Body Image: the single most challenging category of thoughts that I face on a day to day basis. Thoughts about my body and my appearance are the most limiting train of thoughts that I face in my life. From a young age of 8 or 9 I have thought of myself as overweight. I am 5 ft. 9” and my weight fluctuates between 130-150 lbs. on a semi-annular basis. So yes, I am larger than the average Hollywood waif, but by normal standards I am not close to fat. Yet, no matter how much I tell myself this, I have internalized a different standard, a standard that I may never reach. Whether through media messages, the teasing on the playground at my new school when I was 8, or witnessing my mother pick apart herself in the mirror: I imprinted the message that my body is larger than “normal” and that this is a flaw that I will never shake. While I embrace other qualities that make me a strong woman: my intelligence, my compassionate and encouraging ear, my creativity, my intuition— body image and the consequential issues with eating/exercise that follow are my constant negative thought companions.
And so I declare that Body Image is the most used tool of oppression for women in our society. Body rules are reinforced by women, men, and media again and again and keep women in self-maintained shackles, where our role is to be, primarily, a pleasure to look at. “But body consciousness and objectification is on the rise for men as well, too,” you cry! Yes, but men aren’t almost solely depicted as super-fit or under-weight (guess what? women are) in media. Men get to be many other primary identities other than good looking, whereas women in media are almost exclusively good looking, and then something else. And the women who seem to have a “devil-may-care” attitude about their appearance, or their looks are conveyed as more quirky/cute/unique than beautiful, guess what? They’re thin. In most day to day contexts, and especially in most audition rooms, women are judged by their appearance first, other qualities second.
Because of body-consciousness women have two identities, a dyadic existence, where they maintain constant awareness of how they appear, while keeping track of their internal experience/identity. While most men exist primarily through one lens: how they see/experience the world, most women exist in two: how the world sees them, and then how they see/experience it back. Body pressures on young women, and young women in Hollywood can be especially acute. And it’s infuriating. I don’t want to be forced to be defined by my body because I am an artist. I don’t want to be an object that exists on camera to please, to be consumed, and to be judged. I want to be on camera to tell a story, to share human emotions and to act as part of the human experience of catharsis.
So let’s talk about my body. It is curvy. Supple. Strong. It can be displayed in many different ways, some flattering, some less so. My body can be sexy, it can be dangerous. My body is healthy and vital. My body is my primary vehicle to experience the world, and the primary way I discover myself. My body is the temple my soul lives in. My body can be naked or clothed. My body has scars. My body loves to be held and it loves a firm massage. My body loves to hike. My body loves to climb trees and mountains. My body loves to stand on a precipice; my body loves to witness, and to balance. My body loves to exist. My body loves to be watched. My body hates judgment. My body contorts itself to be more pleasing. My body cares about angles in photos. My body has been loved and it has been wounded. My body has grieved and laughed. My body has experienced astonishing euphoria and compassion. My body has transformed anger into love. My body has faced fear and my body has felt miracles.
But do you know what my body is not? It is not a marionette held by wires. It has never even closely resembled the princesses in Frozen, not even when I was little, and certainly not when I developed, you know, hips. My body is not super-model thin, and especially not as thin as that model after photo-shop. And yet, I am inundated with images of women, scantily clad, in subservient body positions on a daily, weekly, yearly, decades-long basis. I am subjected to news stories praising a size 4 beauty queen for having a “normal” swimsuit body, YAY! And, shocker, this is harmful. I often get auditions that say in the wardrobe notes, “Beautiful, Model” which means thinner than me. Do I go? Do I not go? Do I enjoy my healthy and delicious kale smoothie and power yoga, or do I eat a bag of chips out of depression for not being good enough? How do I fight back against this pervasive and harmful way that I experience the world and the world experiences me?
By remembering what my body is. My body is beautiful, it is unique, and it is mine. It is an experience, not an image. It is the carrier of my identity, and it should be celebrated. No matter what shape, what size, or what color it is. It is my home. All of us have a home, and we should embrace it, no matter if society has told us to treat it with shame, or with fastidious standards. Our bodies are not objects. They are the places where our souls rest. What makes my body sing, what gives it pleasure, and what makes it feel the most alive? For this fleeting moment that we are given life, let’s celebrate our bodies. Let’s reclaim them. Let’s reclaim ourselves.