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?

This week I'm grateful for ... a shiny new computer!

There's a new love in my life - my new computer.
Image source: www.sodahead.com

This week I'm grateful for my new computer. It arrived last week and I'm in love. 
It means we now have about 17 devices that can take photos. Which is probably why I needed a bigger computer - I have to store all those snaps somewhere because I never think to actually print the bloody things. 
I've long been a gadget girl and a new, whizz-bang laptop is the ultimate toy. It is, at least, until I can justify the cost of a longed-for iPad.
We bought the old laptop (the cantankerous one mentioned in my profile. Its days are now officially up) back in the olden days. Meaning, 2007. It's a little alarming to realise how quickly something can go from shiny and clever to old and decrepit in today's world, but that is a whole other post.  
It had served me well but it just couldn't hack it anymore. Too weak. Too slow. Too small. I could nip out the front door and save the world while Internet Explorer loaded. And I once celebrated several Christmases  while waiting for Photoshop to open a picture.  
This new one cracks along at lightning speed. Like a willing lover, or an already opened block of Cadbury, it's always ready for me. It has fancy yet easy-to-use software. A mouse that feels like an extension of my hand.
It is my new BFF. I've even kissed it goodnight. But that was only once.  


This post has been part of the lovely Maxabella Loves 'Grateful' link-up.

What are you grateful for this week?

Go(ing) west. This is what we did. Part V

Just an average evening of Gunn Point glory.

So, where were we? That's right. In Darwin. After leaving Cairns about a fortnight earlier.
What we did next was probably the highlight of the entire trip.
Because we had five days at what can only be described as paradise. Well, a camping version of paradise. There were still pesky/carnivorous insects and no running water.
Paul's friend in Darwin, Ian, took us to this slice of paradise. It's called Gunn Point, and is about 40 minutes from Darwin. Think pristine beach, secluded camp spots, sea breezes, fresh-caught seafood and sunsets over the sea. And think all that, with no crowds.
We arrived early Friday afternoon, before anyone else, and claimed the best camping spot. Several other groups arrived later but by Monday morning they were gone again and there was not another living soul in sight.
Which did mean we couldn't share around the mutant-sized March flies that descended in hordes upon sunset, but that was a small price to pay for heaven.
What does one do in heaven, you may ask. Well, not much, as it turns out. Which is probably a big reason for its appeal.
My days looked something like this:
6am: Wake up. Peek out tent window and check our two dogs are still in the vicinity and also have not been gnawed to bones by ferocious March flies (I swear those things had teeth). Go back to sleep.
7am(ish): Wake up. Notice Paul is getting up. And that it's light outside. Go back to sleep.
8am(ish): Wake up. Get up. Walk along beach with dogs in tow.
9am: Breakfast on the beach.
10am: Paul, who has been out exploring/being a boy on his motorbike, returns. Knowing his activities hold infinitely more fascination for me than the bestselling book in my lap, kindly fills me in. Where he went. What he saw. The people he saw. What speed he got up to on the bike. Where he moved the crab pots to and the chances of us catching, and therefore eating, a mud crab or two that day (a matter that was, in fact, of great interest to me).
10.30am: We duck back into the tent for, ahem, married-people-on-holidays activities.
11am: We have coffee in the shade by the beach.
11.30am: We go for a drive to the mangrove area nearby so Paul can go 'crab-spearing'. I won't go into details, but suffice to say PETA will be knocking on my door any minute now (it is legal, though). Most days he snaffles a crab. Including the day he found one but failed to get a firm hold on it and flung it out of it's hole and almost onto my foot. My toes were lucky to survive that incident.
1pm: Return to camp. Have lunch. And another coffee. By the beach (of course).
2pm: Read. Talk to the dogs. Generally laze about.
3.30pm: Start cooking day's catch of mud crabs. Eat mud crabs.
5pm: Have happy hour (drinks, cheese etc). Followed by dinner.
6pm: Watch the sun set over the beach and marvel at how life can give you moments of absolute perfection. While wearing thick woolly socks to protect self from voracious March flies, which seem to attack only the lower leg area and can't get fangs through said socks.

The fishing crew.

Foiled! The monster March flies went hungry that night.

