A letter to her

Decades have come and decades have gone, and simply put, society owes generations of women an apology.

The era of supermodel eighties asked for athletic, trim and toned physiques. The nineties blew in with its minimalistic prowess, demanding thinner, frailer, ever-so-androgynous bodies — a likening to the willowy, adolescent silhouettes that defined the sixties. The early noughties brought much of the same before the 10s’ saw a shift into the down-right impossible.

And our bodies aren’t the only aspect of our existence that sits at the foot of constant pressure. From our careers and the decision to have or not have children to how we come across and everything in-between. Where does it end?

So, I write this open letter to all my kindred women — posed with a cocktail of questions and maybe an answer.

IT’S TIME TO BREAK FREE

It seems we can’t catch a break. How is it that an era of women is watching the same pattern unfold for their daughters? Their nieces? The women of tomorrow? Why is the same cycle continuing to turn? And when will women’s bodies stop being a trend?

Why can’t we just exist? As we are, wholeheartedly and unapologetically…

I pose this question, with the weight of an entire generation of women’s frustration and an overarching feeling of deep sadness. Why does this notion feel so farfetched? One theory suggests that ultimately, happiness doesn’t make money. How do beauty brands and cosmetic surgeries sell so easily to women who are content in themselves? They don’t. So, a small percentage of the decade’s “ideal woman” is plastered on magazine covers, billboards and media advertisements, in hopes that patriarchal-built discontent rears its ugly head.

We are taught that the laugh lines and fine lines that outline our eyes are unworthy of our love, that for a portion of your wage you too can “rewind the clock”. Grey hairs are greeted with dread and shudders as we run to our salons to transform their hue. Thighs mustn’t touch, but fitting your ass into your jeans should be one such struggle. Waists must curve inward before revealing your voluminous hips, but ensure fat is stripped from your midsection and bloating is kept to a minimum. The pouches protecting our uteruses are best if non-existent and breasts should remain perky from your twenties to your forties.

And even our women who have just brought new life into the world are incessantly subjected to the pressured narrative of “bouncing back”. As if to say that the body that grew, nourished and gave life to a being isn’t worthy? Absurd and cruel, how does your blood not boil?

How often do our mirrors capture judging eyes, tilted heads and downturned lips? How often do we find ourselves in our bare skin, gazing back at ourselves, scrutinising the most minute of details? Wishing, hoping, they would shapeshift into something more akin to the status quo? If only our mirrors had the power to speak, oh the discontent they could recall.

We exist in an age where sheer impossibility is the expectation. In the last ten years, a dangerous concoction has seeped into society. Social media saw a drastic shift in its purpose and the popularity of a California-based family skyrocketed. A group of women, who augmented their bodies beyond the point of realism claimed no such thing occurred. Hearing Kim Kardashian, at the helm of it all, express that she feels that she and her sisters have had no role to play in the distorted views young women have on body image — to say the least — was beyond delusion. One simply had to see the immediate task force that Khloe Kardashian put into place to remove all images of her unedited, real body when her grandmother simply shared a day spent poolside with the family.

A look at the statistics shows a 312% increase in lip filler augmentation since 2000 in America and body dysmorphia remains on the rise.

According to a 2020 report by the Victorian Cosmetic Industry, Aussies are found to spend the most on anti-wrinkle injections and dermal fillers. It also mentioned that over 40% of surgeons revealed the main reason for procedures in young people was to look better in social media selfies.

I often wonder how popular lip fillers, eye lifts, jaw shaping and chin implants would be if it weren’t for the likes of Kylie Jenner? And how concerned we would be with wrinkle-fillers if ageing hadn’t become so demonised? I’ve never fully understood why it’s improper to reveal our ages? Hearing that “you should never trust a woman who tells you her age” feels absurd. So it’s here I pay homage to Sarah Jessica Parker, who reentered the big screen this year in all her 50s’ glory — fine lines, grey hair and all.

With our daily feeds defined by meticulous curation, the pressure for perfection has never been higher. How can we expect the current generation to grow into confident young women when our fingertips hold the power to cinch waists, elongate legs, blur skin, add volume and add vibrancy to the hues of the eye?

And before any of this takes place, photo albums are inundated with dozens of images that are intricately analysed to have the most likability, the most validation factor.

Yet, we pretend as though this is our real, authentic life? I have attended one too many events where shared Ubers home are spent searching for the flawless image, picking it apart before witnessing them be altered to what is deemed “perfection” right before my eyes — like we hadn’t just spent however long trying to get the shot. So, we fake laugh with one another to get a candid, we shift stances because tiny waistlines need to be centre-stage and all-the-while we want to make sure we look utterly effortless. When in actuality, there isn’t anything effortless about it. And so I ask, what is it all for exactly?

I reflect on the younger version of myself. A version that never went out without a coating of fake tan. Spray tans were often, and that trusty 200ML bottle of foam was always within arms reach at any given moment. I look back on photos and can’t help but laugh, at the girl who would have rathered a borderline orange tint — kind courtesy of Bondi Sands Liquid Gold — than her own Mediterranean skin that didn’t quite catch many rays that summer. The young woman who hadn’t met her true, authentic self yet.

FINDING OUR ETERNAL LIGHT

I hope that in this lifetime imperfections are fully embraced, celebrated and welcomed with open arms. Because it really does come down to us. Stripping back the layers of societal expectation from your inner goddess is no easy feat. Having been there, I cannot express how much greener the grass becomes.

And it comes down to the simplest of things…

We need to discover unconditional love for our bodies.

It’s not about finding unconditional love because it already exists within us. Society has programmed us into thinking that an elixir of “perfect” features makes our body worthy of love. I say it’s time we fuck that ideology right off.

Just as Netflix made streaming effortless and mobiles replaced the landline, we too can make perfection a thing of the past.

Consider this. We are the ones experiencing our bodies, we cannot be our bodies — linguistically speaking, we each hold a subject-object relationship to our silhouettes. As with our relationship with a devoted partner or a dear friend, you choose to love them every day even when the sun disappears behind a cloud and the rain is pounding down. We don’t give up at the first sign of hazy skies. We must apply this same dedication to ourselves.

Ultimately, feelings of doubt are a natural part of the human experience, but it’s our ability to love ourselves unconditionally that needs to have the upper hand. We hold all the power in the world, now is the time to step into it and take it back.

This extraordinary human experience is only finite, and thus I leave you with this final thought.

I imagine, that if our silhouettes could speak, they’d say something like this: “I’m just a body, standing in front of a woman, asking her to love me”.