There are definite drawbacks, sure, but at least vampires don't obsess over the mirror.
The conversation went a little something like this:
Laura*: I think those jeans would look great on you. You should try them on.
Me: Um . . . well . . . I don't know . . .
Laura: No, really! They're great quality, they look like they'd last forever. (She pulls and tugs on the material, showing how stretchy it is.) Look at that stretch! It's great!
Me (Mumbling in my head): Huh, look at that stretch. Great is NOT the word.
Me (Out loud, trying for some enthusiasm): Oh, sure, why not? I'll try them on.
Laura: Now, what size are you? I think you're a ____, right?
Me: Oh, no. Not at this store. I'm sure those would be too small. Let's go one size up. Maybe two sizes up.
Laura, looking at me skeptically: I don't think so. But, OK, we'll get my size and one up.
(In the dressing room.)
My internal monologue: I can't believe I let her talk me into this. But it's just trying stuff on, right? I'll try the smaller size first, just to show that they don't fit. Oh wow, they button, that's a good sign. But gosh, these are stretchy! You can see everything! . But . . . what!?!? They're SKINNY JEANS!!!! WHY AM I WEARING SKINNY STRETCHY JEANS?
Me, as I exit the dressing room to where Laura is waiting for me: Um, I don't know. They're so . . . stretchy. And tight.
Laura: Look at your legs! Your legs are so teeny.
Me: But, um, aren't these tight? And, um, really stretchy? And, um, tight?
Laura, with a look of puzzlement: Are you not comfortable in them?
Me: Well, not exactly. They're, you know, tight.
Laura: They look good, but if you don't like them . . .
Me, entering my dressing room with a sigh of relief: Yeah, I'm just going to change back into my clothes.
***************
Mark Twain probably didn't say it first, but he did make the quote famous. For the purposes of this blog, though, I'm going to change the quote a bit:
There are three kinds of lies: Lies, damned lies, and mirrors.
(Sorry for the cursing, Mom, but let's be honest, Mark Twain would never have said "darned lies").
I've made reference before to the fact that, until I was 32 years old, I would have been classified as overweight or obese. Those are the medical/technical words, but the in the real world, the word we use is FAT. When you grow up fat in a fat-phobic culture, in a country that vilifies fat (while at the same time promoting nothing but junk food and removing PE from schools - but that's a topic for a different post) it's fair to say that you have your own set of particular body image issues.
To be even more clear, I need to change the pronouns on that last sentence - growing up, and as an adult, I, me, Jennifer - I had my own set of body image issues.
And now I don't because I am thin and life is perfect!!!!!!!
Um, no. Nice try. Play again.
Laura is a friend of a friend who moved to Atlanta recently. I've been having fun hanging out with her and getting to know her. We met the other day for coffee and window shopping and wandered into Anthropologie. Now, some of my blog readers will be familiar with that store, and some of you will have no idea, so to sum it up, Anthropologie is a very expensive collection of trendy clothes, home accessories, and a lot of stuff that pretends to be old but it's new so you have to pay a lot of money for it. That sounds kind of disparaging, I realize, and I do admit I am (not so secretly) judgy about the people who can afford to drop $88 on a T-shirt, but I am also (not so secretly) envious of said people.
After browsing through the store, Laura started looking at a rack of black jeans close to the exit, and the dialogue at the beginning of the post is basically what happened next. First of all, forget the fact that I was trying on skinny jeans for the first time ever, they price tag on the jeans was $169 and unless they were made of platinum (which probably isn't that stretchy) I wasn't going to buy them. But even the idea of trying them on had me a little anxious. Why? Because I would have to look at myself in the mirror while wearing them.
The mirror is an evil, demented creature. If we let it - and, let's face it, if we are people alive in the 21st century, we have let it - it will take whatever feelings of self-worth, self-confidence, and self-esteem we have and boil all of that down to one single idea: Do I look good today?
I feel like, of all people, I should get a free pass from the mirror. And that's not just because I lost weight, either. Remember all of those before/after pictures I posted awhile ago? Well, if there's one thing being both fat and thin have taught me it's that what makes me Jennifer is MUCH more about the inside that about the outside. My sense of humor, my patience, my clever wit (oh, you know I have a clever wit!) and my obvious humility are all integral parts of who I am. Those were there when I was overweight and they're still here now in a slightly smaller package (which, of course, raises the question, how can this package contain all this awesomeness? It's a mystery for the ages, my friends).
So yeah, for how much effort I've expended over the last couple of years, you'd think that I'd be ecstatically happy every time I look in the mirror. But I am not. Because the mirror is a liar and says horrible things to me about lumpy skin, a belly pooch, the beginnings of wrinkles while simultaneously having a gigantic pimple on my chin, thinning hair, and stretch marks that are here for the duration.
But that's not all! Occasionally, the mirror says really great things to me. It's say I look good, that my hair is behaving, that my skin isn't so bad, that this shirt flatters me nicely, that my smile is pretty, that my teeth are straight and white (shout out to my parents for the orthodontia!).
The truth is that the mirror is less an objective reflection of what I look like and more of a subjective reflection of how I feel that day. After all, on the same day I notice my pretty smile I still have the extra skin on my upper arms. So my mood influences the mirror which, in turn, influences my mood. It can be a vicious cycle if we let it.
This probably isn't a fun - or funny - post, but it is a true post. This is also not a "Woe is me!" post - I'm not looking for sympathy comments. So why am I writing it? Well, I guess I'm writing it because I think we all deserve to be loved for who we are - fat, skinny, jiggly, bony, lumpy, bumpy, pimply . . . even if we think the skinny jeans are too tight.
You are more than your reflection in the mirror. How about we let the mirror do its job - which, as I see it, is letting us know if we have strawberry seeds in our teeth or boogers hanging out of our noses - and we take care of finding our sense of self in something more valuable than how we look in really expensive skinny jeans? Sounds like a plan to me.
*Totally her real name.
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