You can never do enough beach exploring.

Our Darwin friends, Ian and Cath, came out for the Saturday night so we had ourselves a bit of a party and feast. The guys wandered about doing guy stuff for the afternoon and Cath, also a book person, and I parked ourselves in the shade with our tomes (ok, they were chick-lit numbers, but give us a break - we were on holidays!).
After five nights we decided to return to civilisation. Which offered the benefits of bathrooms. And significantly fewer March flies and piles of sand, the presence of which admittedly had started to wear a bit thin. But it was a magical place, and we had a magical stay there. We couldn't believe our luck in finding such a wonderful spot, having it to ourselves, and being able to eat fresh (and free!) seafood virtually every afternoon.

More glorious-ness.

Best friends, watchin' the world go by. 

Low tide at sunset.

To be continued...


For other Going West chapters, see:
Go(ing west). This is what we did. Part I
Go(ing west). This is what we did. Part II
Go(ing west). This is what we did. Part III
Go(ing west). This is what we did. Part IV


I'd love to hear your thoughts on this post! You can leave a comment below or send me an email. Thanks!

Wordless Wednesday - Water

Welcome to my first, official Wordless Wednesday. I'm kicking off with a 'Water' slideshow, which is a collection of pics I've taken at some of the beautiful Australian beaches and waterways I've been lucky enough to visit.
Oh, and it's not 100 per cent wordless - I've put it to one of my favourite KT Tunstall songs, The Other Side Of The World.
Like the idea of Wordless Wednesday? (Or just glad I've shut up for a bit?) Well, you can find more Wordless Wednesday over at My Little Drummer Boys.
Hope you enjoy!

PS I was too slack to caption the pics, but if you want to know where any of them where taken, just ask.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on this post! You can leave a comment below or send me an email. Thanks!

Slutwalk. I can't tear my eyes away from it

Women marching in a Slutwalk event.
Image source: www.theglobeandmail.com

I have found the whole Slutwalk thing enthralling. Especially as it kind of came out of the blue and exploded.
I'm thrilled to see women getting mad and speaking out. Any form of victim-blaming needs to be knocked on the head once and for all. Right now.
Yet ... I too share in some of the reservations other observers have expressed. The shying away from the term 'feminist' by some of the protesters, for one. Also, the notion that shouting about your love of sex is a worthy, even admirable way, to bend people to your cause and win power. Why must we be people who have a strong, public association with sex to be valued? Why can't we be valued simply because we are people?

Here are some views, and background information, on the event I've found interesting (warning: the language isn't exactly G-rated in some of these pieces):

• One of the original organisers on how the protest began. Full article at http://www.slutwalktoronto.com/being-a-slut-and-getting-pissed-off

"Having been a confident slut for sometime, this January the word was slung out again as an epithet, but this time it wasn’t by a high school kid. It was by someone who demands respect by way of authority. Someone who’s charged with a person’s safety. Someone who should know better. So when I read the quote in the Excal, “don’t dress like a slut…”, I could almost hear the blame dripping from the word.

It angered me to think that while I managed to learn about healthy sexuality in my adulthood, why hadn’t this person done the same? Who was he to insult people in such a way? I knew that he hadn’t read the Ethical Slut. I knew that he wasn’t using the word in a positive light, as many do these days. He used it as a slur, and it was laced with ideas that some people don’t deserve respect. Sure, he may not think that sluts deserve to get raped, but he didn’t launch a conversation that day about sexuality and language. He continued to perpetuate a stereotype."

• Tory Shepherd at www.thepunch.com.au. Full article at http://www.thepunch.com.au/articles/the-sluts-protest-too-much-methinks/

"Many will simply take away the idea that it’s now OK to call women sluts if they’re showing some cleavage.

Others will see it as an easy opportunity to perve on a bunch of semi-clad chicks. Older people and conservatives will see it as proof of the moral laxity of today’s women.

But worst of all, it will enforce the idea that women should be defined by their sexuality.

It will have an effect on girls and young women who will see these protests in the papers, online and in the news. And it will reinforce the already widespread impression that sex, for a woman, is power. Or the route to power."

