Author: pinkapplejuice

“If a partner knows you well, I have always felt that they should be able to compliment you on something more substantial or uniquely you than your appearance.”

I wrote a post over a year ago about body confidence and my changing attitude to my body over the years but now I’m going to write one reflecting on a recent experience and how it’s made me rethink my attitude to my body.

Last weekend, situations transpired that I hooked up with and have kinda begun seeing a good friend. Sorry, this anecdote will get to the point soon! He is someone in my close friend group whom I have known for years and liked for a while. We have a lot in common and I like to think that we know each other well. Over the course of the romancing, he mentioned my appearance several times in general terms of “You’re beautiful” etc. I never enjoy these compliments but can cope with them when I hook up with acquaintances or strangers but I hate hearing it in this sort of situation. If a partner knows you well, I have always felt that they should be able to compliment you on something more substantial or uniquely you than your appearance.

I understand that he was simply trying to compliment me and I believe that he was entirely genuine and I know that I am over-reacting with this silent battle in my head. In recent years I have learned to take compliments but upon finally hooking up with someone who knows me well, it upsets me that the most prominent thing about me he wants to comment on are my looks. It opens up the paranoia that they are my ‘redeeming feature’ as well as that I am interchangeable in his mind with any other “beautiful” girl.

Perhaps I should just shut up and accept the compliment but it upset me and I have been brooding over the reasons why it bothered me so much for a week now. I prefer my body confidence to come from myself rather than the opinions of others. And while the “You’re beautiful” line is commonplace etiquette in drunken pulling situations, I do not want a potential relationship to have any basis on my partner’s appreciation of my looks.

I noticed that for the rest of the weekend, I spent a great deal of time worrying about my appearance and the other day almost requested my friend take down a photo from Facebook where I have a double chin. This is not me! Who is this taking over my brain?

Maybe I should just shut up and learn to take a compliment… to be honest I much prefer to be happy and have my body confidence based on my own opinions.

Posted on by pinkapplejuice 1

“I try to love and respect my body no matter what I weigh.”

My body and I have had a love/hate relationship for as long as I can remember. I remember when I was younger hating my body because it was different than the other girls. I was short and stubby. My mother would tell me to stand up and suck in, so as not to seem so fat. Around third grade is when I realized, I could change the way I look. By third grade, I started off my first course of bad dieting. Eating carrots, soup, and crackers for months at a time. I equated losing weight to being happy. When I lost weight, I felt great. People would comment on how good I looked or how pretty I looked. Eventually, though, I would gain the weight again, starting the whole process over again.

The time that affected me the most, though, was just a couple of years ago. I was a sophomore and junior in college. I was already a vegan, but I decided that being vegan wasn’t enough to lose weight. At the point, I started eating less and less. I would eat a banana for breakfast, gum for lunch, and iceberg lettuce for dinner. I continued to work out. I quickly noticed my body starting to change, but I still wasn’t happy. No matter what the scale told me, I found myself hating my body and who I had become more and more. This sadness oozed out into my everyday life. I found that I couldn’t connect with people anymore. I couldn’t have fun partying or doing random things with friends.

I hit rock bottom when my doctor explained to me that I was ruining my chances of ever having a child. I had lost my period the beginning of sophomore year and had never gotten it back because I was lacking too many nutrients. At that point, I decided to see a counselor.

This was a changing point for me. While you always hear “love your body” and “you are beautiful”, you never really come to understand how reality is distorted by things such as music videos, magazines, the internet, etc. Everywhere around us, we are bombarded with pictures of women who seem so happy. They are thin, tan, and beautiful. Psychologists sometimes like to call it the halo effect. The halo effect is the assumption that persons who are beautiful are perfect. They have great friends, they’re nicer, smarter, etc. That is what I was attempting to do. I was attempting to become beautiful in my body, so that I could achieve this sense of perfection. If I had a beautiful body, then maybe I would have a happier life.

Nowadays, I realize that this mindset was not going to work out. The way my body looked didn’t have to affect my happiness. I could control that. Since that point I saw the counselor and on, I have still struggled with my body. Now, though, I try to love and respect my body no matter what I weigh. I cherish my friends, family, and experiences in life. I understand that I’m beautiful no matter what my body looks like. There is so much more to me. I’m not saying I have all the right answers, but I think I’m off to a good start with my body.

Posted on by pinkapplejuice 2

It’s about the the Choice!

