired and in need of a makeover. Like, if you run a lot, you might be slimmer but then end up looking a little haggard from all the effort.    

Thinking it over, a lot of my issues with my body are entirely beyond my control, so the fact that I have never been content with it seems a little absurd. Yet how can any of us be happy with ourselves when the beauty/fashion/fitspiration industry sends us a barrage of images that play on our insecurities? I doubt I would have even considered how my underarms look had I not read what Unilever said about how ugly they apparently can be.

I’m getting mighty tired of it all. Maybe it’s because I am getting older and now have wrinkle shame and saggy boob shame to add to my list of sensitivities, or perhaps it’s because I now have beautiful daughters. I want to protect them from all the stuff in the world that is going to assault their self-image as soon as they're old enough to be aware. Is it just me or do teenage girls these days all seem to have just stepped off the cover of a teen magazine? It can’t be that they are just born more good-looking now, can it? I suspect it’s because they are spending a lot more money and time making themselves look that way and I’m certain there are a lot of unhealthy body images thrust upon them, coercing them to do as such. 

Thankfully we have moved on from the 1990s when all supermodels were twenty-something-freak-of-nature-amazons-with-eating-disorders. Yet I just want to scream violently when I see major department stores selling lingerie for little girls, or hair removal products targeting tweens. And what the f*$% are those bratz dolls even in existence for? I will do everything in my power to instil a healthy body image in my little girls before our beauty/body-conscious world convinces them the way they look is the most important aspect of their personality. I also don’t want them to inherit the discontent with their body that I have carried throughout my life. 

I will also do the same for their brother, but I suspect that being born with a penis, he already has the advantage when we live in a world that can elect a racist, bigoted, misogynist with extremely bad hair and belly fat as the leader of the free world, but Hillary could not have a hair out of place. I bet she wouldn’t have even been allowed to run for the presidency if she was as overweight as her opponent.

Sadly, at times, I think us girls can be our own worst enemies. A couple of years ago when I was entering my 40th decade, a friend warned me that my date of birth was displayed on my Facebook profile page. I was slightly amused by this but the message was loud and clear, I should now hide my age. I also have someone in my life who comments on my weight every single time she sees me. A stranger once called my 9-month baby daughter ‘fat’ – lucky for that bitch, I’m a person who avoids conflict because I wanted to kick her in the shin.    

I would love to make my own changes to anti-discrimination legislation and make it an offence to utter a negative comment regarding someone’s weight. If a woman has put it on, rest assured SHE KNOWS and she DOES NOT NEED IT POINTED OUT TO HER. We all know when we have been indulging and are not at our fittest and healthiest, and sometimes the vicissitudes of life take their toll. If you are a size 8 #Fitsbo addict & self-promoter and exercise up to 3 hours a day, that is wonderful for you, but you are not a better person than a size 18-20 woman nor do you have any right to comment on her lifestyle. Not everyone aspires to be like you. Our looks are determined mostly by our genes anyway. An Australian study of 3,000 women between the ages of 30-55 discovered that 93% of the negative body issues they identified were attributed to genetics, their age and environmental conditions.* I think it's a kind of madness to pursue a body you simply cannot have, no matter how many diets you suffer through, creams you slap on or stomach crunches you do. And why should we fight the signs of ageing? I call a ceasefire on the anti-ageing war, it always wins in the end. So it’s probably not a battle worth fighting. 

Let’s reject the images of perfection that the beauty/fashion/fitspiration industry wants us to aspire to, and cheer on those who are brave enough to portray women as they really are – beautifully varied, hairy, dimply, frizzy, pimply, saggy, wrinkled, grey and jiggly. Also, let’s be mindful of the language we use around each other and our daughters and be careful and kind about the messages we might be sending.

Frankly my dears, I think we need to send a collective finger-up to a society that shames us because of the way we look. My job as a mother is to begin with myself. I am beginning my own journey of acceptance of my body. I will embrace the positives. My body is strong, fit and healthy. I have birthed and breastfed three children and I am proud to see that reflected in the mirror. I am 42 today. I will own it. I will not be ashamed of my age or its effects. After all, it’s not my fault. 

I was simply born in 1974. 

And I just absolutely love my imperfect underarms.

*I just made that up.  I figure if major corporations can make stuff up, I can too.

What would Jane say?

‘Lady Catherine herself says that in point of true beauty, Miss De Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of her sex; because there is that in her features which marks the young woman of distinguished birth.’ Pride & Prejudice. 

See, even Jane knew it was all in the genes.