• This one really struck a chord with me - several chords, actually. It's one of the longer pieces, but is a great read and covers many of the disappointing aspects of the movement. Full article at: http://www.feminisms.org/2585/were-sluts-not-feminists-wherein-my-relationship-with-slutwalk-gets-rocky/

"I followed the progress of Slutwalk Toronto and, in particular, the threads and posts on their Facebook page, as it seemed to be the place where the most of the conversations were happening. I looked and looked for some mention of feminism, some alignment and acknowledgment that this was, indeed, a feminist issue and a feminist fight – a fight that has been being faught by women for decades. Instead what I found, over and over again was, not only a refusal to align with feminism, but often, an outright aversion to it. 

I saw numerous attacks on radical feminism and radical feminists and I witnessed the reinforcement of negative and untrue stereotypes about feminism (you know the ones: man-hating, misandrist, no-fun, sex-negative, etc). While I do believe the organizers had good intentions, desiring that Slutwalk be inclusive to all, it began to look a lot like the ‘funfeminist’ – NO NO WE’RE THE CONVENTIONALLY ATTRACTIVE FEMINISTS. THE FUN ONES. WE’RE OK. WE LIKE PENISES AND PORN AND LOOKING SEXY kind of feminism that, in the end doesn’t successfully challenge much of anything, and simply repackages sexist imagery in ‘empowering’ wrapping paper."

• And one final one, discussing how some of the coverage of the event has been handled. Full article at http://www.feminisms.org/2754/slutwalk-a-critical-note-around-coverage-of-criticism//

"On May 16th, Slutwalk Calgary issued a statement which addressed the whole issue of ‘The Name’, concluding that “This will probably be our last comment on the name. That conversation is nothing more than a distraction from the real issue, which is our communities blaming sexual assault survivors for the actions of their attackers. Period.”

Well. Ok. I agree. Sort of. The conversation should be about blaming victims for having been assaulted. But wait. Then WHY is the conversation continually being re-focused back onto the whole name thing? And the assertion that one group, on behalf of all women, regardless to how this might impact them, are ‘taking it back’. MY opinion on this? If you don’t want to talk about the name, then don’t call your event Slutwalk."

See? An endlessly fascinating topic, wouldn't you agree?
It saddens and frustrates me that a cause like this has to be presented in such a way to gain this level of traction. Any well-earned success of the 'movement' notwithstanding, the fact it takes something called Slutwalk to gain mainstream attention shows how far we have to go, and the strength of the stereotypes women are so often confined to even today.

I will be watching with great interest to see what happens after all the walks.

I would LOVE to get your thoughts on this. (Not necessarily right away, or today. If you do read all the above pieces in full it will take some getting through). But, like I said, I find people's views on this topic fascinating. Does any of it resonate with you, or do you think it's irrelevant? I'm also keen to see anything you may have read on the issue and found interesting.

This week I'm grateful for ... getting out of the kitchen

I don't actually hate cooking. Just cooking every day.
Image source: www.cafepress.com

This week I'm grateful for not having to cook dinner. The husband, Paul, and I try to take it in turns but recently (as in for-the-past-six-months recently) I was getting home a lot earlier so kind of fell into doing it all the time.
But now we happen to be on exactly the same roster, and Paul has got his butt back in the kitchen. And - bonus! - to play a bit of catch-up and get his dinner duty fortnights synchronised with his on-call roster he'll be there for One. Whole. Month.
He's just finished his first fortnight and for this blissful period whenever he has asked:
* "What should we have for dinner tonight?" I've been able to answer with an uninterested yet gleeful "I don't care. You're cooking!"
* "Do we have any soy sauce?" With "I don't know. You check. You're cooking!"
* "So we'd better write out a shopping list tonight." with "Probably. You work out what to buy though and write it. You're cooking!"
* "Do you think I should make enough rissoles (the man has anointed himself the high priest of rissoles thanks to his popular 'secret recipe') for us to have leftovers tomorrow?" With "If you like. I don't care. YOU'RE COOKING! AHAA HA HA HA!"
It has indeed been a wonderful time. And we're only halfway through. Aah. 

This post is part of the lovely 'I'm Grateful For' link-up by hosted by Maxabella Loves.



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?