Last night I was reading a People magazine. Not something I frequently do, but my 17 year old was having an MRI of her leg post-sports injury and I had the pleasure of sitting in there for an hour while they took countless scans which made an insane amount of noise.
Anywho.. there was a People magazine there and I thumbed through it out of boredom. Something that caught my eye and immediately ticked me off was a picture of Kate Upton's Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition cover, with a caption referring to her as being a "curvy" model. AKA a bigger girl. Not your typical skin and bones model. This was the pic:
Um, what the flock? Where are the curves? She has a completely flat (almost concave) stomach, thighs the same size as her calves, and hips that wouldn't hold a squirming one year old for a second. Except for the boob spillage, I see no curves. I think she is very attractive, yes. It's a decent pic, except for the fact that the label on my hanes underwear has more fabric than her bathing suit. But to try and label this woman as a bigger, curvier models is insane. When I read the caption before seeing the photo I thought to myself: "Yes! Someone 'real' looking for once!" (Read: maybe I'll stop feeling so bad about myself. ) Only to see the actual photo and immediately feel like sticking my finger down my throat to rid myself of that chocolate chip muffin.
Come on people, we need to stop doing this. Stop idolizing who is the skinniest, praising who is the tiniest, and judging anyone slightly bigger than skeletal. It's not what I want my daughters growing up striving to be, or my sons expecting from all women.
It's not something I want to continue obsessing over for myself. Cuz I do. I hadn't lost all my baby weight yet when I randomly added some more weight to it. It bothers the snot out of me. I hate looking in the mirror, I hate getting dressed every day cuz my clothes don't fit right. But I refuse to go buy bigger pants because I will have a nervous breakdown in the process, looking at the size tag. As if all I am is wrapped up in the number on a pair of jeans.
So screw you People magazine, and your ridiculous labels. You're wrong, not me.