FightingBack

A really good lady friend of mine once confessed to me that she had struggled with eating disorders for most of her life. This surprised me to no end because I never imagined her struggling with weight or having a screwed up vision about her body. She's one of those chics who I lovingly envy for her beautiful curves and womanly build. She's quirky, funny, and one of the smartest and most charismatic ladies I know; and she is also battling this ugly disease.

I wanted to write this post because not only do I think it is INCREDIBLY important, but it enrages me. It pisses me the fuck off that some of my most beautiful, smart, and funny girlfriends are thinking about stupid shit like counting calories or comparing themselves to models that resemble twelve-year-old boys! It pisses me off that we, as women, still battle with being not good enough. That after years of living, countless degrees, numerous accomplishments, and a buttload laughs, we STILL do not think we are good enough...and if you are not PISSED THE FUCK OFF by the time you read the following, then you don't need to come back to this blog because I don't need your shallow ass as a reader anyway!

The following is a letter that my friend wrote to mega beauty magazine, Marie Claire, and how she pretty much tore them a new asshole in the most eloquent and tasteful way. This is my friend, she is a lady, and she IS beautiful.

Feel free to cut and paste. Peace.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

My name is Dana and I write this complaint (read: tough love!) from the heart. Before your mind registers this note as hate mail, and your cursor makes its way to the "delete message" tab, please know that I understand the magnitude of letters you receive from both lovers and loathers of the mag on a daily, if not hourly, basis. I would typically avoid jumping on the bandwagon, but felt compelled to send a response to the recent issue and ask only that you soldier through these words, giving them due consideration before printing the next one.

I should preface with the fact that I am not a religious reader of Marie Claire (gasp!), or of any other "beauty" magazine really. Not hating on the MCs, Vogues, or Vanity Fairs of the world. They just haven't found their way into my reading repertoire. But being somewhat of a Maggie Gyllenhaal fan, I picked up the recent issue and began perusing. After flipping through fall previews and perfume samples, my fingers found their way to the cover feature. Upon continued pilfering, I was intrigued, but not surprised, to find an article profiling a young girl – the victim of an eating disorder – who struggled to overcome anorexia.

I'll spare the MC edit staff my navel-gazing biography, but instead simply state that I am 26 and have spent nearly a decade battling the one-two anorexia / bulimia punch. Only recently finding success with the help of therapy and support groups, I understand Maura Kelly's story, and the range of emotions she experienced are all too familiar. To say that eating disorders are socially isolating and ostracizing diseases is an understatement; exposure brings insurmountable feelings of shame and self-regret, coupled with plummets in self-esteem and confidence.

I probably should have mentioned that this would not be the feel-good rebuttal of 2008.

Nonetheless, I will start by commending the edit staff for their understanding and compassion. For providing Kelly with a voice that can be heard by those who choose to read her story.

However, what I found appalling about the issue is not directly related to Maura's story, but rather the articles surrounding it. Particularly "The Cool Girl's Guide to Living Solo": A few pages sprinkled with filler copy and lined with aesthetically pleasing visuals (translation: pictures of an emaciated model in an ostensibly cutting-edge loft, eating invisible food from Fisher Price bowls and oversized spoons that seem better suited for the set of Pee Wee's playhouse; see pages 104-108.) And while I can't say I'm shocked to see an account like Maura's nestled between pages saturated with wasting women in the latest Miu Miu garb, it did evoke feelings of anger and fueled a rant I've wanted to write for a long time now.

To devote 1,000 words (of a 200-page issue) to the first-person account of an eating disordered individual, only to surround it with images of clinically underweight girls, is like asking a recovering alcoholic to share the story about their struggle with the bottle and surround it with ads for Bushmills and Belvedere.

Please.

I have no doubt intelligence runs deep in the editorial office at MC. But I have to wonder whether a higher power (read: your Publisher, not God) has mandated the inclusion of a "token" tale like Maura's to keep the NEDA (National Eating Disorders Association) and AABA (American Anorexia/Bulimia Association) off your back. Or are you really that blind to the ever-increasing obsession with thinness, the false ideals you're perpetuating, and the surge in disordered eating over the past few decades as a means of achieving such aggressive and unhealthy results?

