I Heart My Body 2012

A seemingly simple question: what do you love about your body? But given that I, as I imagine many of us, could write reams and reams about our bodies and our relationships with them, it's not such a simple question. I will try and keep it simple, however. 
I wouldn't say I love my body. Nor would I say I hate it. It's no longer something that occupies a lot of space in my head. Which is a welcome state of affairs, I can tell you. 
I don't think I've ever hated my body but for a long time we certainly weren't the best of friends. What I wanted from it (ie a few more inches in height, and many, many fewer inches around the thighs/bum area. Some of which could have migrated to my boobs, if they so desired) was vastly different to what it wanted to give me (the classic pear shape. With bonus cellulite). 
Somewhere along the way I stopped making such ridiculous requests. I guess I just accepted it for what it is. I try to be kind to it, and as my definition of it 'being kind' has changed, I can see that it is kind to me in return.
A few events had a hand in this transition.
1. I heard my grandmother, who was in her 70s and very trim, say she needed to lose weight. I remember thinking "god, am I still going to be worrying about weight in 50 years time? I fecking hope not" and vowed to stop fretting about it there and then. Which worked. Kind of. 
2. I left a job in which what you wore to the office was a daily consideration, and discussing fashion and female beauty part of the workload. Instead I started work on mine sites, where everyone wore the same gear and if your body ever came up for consideration (which was pretty much never), it was for what it could physically do, not how it looked. I didn't make this change with body image in mind, but it was an unexpected beneficiary.
3. I grew up. Realised there were better things to do than worry about a number on my jeans tag. 

In my dredge operator's uniform, circa 2009.
With an extra generous serve of grime
(I didn't normally get that dirty).

40 weeks pregnant in April this year.

So, what about my body makes me happy?
Aesthetically, my shoulders. My calves. My waist. As for other things:
1. It seems fairly resilient. I've never broken a bone, don't often get sick and my skin doesn't get eczema or other irritations, and copes well with the sun. 
2. I was able to get pregnant, be pregnant and then breast feed quite easily. My heart goes out to women who discover they don't have this luxury. 
3. The cursed pear shape can actually be a blessing, in health terms. Because extra fat makes a beeline (at the speed of light, it seems) to your butt, which apparently is better than having it build up around the organs in your mid section. 

So, here's my 'I Heart My Body' pic, taken last night in my togs.

After a week of balmy weather last night was bloody freezing.
It was a very quick photo shoot!

How do you feel about your body? What do you love about it?

Linking up with We Heart Life for this year's body love campaign.

Pulling the plug on beauty

You know what? I give up. I'm quitting the beauty race. Am throwing my hands up and declaring "enough".
My final shaking of the beauty shackles was prompted by an unlikely source - the cosmetic surgery industry and it's pervasiveness.
(It was a bit tricky to get actual figures on procedure numbers in Australia. Apparently the Australian Society of Plastic Surgeons is "working towards the development of collection tools to gather data on plastic surgery".)
It seems everyone (almost) is into it these days. Botox on your lunch break. Boob jobs at 18. Butt lifts as birthday presents.
But if that's what you have to do to keep up, then I don't want to play anymore.
The decision to pack up my bat and ball had been coming for a while.
Firstly, I got in quite a huff over what goes on in magazines. The retouching of photos, the constant peddling of (often hideously expensive) products and the bombardment of unobtainable 'beauty' images. And you're to blame too, Mr Entertainment Industry. And you, Advertising.
The battiness of some 'must-have' and 'so now' looks the industry tries to flog also had a bit to do with it, admittedly. Or, as Paul describes them, the 'wild get-ups some sheilas wear'. I mean, when someone encourages you to look like this:

Image source: http://www.shoptilyoudrop.com.au/

Or this:

I'm always disappointed when I wear
lipstick because it never lasts.
Something tells me if I tried this colour
I wouldn't mind so much.
Image source: http://www.shoptilyoudrop.com.au/

... you have to suspect they're pulling your leg.
Age also played a part. With it came the realisation the battle to look like Gisele or Marilyn or whoever, hard as it already had been, was only going to get harder. If I couldn't achieve it when at least youth was on my side, what hope would I have now? That's right. None.
Then the idea that the whole beauty ideal was in fact a big fat crock sunk in. I accepted what I had. Became grateful for it, even.
Eventually I got not just tired of it all but also insulted. Must I strive to look always 'sexy' and skinny, simply because Celebrity Slim and Extreme Makeover and the myriad heap of crock beauty/weight-loss focused organisations decree that is how any woman of worth looks?
No thank you. I prefer to spend my spare time - and cash - doing things I enjoy rather than on physical self-improvement just so I can meet some faceless person's idea of what I should be. Am I not enough as I am? Of course I bloody am. We all are. Anyone who tries to tell us differently - and they are incredibly numerous and very, very loud - deserves the finger.
I won't even start on the fashion and weight expectations mere children now face (though a rant on that will come some time in the near future)*.
All this is not to say I won't take any pride in my appearance. I don't want to frighten young children in the street. I will still wear make-up (mostly) when I go out. Will still sigh over beautiful shoes. Will aim to keep my girth within a range my clothes can accommodate. But, however I look as I walk out the door, it will be more than adequate.
So thank you, beauty industry and western society. With your pushiness and silly demands, you've finally gone too far and set me free.