An excellent post we just had to share

jellypopblogger's avatarJellypop

So as you might have guessed from my previous posts or if you follow me on twitter, I am totally pro-body hair and here is why:

Its really cool, you can plait it, dye it and all sorts of fun stuff!

Its a two fingered salute to the Patriarchy (and you don’t even have to do anything!!)

It gets really softie and nice when you grow it out as well.

Its like wearing an extra pair of tights when its cold but it doesn’t make you too hot in summer because human hair is hollow.

Money spent on hair removal cream —> Money spent on CHOCOLATE (or other treats)

Its the way all the cool people know who the other cool people are.

Time spent scraping hair off my body —> Time spent blogging! (or reading or watching TV or knitting micro bunnies)

THERE ARE LITTERALLY SO MANY REASONS

“BUT…

View original post 308 more words

Posted on by pinkapplejuice 0

“The Perfect Woman.”

I know that, as a girl, I am judged every day for how I look and what I’m wearing. I am compared to my mother, my friends, models in magazines and people’s own ideas of how I should look. I am compared to this “Perfect Woman”, who is the patriarchal ideal of what a woman is meant to be.

The Perfect Woman is something everyone feels differently about. The media’s best efforts to brainwash us into worshipping a white, slim, able-bodied image of perfection have been mostly successful but we still have slightly different opinions about who and what is beautiful.
These ideas of perfection are so often very different, if not opposite, to how we really look and feel about ourselves, yet we feel obliged to try and make ourselves more like the Perfect Woman. This is a problem because in our patriarchal society, a women’s appearance and beauty are some of her most valued traits. Whether we want it to be or not it is ingrained in our society, in our minds and the people around us.

My picture of the perfect woman is different from the way I look. Not opposite but far enough away that I know I will never look that way. I will always be subpar, inadequate, not quite good enough. But I know I am not alone. I have never met and I do not think there exists a single person on this earth that is even nearly happy with the way they look. In fact, in my experience, the people who are perceived as most beautiful have the most negative views about themselves. The most beautiful girl I know doesn’t even think she is pretty, let alone beautiful.

The perfect woman is a shadow in the front of our minds. A niggling voice saying we will never measure up. Telling us we aren’t beautiful, we aren’t desirable, we aren’t wanted.

BUT

I don’t like that voice and I don’t think you do either. Why should we measure and compare ourselves to this ideal, this figment of imagination when we are real. We all have flaws and we are all different so why try and change that? Why not celebrate our differences? I ask you to see your differences and embrace them. Embrace yourselves and embrace the differences of others around you because perfection is not real.

Guest post by @lilinaz_evans whose blog can be found here.

Posted on by pinkapplejuice 1

“We hate ourselves for hating ourselves. Confused? Well so are we.”

As I write this I am sheepishly munching on chocolates, not even an Eastenders-episode after polishing off a steak. It is now, with my belly full, that I finally feel guilty enough to write this (uncomfortably) personal entry on body-image.

I am currently on a diet – one that allows steak. It is a no-carbs diet (apart from the more-than-occasional bowl of porridge and drunken McDonalds). This makes declining offerings of carb-loaded food slightly awkward. ‘You mean you don’t want crisps?’ my friends will say. I should stress the confused faces of those closest to me when I decline their offers. I am an open lover of food (proudly boasting a record of 7 plates of food at an all-you-can-eat buffet). So it is understandable that they cannot fathom how I, of all people, can be in the midst of a surprisingly successful (by my standards) diet plan. They ask for an explanation. So I lie – or tell the truth. It’s a gamble as to what answer you’ll get. Consistently though, people are shocked to discover that I am unhappy with the way I look.

But to me it is obvious: I mean, take one look at my moon-sized derriere, mammoth thighs and 3-month pregnancy shaped belly and the answer it literally staring you in the face; taking up the entire of your peripheral vision.

The average dress size of women in the UK is 14. I am a size 10 – but this is still a size too big. I find myself non-erotically staring at women’s bums, either in complete worship or disgust. “How is hers so small?” I think to myself. Lucky bitch. If I’m being Jeremy-Kyle-honest, the sight of a woman with a ‘perfect’ figure sends pangs of resentment and mild hatred pulsing through my body, all the way to my eclipse-sized bum.

The sisterhood, then, is largely a myth. As women we do not stand tall by one another, burning our bras – united through retaliation, strength through struggle. We are, sadly, in competition with one another – survival of The Flattest Stomach.

I don’t like to think of how unhappy I am with my appearance, when I do I seem to inflict some Orwellian-style think-torture on myself. I sit in my room for hours at a time, stirring thoughts of self-loathing around my mind whilst my friends get drunk downstairs.

