I am beautiful. Right now.
Theriomorph has broken my heart, because every word is true. In the estimation of myself, as influenced by the porntastic patriarchal diatribes traveling on waves from screen and speaker and mouth to ear, I’ve been too-thin, too-fat, too-everything, never right. And at the root of it all is this pernicious pervasive thought: You are the only one. You are the only one who doesn’t fit it, who isn’t right, who needs fixing.
That is the great lie.
Women are set up to fail at being beautiful, at being sexy, at being everything we are ‘supposed’ to be in order to be of value. If we fail at conforming, we supposedly fail at being human beings. And non-humans are fit for only consumption. Indeed, fi, cannibalism is alive and well.
I refuse to be fit only for consumption, although my opinion in the matter counts for little in much of the world’s estimation.
I had this thought last night: Thank god I’m fat, so I can be a feminist.
This is also a lie of sorts. I am only sort of fat. I am only sort of willing to call myself that. I am only sort of sure that weighing more than I ‘ought’ to and being classified as sort of obese is protecting me at all from the false visibility of the patriarchy-conforming. I am still have the approved facial structure, the approved height, the approved legginess, and I still practice some of the approved femininity. I do not conform to size, and I purposefully neglect makeup and gym workouts, ultra-sexy clothing, push-up bras and hobbling crippling footwear. I am still white and blue-eyed. I still appear relatively young.
It takes all my ferocity some days to carve out a space for myself, in which I am both around people and beautiful. Beautiful because I’m strong. Beautiful because I am smart. Beautiful because I care about myself. Beautiful because I am and do all these things in defiance of the dominant culture that says I must be deferent, polite, not take up too much mental emotional spiritual physical space. The culture that says because I do certain things like eat, I don’t care about how I look.
What I am struggling daily not to care about is the expectations of how I should look in order to be deemed human, and the opinions of those who require me to display fuckability and play into my own oppression.
I guarantee you, I am beautiful right now.
Once I have other women to compare myself to, the struggle will begin. Divide and conquer, the winningest strategy.