All this talk on my blog of the way women’s bodies are portrayed in the media got me thinking: what would a women’s magazine like Now! make of my shocking body?
Unfortunately (fortunately), I don’t have any bikini photos. Sorry about that, I’m sure you were most looking forward to feasting your eyes on my pasty flesh. A couple of ‘look at my new frock’ selfies will have to do instead.
So, let’s start at the top. My hair isn’t too bad, actually. Apart from the fact that I’m a bottle blonde, but that’s alright yes? The first giant red circle would probably be awarded to my chin. Or, more accurately, chins. I have what’s known in Glasgow as a ‘bawface’, and an abundance of chins is a feature of that. We’re talking “multiple” rather than double.
Moving down, the next bikini crime would be my boobs. If I’m honest, they’re not half bad when they’re trussed up to belie the effects that gravity and three babies and gravity have had on them. In a bikini, they’re like genetically modified spaniel’s ears.
Next up, it’s the bingo wings. If I wave to you, my arms will still be wobbling long after you’re out of sight. Those bad boys would be most deserving of a big, red circle of shame.
“Pols piles on the pounds” would be the screaming caption accompanying my waistline, or lack thereof. And the next feature of note would be my dimply arse, which has more orange peel than a Christmas cake.
Finally, my thunder thighs would be the final mail in my coffin of shame. I, blessed with typical Scottish ‘corned beef’ skin, which only emphasises the dimply wobbliness of my upper legs.
God, I sound like a real mess, don’t I? Except I’m not. Let’s look again…
My eyes. Everyone tells me I have beautiful eyes. You know what? They might just be right. Behind them lies the critical mind which processes the things I see around me in the world, and makes me speak out for what I believe in. I care about people, and I believe we’re all entitled to live our lives true to who we are without discrimination or shame. I use that brain of mine to earn a crust; I feed, clothe and shelter three children using that brain. My sense of humour comes from there too, and the strength of character that’s gotten me up when life has knocked me down.
My lips aren’t bad, and I smile all the time. I’d be a crap Londoner, because I smile at everyone. I’m told they’re pretty nice to kiss too…
Then there’s the saggy boobs. Those bad boys have nourished and comforted three babies, babies who were housed in that blancmange tummy I have.
My legs are long, and they look pretty good with a pair of heels.
I’m a wife and a mum, a sister, a daughter and a friend. I’ve achieved many, many things I’m proud of, and I’ve loved and laughed with so very many people.
You can make your own mind up about what my photos say about me, but this much is true: I’m greater than the sum of the parts that are so easy to criticise. There’s more to me than wobbly arms and a ginormous bum. You can choose not to look beneath the surface, but in doing so you create a legacy. A legacy of shame and angst for girls growing up around the body shaming attitudes you cultivate. We’re better than that.this