So that’s me. A case for the shrink? Maybe. A unique case for the shrink? Of course not, I bet my entire student loan on that. The poor shrink could recite a diagnosis. Especially when you get your head around the fact that 97% of British women are unhappy with their bodies. That’s pretty high, eh? Shocked? You shouldn’t be. Body-hatred has become a right-of-passage for the majority of Western females. We are a generation of self-haters. Hating ourselves for that slice of cheesecake, for not going to the gym, for not looking like a Victoria’s Secret model…

But here is the irony – we hate ourselves for hating ourselves. Confused? Well so are we.

Thanks to forfreddie.blog.com for this piece. The original post can be found here.

Posted on by pinkapplejuice 1

Project Naked goes to the Fringe!

Since we live in Edinburgh, we thought the Fringe was a good chance to spread the word about Project Naked. We’ve got some flyers:

… and a sandwich board:

and we’re planning to get out and about speaking to as many different women as possible, asking them what they love about their bodies. We’re hoping to put together a wee vox pop video of the women that we speak to, so have a look out for us if you’re at the Festival this year and come and say hello 🙂

And, of course, we’re always accepting stories from all women to post on the blog, which you can send to projectnaked@gmail.com. Check out Where do I start?! for some ideas.

Posted on by pinkapplejuice 2

“I have faith in my naked body for all it can do, and I look forward to what I’ll go through with it – as scary as it all does seem.”

I think what I’m struggling with is the fact I am a lot slimmer now than a few years back and I’m not used to it. I still feel chubby and squished. People often tell me how slim I’m looking and I don’t really get it. I don’t feel any slimmer, and I sure as hell don’t eat like I’m slim – I enjoy cake and pizza on a regular basis. So although I am slimmer, I still wobble and have podge because I don’t really exercise (because I don’t want to, I’m a waitress so am on my feet all day and I tend to walk everywhere). Sometimes I wonder if I should exercise, my body would be healthier, I could be toned or at least shape up, but I don’t want to lose weight, I often feel embarrassed when people comment on my weight as I don’t fully understand why I am this size.

I used to be pretty curvy, although I had a small waist. My boobs were massive, as were my hips. I don’t really remember it bothering me to the point where I did much about it, although I recently found a diary entry where I’d written tips from a ProAna site, and that sort of bothered me. It was like I wanted a quick way to get slim, but I was too lazy to even do it properly. The weight did start falling off me when I was about 18 though, I was dancing a lot more and changed my eating habits unintentionally – I stopped snacking, which was a big problem for me when I was 14-17 (echo bars and a lot of cheese especially). Then I think I had another unintentional weight loss after the break up from my last boyfriend. I just sort of lost my appetite, and it’s not really returned. I basically eat what I want when I want, which is usually little and often, and I think my body reflects this. Thing is, I talk here about losing weight, and my weight is often on my mind but, I really don’t care. I find that I am happier when I eat and do what I want (or not do if it involves exercise), my body constantly changes and I try not to keep up with it and be too involved but I think that is where I need to change. I don’t see myself as slim because I don’t know my body, I don’t even feel like I have much control over it. But yet, sometimes I worry I may be too controlling. I would never not eat another biscuit or cake because I was worried of the fat content, but sometimes I just forget to eat and a small voice inside says “that’s probably a good thing considering all the crap you ate last night”. It’s like the chubbier girl I once was is wanting me to be slim and the person I am now doesn’t care but is still listening to that part of me. I went from no hips or boobs when I was 13 (I vividly remember being laughed at for not having to wear a bra due to them being so small) to having these massive boobs and curvaceous hips, and then to lose them (sort of) – part of me is like ‘yes!’ and part of me is like ‘no!’. I’m still as self conscious of my body, which makes me fully aware of the fact that being slimmer does not equal happiness. I think being healthy does though. I don’t want to look like models or actresses or whatever, but it doesn’t stop me from gazing at their smooth blotch-free legs and wishing mine were a bit more like that. But it’s fucking unrealistic and what I’ve recently come to believe is that flaws are what make woman beautiful. Real women can never look flawless and that is a good thing! That’s what makes us beautiful.

I guess what I’m trying to say is my feelings towards my body have been quite confused, are quite confused, but I’m hoping to sort that. With time, I know these things don’t happen over night, nor do they stay consistent, but I have faith in my naked body for all it can do, and I look forward to what I’ll go through with it – as scary as it all does seem.

