On The “Real” Woman
I was watching a random episode of The View and they were discussing some off-hand remarks made by Karl Lagerfield about fat people. What he said is basically inconsequential because he is a gigantic (albeit talented) douchebag with an obvious set of issues that I can't solve. And Karl, we remember from whence you came. On top of that – I can't worry myself about offhand remarks made by sycophants who don't make clothes that I can wear.
I digress. As the ladies gabbed on, the term "Real Woman" kept popping up over and over again and it started to wear at me. I loathe this us vs. them idea. That notion that a "real" woman can't be skinny or that a "real" woman is a size 14 or above. Whatever you are; if your heart beats, if you have small breasts or a big ass – you're still a woman and no one should deign to tell any of us otherwise.
Somewhere along the way – we've created this divide wherein it's become unacceptable to look a certain way and everybody has an opinion about what's right or wrong for the next person. Every fat person you see isn't dying a slow, lonely death and every skinny person you see isn't starving or subsisting on lettuce and air.
Life is about living and not so much about comparing and contrasting yourself to the next person. How guilty are we all (myself included) of doing that? It's about creating the best life that you can for yourself – in whatever capacity that you can. Be you fat, skinny, short, tall – whatever package you come in, we all deserve the right to be happy and live our lives without ridicule and mockery.
And does the size of my pants really matter that much? Because trust me when I say that number? I'm a million times more awesome than that.