Apparantly I'm wasting away. To my father that is. You see his idea of a woman is a full one. Plump and ripe and nothing to do with size 10 or smaller (maybe a size 14 even). I'm a size 6 up top (I wasn't blessed with my mother's upper robustness) and size 8 below (but it seems I have adopted her back end storage unit). But really, to him, I'm sickly and lacking...excuse me while I wipe his anxiety off my shoulder. So I have to really consider this, what size is beautiful and who is it beautiful to? In Africa men break a neck for convex curvature, hip hop honeys die in a hotel room to get bigger wotsits but then in parts of Europe they revel longitudinal narrowness and some models stop eating to achieve it.

The reality? Well here it is: I was talking size with the boutique (Saint Best) that stocks my wears and to my astonishment the next orders comprise of size 10 and above. Apparently, the larger sizes went faster and are more in demand. UM? whatever happened to the size 8's? Statistics tell me that the average British dress size is 16 (up two points in the last decade or so). I was going to guess a size 12 but I couldn't have been any more wrong! D'oh.

But when I really consider it, what does size matter anyway if you look and feel good, right? Cliché? Not so, I know (and have dressed) naturally underweight and overweight women and the difference between the desirable and undesirable is confidence...that is the truth I tell you. The desirable really give little care to others ideas of who they are, their confidence makes you so dizzy with awe that the imperfections are drowned completely from thought. In fact, those imperfections somehow become the very thing you like and respect, they become their trademark...alchemy! So stock confidence abundantly. Not to make you just desirable but to ultimately make you happy.

Your happiness, esteem and beliefs should have little to do with other people. Which sets up my next point nicely. Next cliché...Beauty really is in the eye of the 'beholder'. SO TRUE...wait for it, it will all make sense shortly. I'm beautiful to some and not beautiful to all (it's a harsh world out there). Queue epiphany: The ones who don't find me attractive have nothing at all to do with me...they don't like me because I'm not THEIR type. Not my own. It doesn't mean I'm not beautiful. Just not to them. So I reject the tendency to internalise a choice and don't allow it to touch my self esteem.  

The 'beholder' is me because I'm MY type (not others idea of me) as should your 'beholder' be you. This should be making sense now. I've stopped questioning the idea of beauty to the modern or traditional man or any man for that matter - gosh that will have me pulled in multiple ways and leave me depressed. Besides after years on earth, it's duly noted I'll never win being pushed and pulled between your idea, their idea, his idea, other ideas of beauty and many a more things. Instead, I conjure my own idea of beauty and make me the centre of it because for me beauty and the world is through my eyes. Since I'll never see things the way anyone else does I can only define everything in my own terms. 

Also consider this...beauty is usually questioned where low self esteem allows it and that can be applied to who you are and what you do.

Amores toujours

Me Me

Last saturday saw Natalie May (singer/songwriter) at the BANG Radio's studio, who came in to do an interview on the show. Me and my limitless-ness saw me infringe on her personal space and start undressing her....for the show of course. I say undressing, I mean moving her jacket out of the way. It sounds more exciting than it actually was. In fact, I was describing her outfit for the listeners and I "helped' her open her jacket so I can further describe her blouse. The men in the studio on the other hand extended reality with their own fantasy, I could see it in their eyes and the which way they popped. Besides, any tactile movement in the boob area is enough to ring off some alarm in their head.

It got me thinking though about my audacity to cringe when someone I don't know (or sometimes know) touches my bare skin or getsclose enough for me to see their pores and then I go and open someones jacket with no pre caution or permit. This apparently is why Blaze (my co-host) loves me - my lack of boundaries. But, a lesson, if you'd like one, from this is the consideration of yourself in a wider context: consider the things others do onto you with the things you do onto others in mind. Isn't it selfish to do what you want and not allow others the same privilege? Something I need to think about obviously.

Amores toujours

Me Me