Thigh dimples. Belly pooch. Saggy breasts. Stretch marks. I love to see them.
No. Not on my own body. Yikes! Of course not. at would be silly.
I mean, I have them. We all do. Okay, most of us over the age of nineteen bear at least one of these signs of fallen humanity. There are a few fortunate ones out there. But gravity will find them, too.
Eventually. It always wins.
There is one place where cellulite, love handles, and ab look fantastic. That’s on the body of a celebrity.
The better she appears on screen, the more so-called imperfections I want to see.
Click here to see her ugly beach photos.
Click here to see the unedited photo.
See what she really looked like a er she gave birth.
Click here to see her without her makeup.
Sure. Why not? Tabloids and gossip sites happily give us what we want—blown-up photos of celebrity flaws circled in red ink like missed answers on a test.
Did you ever wonder why we like to see them? Why we’re happy to look at another woman’s so-called body defects?
I have a theory.
I think it’s because cellulite, deflated bosoms, and other flaws on the allegedly flawless affirm the average woman’s existence. Or, mine at least.
That is, they seem to. I expected clicking on those “average” photos would help my problem—make me feel better.
Now my perspective has changed.
Supermodel Letdown
During my formative years, our culture decided to set apart certain female specimens as emblems of beauty. This league of women stood out above all the rest. (Literally, not only were they taller than the average girl, but they also had long legs and minimal body fat, allowing them to appear to tower over us all.) These ladies weren’t just models, but supermodels.
“Oh, how wonderful it would be to look like that!” So the teenage me thought. It’s been a few decades, so I’d be hard-pressed to name too many of them now, but one name I’ll never forget is Cindy Crawford. I admired Cindy because, in an era where it seemed like being blonde meant being beautiful, she had brown hair.
And so did I. (Until I figured out how to color it, at least.) She also had a mole; a little brown dot on her face didn’t seem to bother her a bit. Yet I had a mole about the same size on my wrist that I obsessed over. Cindy gave me hope. Maybe, someday, my mole could symbolize hotness, too. If only I could find a way to look more like Cindy Crawford . . .
Fast-forward a few decades to last year. I sat at my computer scrolling through Facebook when an intriguing photo of my former idol floated by. The picture showed what looked like an unretouched image of Cindy wearing black lingerie, a boa, and a magician-caliber top hat—a recent magazine cover that never made it to the editing department. In it, the supermodel appeared with belly flab, cellulite, and stretch marks. Her untoned thighs looked as dimply as mine. Were they touching in the middle? Her stomach bore the marks of pregnancies and age. I guess my stomach is okay if that’s how Cindy’s looks! Fabulous!
Cindy Crawford’s cellulite made my day.
I watched as the photo received an abundance of social media attention. (I blog about body image. This wasn’t lame. I prefer to call it research.) More viral than the swine flu, millions shared the imperfect cover photo and applauded Cindy.
“What courage she has to let us see that she’s real!” some said.
“She’s still gorgeous, but now we can all feel a little better about our normalness,” others commented.
“She did it on purpose,” they speculated. “She wants to be a help for all those struggling with the way they look!”
A supermodel offered a lifeline to the wave of women engulfed in negative body image and everyone cheered.
Until her husband got romantic.
Cindy’s husband, Rande Gerber, posted a picture of his love lying by the pool in an orange bikini. He captioned it: “She got powers and I got her.”
So sweet.
Except for one little detail. His Instagram post looked nothing like the leaked Marie Claire flabby photo from a few days earlier. There was no sign of stretched skin or dimpled esh on that forty-nine year old’s body.
What?
Those other photos, it turns out, were fake. Someone air-brushed Cindy’s body to look more regular—a cruel joke on those of us who seek affirmation from celebrity photos.
Cindy Crawford just may have a perfect body. (Or a talented plastic surgeon . . .)
Comparison bites us in the cellulite. Again.
***
This is an excerpt from a brand new book about body image and comparison written especially for moms! Do you ever find yourself comparing your: life, body, mommying, marriage or social media posts to those of your friends? If so, check out this brand new book by local DFW author, Heather Creekmore. It’s called, Compared to Who? (Grammar error on purpose, settle down English teachers!) You can order it on Amazon or pick up your copy at the Lifeway store in Plano!
Want a FREE copy of the book?
Heather Creekmore has generously provided a copy of her book for one of our readers. To win, simply complete the giveaway form below and we’ll select a winner next Friday, July 7th. Good Luck!
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