If You're Not Angry, You're Not Paying Attention

This is a blog about the ever-elusive idea of beauty that has fascinated me since I was old enough to be aware of the expectations placed on my body.

If you scroll back to the beginning you'll notice that I started this blog as a response to the bullshit photoshopped images of "beauty" that are circulated for the public's consumption. However, after I picked at that thread, the whole thing unravelled and from it came so many other questions and issues that needed to be addressed.

Stand up and join this bitch march if you're sick of seeing already beautiful people massacred and trotted out in an ever-growing beauty pagent, set to a death march that claims millions in eating- disordered deaths, suicides, and self-hatred because no magazine comes with the warning:

"ATTENTION consumers, images may be rendered unrecognizable and thereby do not imply that you should ever attempt to become what you see!"

You can always also follow my main tumblr: miss world
April 25
A friend of mine sent this to me to post: This is the year I finished my undergraduate thesis. This is the year I managed to increase my love for my partner, when I thought I was love maxed out.This is the year I am pursuing one of my long term goals, in a french city, in the summer. This is also the year I gained 12 pounds. Which one do you think I mention the most?I’m honestly not sure. I’ve been teeny tiny my whole life (which is a set of body issues all itself) which means short, tiny boobies, tiny butt. I just come to terms with those things and bam… little pixie is developing herself a gut gut. I make jokes about getting fat, and how I will work out soon, “Its not about the weight”, I tell myself “Its about my health”.But its really about the gut gut. The most hated of the natural female forms. The victorians called it part of our “silken layer”; how lovely, a protective, smooth coat of arms that makes my body desireable, mysterious, sensuous. I am no longer a size XXS in my underpants. Super tight form-fitting dresses are not helping me out. Possibly making me look like I am in the early stages of pregnancy. I know I am not “fat”. But part of me lack that “teeny tinyness” that has become part of how I define myself, my difference from the rest of the world. But my partner thinks I’m beautiful. He has a gut gut too. He is beginning to look at his sweet little man paunch with a worried eye. How can he help it, I grab and hate on mine every time I take my clothes off. He must assume I see his the same way. I don’t. I love the furry, taut little underbelly that warms my back when I sleep, provides a comfortable hand hold while watching movies, and an occasional “rasberry” landing pad when I am feeling silly. I try to hard to have a “sweet little lady paunch” when I look down, but as my computer pushes against it- it becomes once more, the dreaded gut gut. 

A friend of mine sent this to me to post:

This is the year I finished my undergraduate thesis. 

This is the year I managed to increase my love for my partner, when I thought I was love maxed out.

This is the year I am pursuing one of my long term goals, in a french city, in the summer. 

This is also the year I gained 12 pounds. Which one do you think I mention the most?

I’m honestly not sure. I’ve been teeny tiny my whole life (which is a set of body issues all itself) which means short, tiny boobies, tiny butt. I just come to terms with those things and bam… little pixie is developing herself a gut gut. I make jokes about getting fat, and how I will work out soon, “Its not about the weight”, I tell myself “Its about my health”.

But its really about the gut gut. The most hated of the natural female forms. The victorians called it part of our “silken layer”; how lovely, a protective, smooth coat of arms that makes my body desireable, mysterious, sensuous. I am no longer a size XXS in my underpants. Super tight form-fitting dresses are not helping me out. Possibly making me look like I am in the early stages of pregnancy. I know I am not “fat”. But part of me lack that “teeny tinyness” that has become part of how I define myself, my difference from the rest of the world. 

But my partner thinks I’m beautiful. He has a gut gut too. He is beginning to look at his sweet little man paunch with a worried eye. How can he help it, I grab and hate on mine every time I take my clothes off. He must assume I see his the same way. I don’t. I love the furry, taut little underbelly that warms my back when I sleep, provides a comfortable hand hold while watching movies, and an occasional “rasberry” landing pad when I am feeling silly. 

I try to hard to have a “sweet little lady paunch” when I look down, but as my computer pushes against it- it becomes once more, the dreaded gut gut.