Since it's already known, albeit well established, that the media holds a heavy hand in determining who dominates the upper echelon of the beauty world – into which many of us have been denied application for membership – does that mean we should feel ashamed for achieving anything less than the model-esque build that is currently fashionable? It sure feels that way. And since it's been illustrated by the media that the thin and beautiful are accepted and have their shit straight, it makes sense that we too should strive for such greatness, right? It does.

But what if we try and fall short? Are we guilty of lassitude? Yes, we must have done something wrong since the media has clearly shown us the exercises needed to shave those 10 extra pounds from the thighs and tummies we're taught to be ashamed of. Yes, we must be warped. But that just means we have to try harder, doesn't it? But what happens when we invest all we have into chasing the ideal and we still haven't achieved bodies like those in magazines, movies, and syndicated sitcoms? Does that mean we should beat the shit out of ourselves and accept the hermit-like life for which we're clearly destined because we're too ugly and undeserving of human interaction? Of course.

These thoughts, while paraphrased, are not fabricated - they represent the very typical and ongoing conversation an eating disordered person has within him or herself. This incessant need to live up to cultural standards, coupled with the unnecessarily high premium we place on image, reduces any and all sense of worth to the physical. We are unfairly compared to a standard – this universal ideal that takes nothing like heredity or genetics into account.

You have to trust me when I say that lining the pages of magazines with airbrushed images of models reinforces this false idea that attention and love and happiness (ie, the fun things in life) are only available to those who have been born into or mastered physical perfection – a body that geneticists, medical doctors, therapists, and nutritionists would deem genetically impossible for most (and they do; I checked). We are trapped in a never-ending game of compare and contrast, ultimately fighting a losing battle. And when we don't measure up, we self-defeat and assume that our waistline is the only measure of our success.

It was only after viewing my decade-long eating disorder in retrospect that it hit me: Basing the worth of myself and others on the physical is born of insecurity, laziness, and boredom. How convenient it is for us to reduce and blame all of our problems on the few extra pounds that have set up shop around our hips and our toneless triceps. If we know this statement to be nonsensical, which we know it is, then what is there to gain from judging ourselves and others based on appearance? Nothing. Because tearing apart, finding fault, labeling, categorizing, and jumping to conclusions about what is seen, but not experienced, is for the lazy and the envious. It's unhealthy and it's a waste of time. Time I've come to learn is better spent in the present. Not the future and what life would be like if I was 20 pounds lighter; or in the past and how I wish I had started using funny creams to combat wrinkles five years earlier.

In the nearly ten years (ten!) that I have spent battling anorexia and bulimia, I could have been laughing with my friends about one-night stands and the awkward sex I had with some dude – sex I avoided because I was scared shitless that the sight and texture of my cellulite would result in dry heaving and shock. Ten years that could have been spent in the beaming South American sun, hiking the Patagonia region of Argentina – a trip I have consistently postponed out of fear that my self-proclaimed oversized thighs would cause the local sherpas to convulse. Ten years that could have been devoted to free-spiritedness – something I've only recently discovered because previously I was too self-conscious, and thought myself too ugly, to leave my apartment and interact with people.

I could rant on about the exponential growth of eating disorders in North America and around the world. I could reiterate the role the media plays in shaping the minds of our youth and the alarming age at which children start dieting. I could spout statistics and drone on about the fact that 1 in 5 women struggles with disordered eating, and that eating disorders affect up to 24 million Americans and 70 million individuals worldwide. Or that 90% of those who have eating disorders are women between the ages of 12 and 25.

But I won't. Because you all in the Marie Claire office are smart women and it's not anything you haven't already seen, heard, or had preached to you. No, I will spare you the statistics and sermons because at this point, it isn't going to do shit. The awareness is there - this is a problem that now requires action.

Since this letter may not dodge the spam manager of your inbox, I will be bringing hard copies to the MC office (and only hope they aren't crumpled and used in your next game of trashcan basketball). I refuse to accept the contemporary beauty ideal and am determined to change it. I would love to discuss ways we can bridge this gap between what is perpetuated and what is actually attainable, to create and advocate a healthy ideal. I ask and speak not only for myself, but the 50,000 people who will die as a direct result of an eating disorder this year.

Thanks and I look forward to hearing from you.

Best,


Dana



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