The other week, in my The Times They Are a-Changin’ post, I referenced my growing interest in self-portraiture. As someone who always used to run in the opposite direction when a camera came out, my desire to take pictures of myself – often without my kit on – may, to many, seem a little odd.

I am a very average woman, unexceptional in almost every respect.

I’m not beautiful.

I’m not Frankenstein (well, maybe first thing in the morning).

I just am.

The other week, I saw a comment on fellow sex blogger’s post that literally made me do a double take.

Emma (the very same one who wrote the recent guest post on Femininity) posted a picture of herself on her site, Dirty Little Whispers, as part of Curvaceous Dee’s Scavenger Hunt meme and had her image criticised by a certain commenter. He expressed ‘concern’ over her body shape, the specifics of which I won’t go into (if you want find out more, you can click here), and basically implied that she needed to change herself to fit his idea of the perfect female.

Many of us profess to know that the bodies (and faces) we see in magazines, on television, in porn films, aren’t real. Yet we persist in using the images that bombard us on a daily basis as yardsticks to measure Janet and John on the street. Despite our awareness of the smoke and mirrors employed by commercial entities, we wilfully disconnect ourselves from reality, on the one hand saying ‘Oh, she’s definitely been airbrushed’ and on the other ‘I don’t measure up because I’m short a size zero waist and a set of double-D breasts’.

Some time back, a friend shared this image with me via social media:

It’s the cover of the 1994 edition of Sports Illustrated and features the so called Dream Team of Elle Macpherson, Kathy Ireland and Rachel Hunter. Twenty years ago, these women embodied the ‘ideal’ body type. They look beautiful (although the shot undoubtedly caters to another perceived notion of ‘the perfect woman’) – and yet I cannot recall the last time I saw those with their stature on the cover of a magazine. (Incidentally, the friend in question posted the image with a note saying ‘After looking at this, I’m going to let myself have that extra piece of bread’.)

In Emma’s particular case, it was wonderful to see how many people came out in support of her, both on and off her blog, and attempted to educate the commenter in question on his perceptions of the female body and the inappropriateness of his words (it never ceases to amaze me how the – relative – anonymity of the Internet makes people think that they can abandon all sense of social nicety and basic manners), although it’s anyone’s guess as to how much of their words of wisdom were actually absorbed.

I am a size zero. I weigh forty-seven kilos (forty-five if I’m stressed). If you’re measuring me by the current commercial ideal of the perfect size, I tick the box. The realities of being naturally small like this, though? Trying to find a bra small enough to fit me is an uphill struggle (I’m a 30 AA), every doctor’s graph I’ve ever seen tells me I am underweight for my height (although if I actually take my clothes off, I don’t think I look like a skeleton) and I’m constantly being asked by people whether I eat anything (yes, I eat and eat well) or if I’m anorexic (I’m not).

The one that annoys me the most, though? People I’ve known for all of five minutes calling me  a ‘skinny b*tch’. (Oh, but it’s usually said in a jokey way, so that makes it ‘okay’.)

 

 

I’d also like to point out to everyone out there (Yes, I’m looking at YOU, Emma’s commenter) even at this size – and I walk every day with my dog and am reasonably fit – my thighs touch and I have a bit cellulite on my butt. I am a female and no matter what weight we are, that’s how we store our reserves.

I am never going to look like Rachel Hunter, or Kathy Ireland or Elle Macpherson. But I absolutely believe that my body and those of all other shapes and sizes can be sexy and powerful and erotic.

And that right there is why I photograph myself.

My figure will not be to everyone’s taste. Don’t like it? That’s totally okay. Look away and move on. But it’s real and it’s mine and for every person who sees its minuses there will be someone else who sees its pluses.

This last photograph (from the same series as the Tramp image I recently posted to Sinful Sunday and Dee’s Scavenger Hunt) is a tribute to the very lovely Emma (and Bawdy Bloke, who posted a similar one when he came out in support of her a few weeks back).

Emma, you’re gorgeous. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.

#RealBodiesAreSexy

 

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