A carnival mirror

These pictures? I find them all to be incredibly sexy.
Common denominator?
Not a small girl in them.
(The last two are courtesy of our friends embre and her Master N over at www.slavenextdoor.com)
I know embre personally. She’s a beautiful, sexy, vivacious, incredibly HOT woman. (We’ve done “quicksand” videos together. You can find that over at www.pamelaroseproductions.com . Cool stuff, even if it’s not your kink. Definitely a ton of fun to do!)
So…
Anyhow…
Why is it I can look at these pictures and find them gorgeous and yet I am so fucking hypercritical of myself?

It’s just stupid.
What does it take to finally become comfortable in our own skin?
I KNOW that the models and actresses of today are too fucking thin. I really don’t enjoy looking at them much. Skin and bones, bodies the size of a fourteen year old girls, asses smaller than one of my hands, every tit perky and small.
Bleh.
And yet we’re bombarded with visuals of this.
It’s almost impossible to find mainstream images of even average girls, much less chubby ones.
They are NOT considered sexy enough. Pretty enough. Whatever enough.
Sure, you can find bondage and BDSM and fetish sites with heavier girls but most of that is poorly done and borders on the grotesque – catering to obesity fetishes.

I”m talking about NORMAL girls here.
Yanno…
The average size in America right now is what? A twelve or fourteen?
And yet the models are zeros and ones and maybe a five. Cindy Crawford, super model of the nineties, is considered “too heavy” at a size six or eight.
WTF??????????????????????????????????

How did what is normal become so skewed compared to what we are shown in film and print?

And how is a normal woman supposed to feel decently about herself in comparison?

It’s bad for our teenagers and the twenty somethings.
But I honestly believe it’s worse for those of us in our thirties and fourties.
We grew up in the seventies and eighties.
We never had the body type that is so common now.
It’s been, somehow, bred into these girls or something.
And we can’t compete with that.
We have had children. We’re no longer “young”. Change doesn’t happen very quickly – or at all – no matter how we strive for the perfect body.
We’re soft.
Our breasts are not perfect and small and perky.

We are called fat.
Even when we are average in size we are called fat.

Now…
I am a little fat.
I wear a size fourteen.
I’ve gotten much softer and dimplier than I was five or six years ago.
And I’m fucking miserable over it half the time.
Because I compare myself, incessantly, with what I see every time I pull up a picture online, every time I turn on the tv, every time I open a magazine.

Even though I DO NOT want to look like these women…

I find myself lacking.

And it’s awful. Horrible.
To mentally understand that there is more to “attractive” than a flat stomach, visible collar bones and stick limbs but to be unable to feel good about yourself.

It effects everything.
Even with Taylor I get all twisted up and uncomfortable because I am terrified that he’s disgusted by what he’s looking at.

Despite what my mind knows when I look in the mirror it turns into a carnival mirror, distorting me into a horrible figure that is much worse than the reality of my looks.

The worst bit is…
I don’t know if there is any way to change the way we feel inside.

Embre… the above model… is just as twisted up about how she looks as I am.
I find her gorgeous.
Why can’t we see ourselves the way we see others?
Why do we have to compare?

And why why why why WHY is the world so intent upon force feeding us unrealistic and less than normal images to compare ourselves to?
When will we say enough?

Back when my grandmother was young it was important to eat right and keep yourself slender.

A size eight was very, very slender.

I’m giving myself the rest of the year to work on this.
I have to instill a change in myself.
Perhaps lose a bit of the weight I’ve put on in the past five years. Not so I can look like a model but because I prefer myself in a size twelve.
Perhaps talk it out with myself, really work on my own psyche and figure out how to feel good about myself… the rest of the world be damned.

I dunno.
But I’m gonna work on it.
Because I touched on this subject two years ago and the world around me – and I, myself – have gotten worse, not better.

I always say I can do anything I really put my mind to.
I’m going to do this.
I am.