* Also coming up sooner or later, but probably later: How much do you spend on your beauty regimen?

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this post. Have you opted out of the beauty race? What was your tipping point? Maybe you were smart and never bought into it to begin with?

Derrieres in demand

Pippa Middleton in the dress that launched her
bottom onto 'must-have' lists across the UK,
and probably elsewhere.
Image source: http://www.hoymujer.com/

Oh dear, this is a little concerning. According to news reports, oodles of British women are signing up to have their bottoms surgically reshaped into replicas of Pippa Middleton's rear.
The Brisbane Times says:

The frenzy surrounding Pippa Middleton's derriere has led to a spike in bookings for bottom-lifting treatments in Britain.
Since April's royal wedding, cosmetic surgeons have reported a 60 per cent increase for work on British backsides.
One cosmetic clinic has even named a surgery, The Pip Package Perfect Posterior, which can cost up £8000 ($12,000).
Middleton became known around the world for her buttocks during her role as maid of honour for her sister Catherine's wedding to Prince William on April 29 at Westminster Abbey.
"We are now seeing scores of female clients seeking the perfect bottom," Lesley Khan of London's Harley Street Skin Clinic told London's Daily Star.
"A few years back everyone wanted the Jennifer Lopez look, but now everyone asks for a bottom like Pippa's - curvy but not too peachy."

 This is all of absolutely zero use to me. Because even if I had the wish (and the cash) to put my bum under the knife, I doubt the engineering methods required to lift it have yet been developed. It's sheer girth and weight would make it an impossibility. (Unless they first carved slabs off it and attached them to my sorry excuse for a chest).
Regardless of the changes in fashion that take us from peachy-curvy rears to medium-curvy ones to whatever is next, mine will have to remain the kind that demands Bisley work pants in '92 Stout' size. Pulling on clothes that yell 'stout' at you every morning does wonders for a girl's self-esteem, I can assure you.

Do you think having surgery to get someone else's bottom is a tad ridiculous? If not, whose would you want?

To tattoo or not to tattoo. Have you?

Extreme full-head tattoo, nicely (perhaps ironically?)
accessorised with a conservative tie.
Image source: http://www.ultimatetattooexpo.com/

There is a certain something I lack. Something that not everyone, but many others, do have. I would see these folk out and about with theirs and think "Am I a little odd, backward even, to not possess such an item". The item in question being a tattoo.
Then I moved to Coolgardie/Kalgoorlie and my nakedness really stuck out like the proverbial, ahem, canine appendages.
Here it appears so uncommon to be uninked it puts me on the verge of freak territory. I'd guess there are more tattoos here than there are people.
I did a quick yet highly scientific survey while in the main street one recent afternoon and spied six separate tattoos over a total of eight men, three over a total of six women and one dog with its ruff area shaved and 'Freo Rulz' inked there. (Yes I made that last bit up, but people do love their tats around here. As well as football and mangled English, so it's entirely possible such a dog exists).
And that was just the ones visible on a mild May day.
I don't have an aversion to tattoos - or needles - but have never felt the urge to get one. In my mother's words, "they just don't appeal to me".
Excepting tattoos that form part of the owner's ethnic culture, for instance Maori tattoos, I've always viewed them as an expression of a kind of hardcore, rocker culture. So, and maybe it's the purist streak in me, but I think a tattoo should either stick to those origins or represent some other deeply important part of the owner's identity they wish to express. I can't help thinking that anything else is just a tacky tattoo gained for the sake of getting a tattoo.
My sister-in-law, for example, has several of what I'd describe as the above-mentioned rock-chick genre. Not everyone could pull them off but they look great on her because they suit her rock music-loving, live-life-loud-and-full personality.
Whenever I had that 'I don't think I'd like to get a tattoo because what the hell would I get' conversation people said 'oh, you could get a nice flower, or a sun or dolphin or something'. Which, despite their good intentions, makes me want to gag.
I do like flowers. But not enough to stamp one on me. The fake ones I stick in vases around my house is enough flower-tackiness for one person.
The sun is lovely, I'll give you that. But I'm not exactly sunny myself.
As for dolphins, they're very nice swimming about in the sea but I don't feel a resounding connection to them.
So, I believe I'll remain ink-free for the foreseeable future.
Now, there is something about tattoos that sparks my curiosity. And that is the craze for ones declaring the name, and sometimes birthdate, of one's progeny. Given countless generations of parents experienced the wonders of parenthood without accompanying tattoos, what is so compelling about them now? Can anyone fill me in?

So, what about you? Do you have any tattoos, and if so, what is their significance to you? Do you plan to get one, or add to your collection? Or are you someone who's changed their mind and had ink removed?