baby got back

So I'm not sure why this silly celebrity news story ruffled my feathers so much, but it did. I'm not a huge Tyra Banks fan, nor do I watch America's Next Top Model very regularly (or at all, these days, since we have decided to forgo TV access), but I HAVE appreciated some of the ways in which that show has tried to help promote a broader definition of beauty than the standard Hollywood look.

When promos for next season's ANTM started to air (which I have not seen) that show Tyra going ON AND ON about how gloriously thin and tiny-waisted one of the waify new cast members is, America lashed out. People were horrified. Not that the willowy model was tiny, but that Tyra was so smitten with her impossibly narrow frame. Ms. Banks even issued an apology. And a decent one at that. It was fairly thoughtful, and pointed out that even ultrathin girls struggle with poor body image. Some girls are just very slim. And have no curves. And we should support them, too, and remind them that they are beautiful.

Anyway. I was just thinking about this story on the way to work today because the Red Eye kindly informed me that Tyra had issued a statement about the promos and the backlash.

I've been reflecting about how quickly and easily I judge people for their size and shape. How thoughtlessly I "size people up" every single day. Envy twinged with disdain for naturally thin girls who eat whatever they like and slide smoothly into little jeans. Sick and sinful comparisons to any woman who couldn't fit into MY clothes. And the incessant and obsessive mirror-patrol of my own waistline, drooping backside, and inner thigh squish. All the while whining about my weight but eating crap and neglecting my running shoes with lazy indifference. I think about my weight, my shape, my clothes, my waist line, my everything, oh, about ONE ZILLION times per day. Which is down from I would estimate 40 ZILLION times per day before I met Yale.

It does help to have a husband who tells you that you are beautiful. It helps a lot. But do you know what helps even more, in a secret sick-twisted way? The fact that your same beloved husband has ALSO gained about 10 pounds since the honeymoon. How messed up is that? And how messed up is it that I'm admitting that into the Blogosphere?

God help me, and my messed up brain. Maybe if my heart were more beautiful, and more graceful, these seeds of gruesome self-and-other loathing and constant comparison wouldn't have room to take root. I can't blame Tyra for being entranced with the gloriously slim aspiring model. I gawk in awe of the lanky, shiny-haired glammy women I see every day. I just don't have someone following me around with a video camera to catch my starry-eyed fascination.