Friday, 30 August 2013

The Missing Sisterhood.

If there's one thing that I learnt in Australia (apart from: DO NOT sleep anywhere near a dingo, of course) it was that women can be complete cows to eachother. I realise that I didn't need to travel across the world to come to this shock realisation, but it did inspire me to write about the bitchy middens that we are.
Image: Pinterest
As I melt into my seat on the train at Flinders Street, contemplating whether the stifling heat deems partial nudity on public transport acceptable behaviour, I fan myself with the free newspaper that was thrust into my arms on the way to the platform. I’m feeling dangerous, so I attempt to move my bare leg from the leather seat beneath me, only to realise upon ripping it off that any skin making contact with the seat is now closer to velcro than any sort of human matter it may have resembled earlier this morning. My hair has frizzed, my hands are clammy….my makeup has slid so far off my face my nipples are almost wearing mascara.
Just then, the doors of the train swoosh open, and on struts a beautiful, tall, DRY young woman. Not a drop of moisture on her, I look on in awe as she gracefully makes her way through the train carriage. Thinking back now, it all happened in slow motion. There was a lot of hair swishing. Like some sort of shampoo ad. That’s a severely dazed, sweaty, dehydrated account of what happened though, so don’t quote me on it. As she gazes through the crowds with her big baby blues looking for a seat, it is only then that I take a second to look around at my fellow commuters and realise a pattern; men are either gazing at her open mouthed or silently battling it out with one another to be crowned the most eligible train companion. Women, on the other hand, are unimpressed, hostile, judgmental, even jealous?  I admit it, this broad left me feeling like no treat, but did I hold it against her? No! So it got me thinking…
Confidence is a funny thing; its what we’re told we should have, the thing that some people lack…sometimes confidence is even considered unattractive. Confused? Me too.
We all have days when we feel like we’re not good enough, or even just that we’re not as good as some others. Am I right? But maybe our inner perceptions of ourselves are whats really holding us back. If I’m having a thunder thighs thursday and encounter a tall leggy girl in cut off denims with her legs out to the world, I’m immediately conscious of the size of my legs…quick to criticise my unsuspecting victim in an attempt to lighten the blow my ego has just taken. What kind of logic is there in that sort of thinking? The majority of us seem to have fallen foul to this horrible habit that’s crept up on us and made itself feel right at home in our sub-conscious, only revealing itself when we happen to cross paths with someone we feel inferior to. What if that seemingly perfect woman you were just glaring at was looking right back at you, admiring your hair/clothes/figure/eyes/general loveliness, albeit with the same bitterness you feel towards her. Would you be able to see what she sees?
The media drown us in stories of confident women- the (s)heroics of those who love themselves just enough to be admired, but not so much that they are found intimidating. Where is the fine line? Can BeyoncĂ© be confident because she balances her bootylicious-ness with a strong hatred for her knees? If I’m feeling particularly foxy one day, should I voice how I feel about my bad skin to prevent myself from sounding full of it? With a calculated, but conflicting, pic’n'mix of celebrated curves, eating disorders, fad diets and ‘big is beautiful’ articles narrating popular culture, I find it easier to live my life as a confi -don’t.

No comments:

Post a Comment