Posted on by pinkapplejuice 0

“Being naked, I feel like I have nothing to hide behind, literally and metaphorically.”

It took me a long time to write this. This was partly because I wasn’t sure if my feelings about being naked made sense in the context of this project. I have never really liked how I look, but it isn’t really to do with my body from the neck down, but (to put it bluntly) my face. So what could I say about being naked? But I know I often feel uncomfortable being naked, even on my own, and I couldn’t put my finger on why. I read the wonderful and brave posts here and tried really hard to think about how I feel about my body. It was difficult. Writing this down is an attempt to clarify my incoherent thoughts.

I have an OK body. I have always been quite skinny, thought that brought with it its own dissatisfactions, especially when I was younger (namely, I wanted bigger boobs!). I do worry about putting on weight, though it’s mainly because I feel it goes straight to my face, which I know is irrational. But I wouldn’t ever say I “love” it, perhaps because on bad days I feel disconnected from everything, including my own body. I am trying really hard to love it – to be happy with the way I look in general – and sometimes, when it helps me dance all night, or carry heavy bags of shopping all by myself, I do, just because I realise how lucky I am to be young and healthy and to be able to do everything I want to.

But to my feelings on nudity. This is the conclusion I reached: I hate being vulnerable, whether it is exposed flesh or exposed feelings. And somehow over the years, nudity for me has become intertwined with emotional vulnerability. Being naked, I feel like I have nothing to hide behind, literally and metaphorically. I am protective of my body, scared of letting anyone – friends, men, the mirror – that close. I can never be proudly naked, never embrace it completely. There’s always a part of me casting about for something to cover myself with. I don’t stand up straight. I find that the more protective I become of my feelings, the more shut away my body feels.

Maybe this is a ridiculous, clichéd parallel to draw. I’m not sure. I definitely don’t think I’m explaining myself that well. I also worry that I am coming across as a repressed prude, which I’m not. I love sex and have had wonderful naked experiences with people who made me feel comfortable and safe and right in my own body, with my own nudity. And not just because they liked the way I looked naked, but because I could trust them with all parts of me. In one case, this trust turned out to be misplaced, which I suppose could have something to do with my protectiveness now.

I don’t want to be like this – I want to love the way I look and the way I am – and I am trying really hard. Because nudity is beautiful, in all its forms, and our bodies are amazing – for what they can do and how they look – as this blog has reminded me. And vulnerability can mean incredible freedom.

Posted on by pinkapplejuice 2

“I think we need to let go of this control.”

I think for a lot of woman we feel we need to take control of our bodies, that in order to be happy with how we look and feel we need to reign in each part of it and mould it into something we feel comfortable with. This is just insane because we are trying to mould ourselves into the same woman, the same figment of the media’s imagination and obviously it’s an impossible task. This attempt to control our bodies is destroying us, I don’t know one woman who honestly doesn’t wish in her heart of hearts she could just be thinner, or taller, or have that perfect hair. I think we need to let go of this control, just let go in general, but it’s so difficult when we have been coerced into feeling this way all our lives. I can’t see anything changing in the media, or in the population at large; let’s be honest, someone is making a lot of money out of our self-loathing. But, if just some women can change how they feel about their bodies then they can pass it down to their daughters and there will be some girls saved from this quagmire.

I can say that right now I am almost happy with my body, most of the time, well, some of the time. I have scars and hairs, all the things that make women hate themselves (and men feel proud). But I feel happy being naked, I’m comfortable changing in front of my friends – although sometimes their horror at glimpsing my naked body makes me wonder. I will sunbathe topless if I can when abroad, though sometimes I am a little uncomfortable around other naked people. I haven’t always been happy with myself, I remember lying in bed horrified by the realisation that I would probably have to diet for the rest of my life to be a normal size. I was completely wrong, and I learned that dieting didn’t make me thinner, just more miserable and inevitably led to comfort eating and yo-yoing weight. I don’t diet at all anymore, but I know so so many women whose lives revolve around it. I still look at pictures of gorgeous women and feel a twang of regret, why wasn’t I born looking like that? I still walk behind tall, statuesque women and hate them a little, and hate myself for feeling that way. But, I have come such a long way from looking in the mirror and hating what I saw, willing myself to be different, from clutching at towels to cover every inch of my naked body so no one would see even a bit of me. I feel freed from it, it is an amazing feeling to just let go of all that bitter pain and just be exactly who and what I am. I would love for the women around me to let go of it too, because they are beautiful and healthy and perfect.

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