I won’t be watching the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. In fact, I’ve never watched it.
It’s not because I think it’s degrading or inappropriate. I’m all for the glitz and glamour of a super female production. I love sparkles, beauty and fashion. Totally.
I’ve heard the “but, it motivates me!” argument. Which I guess I sorta understand. But what does it motivate you to do? Get in better shape to feel awesome in a bathing suit — That’s one thing. Aiming for a thigh gap? Or pretruding hip and collar bones? Buy better makeup to feel prettier?
I know what you’re thinking, that I’m mad and jealous I don’t look like that.
Well, yeah, I AM mad about it. Totally jealous. But I’ve accepted the fact that I wasn’t born with perfect cleavage, sitting on top of a pair of mile-long legs.
I’m not a super insecure person, I have my moments absolutely, but for the most part, I’m generally okay with how I look. But that doesn’t mean I don’t squirm with envy at times.
I think what could be damaging about watching stuff like this is our already extreme need to aim for perfection. There is an enormous amount of pressure to feel beautiful, all the time, even when we wake up. And we go through a lot of drama to look good.
Exhibit A: I woke up like THIS (see left.)
There’s no denying it. I color my hair and wax my eyebrows. I straighten my hair, JUST to curl it! I feel the pressure too. And it’s ridiculous enough. So nah, I’m not gonna tune in. I’m good.
What I will watch though, is this kid named Ava.
Have you seen this girl? She’s a Vine sensation, and also the funniest person ever. I unashamedly check every single day to see if her mom posted a new video of her. She’s a true champion of individuality.
She’s 4-years-old and she wears leggings with kittens on them. She does impressions, tells it like it is, and is nothing but herself.
Remember when we were like that? When were totally unafraid to be ourselves? When we were 4-years-old and thought we were beautiful? I used to parade around town wearing princess costumes and my mom’s 80’s blue eye shadow all over my face. I thought I looked great.
And then middle school arrived and I spent the majority of those years sporting orange hair and wearing two padded bras. I felt pretty gross about myself most of the time. The pressure was officially on.
Even though that awkward phase is thankfully over, there’s still always something about myself I’d be down with changing, or at the very least, tweaking.
I’m sure many of you have heard me complain about my nose. It takes up 50% of my face. Not really, but it feels that way sometimes. But I’m not going to change it, it makes me who I am. So does my lack of any SORT of chest.
If you live and die by the Victoria’s Secret Fashion show, fine. But I’d rather try to make an effort to enjoy my imperfections than inevitably compare myself to seemingly perfect women.
Because really, “comparison is the theif of joy.” — Teddy Roosevelt