I don’t know if it’s one of the perks of my advanced age (almost 34 ½), but I feel that my body betrays me a little bit more everyday.
It started maybe 6 months ago, or maybe 3 years ago, time flies when you’re that old. I was chilling on my couch, doing not much. It was probably real, heavy chilling, because I remember being so deep in the couch that my knees were at the same level of my head.
The weather was beautiful this day, and I was in my luminous apartment in Paris. I loved that about my apartment, how bright it was. The issue with daylight though is that with it you see way better than with artificial light, no matter how strong it is. And the truth is that you almost never actually see yourself in broad daylight, especially naked ; your mirrors are usually in the bathroom (or maybe on your bedroom’s ceiling, but that’s another issue).
Anyway. On this beautiful summer day I was wearing shorts, and was seated in a weird position… the setting was perfect for me to make the most appalling discovery: I HAVE CELLULITE ON MY THIGHS.
And not a cute beginning of growing cellulite, no. An old, fat, craterous cellulite. I think it was actually the worst part of this : for how long had this thing been there ?
You have to know that I had always been pretty fit despite my totally unhealthy lifestyle, and I kind of enjoyed when other women hated me for that. I used to say stuff like “I don’t know, I eat exclusively cheese pizzas and never exercise, I must just be lucky”. Yeah, sometimes I was overdoing it a little bit.
The thing is, when you have an easy metabolism like that, you tend to become lazy. “Why would I exercise ? Why would I eat carrots and quinoa ?”… And it becomes a whole lifestyle, even a pride sometimes.
You understand now why when this cellulite happened, I felt betrayed and lost. So, I checked the whole internet and I had to acknowledge the fact that all the studies said the same: cellulite doesn’t appear in one night. I probably had been in denial of this fat for a while.
My theory is that when this happens to a person for the first time, they have two choices.
The mentally healthy choice would be to simply acknowledge this fact and properly react to it by doing some lifestyle adjustments. The less healthy way is to seek shelter in the sweet arms or denial, the place where life is simple and we can stay on the couch all day.
Well, I guess we learned a little bit about myself now…
Anyway. All of that is to say that this morning I discovered a ball of fat between my right boob and my armpit, where no fat should be. You notice that I said “right” boob, I didn’t have the courage to check the left one. Maybe later.
Okay, okay, I know that there is another option that is mentally healthy and that is very fashionable these days: just learn to accept my body the way it is.
I admire so much these women who are not thin and beautiful the conventional way, but are still so beautiful and sexy and confident, and dress up the way they want, and are still always beautiful and sexy and confident.
But, I’m very sorry about the un-politically correct thing that I’m going to say now: I don’t want to be like that. I want to be thin again. I find a flat belly very beautiful, I can be fascinated by a salient collarbone. I hate my double chin, and I hate that I have to choose carefully my clothes because a lot of outfits are “not for my body composition”.
And I don’t blame magazines for that, no. I blame the whole concept of fashion.
I understand why they choose all of these too skinny girls to walk on the runways, and it’s actually pretty smart. Well, it’s because they don’t actually need girls. They need coat racks. Because every single piece of clothing is very beautiful on a coat rack. When you put it on a real person, that’s another story.
The sad thing is that now, we all wish we were coat racks. I wish I was a coat rack.
Still, through the years I think I found some kind of middle ground. I still haven’t accepted my body, but now I somehow accepted the fact that I can’t wear everything. I learned exactly which shape of dress, top, pants is okay for me to wear. Maybe I even became so good at it that it helped me staying in my fat-denial for that long.
And all of that is probably the beginning of acceptance. I will never wear a strapless dress, but I will still try to hit the gym more often. Not to become thinner, but to become healthier.
That’s my official statement and I will stick to it.