A Fine Whine

You may have read my previous blog where I was having a meltdown over having to spend several beach days with Ex-Miss Peru. Well here is what went down and what I came away with over those few days. Hold on tight to your tiara, this is going to get rambly...

Miss Manifestation of my Insecurities arrived not long after we had got there and yes, she is pretty. But in a very normal way. "Ahh, that is refreshing isn't it?" I thought to myself,  "a Miss Whatever that is not seven feet tall, spindly thin and pricked full of silicone. Wow, things must finally be changing in the world of Miss Whatever pageants."

It turns out things are not changing in the world of Miss Whatever pageants. That evening, as we all chatted about this and that, she began to tell us about her experience. 

At 17 she was told that if she wanted a shot at the crown, she would need a a nose job, boob job and liposuction. "You are far too fat!" they told her as they looked her up and down from every angle through squinty, judgey eyes.

There were people who could organise for that to be done, they told her.

She could be sliced and sucked and stuffed for free.

Fortunately, this perfectly lovely young thing had the backbone to tell them that she was not really that invested in the whole idea of a cubic zirconia tiara, and if it meant plastic surgery, she was out. 

They conceded. And she went ahead and won - sceptre drop!

Bravo Ex Miss Peru! 

But this whole body image thing seems to be one step forward and two steps back type deal.Once crowned she faced a lot of pressure and found herself exercising and dieting obsessively to lose 9 kg. 

While I am hardly surprised, it is just absolute nonsense is it not? Even the most genetically blessed women are not enough, we have to turn ourselves into some kind of weird, charactature of a female to be acceptable.

Happily, few of us really harbour a desire to join a beauty pageant (I think most people feel that it is a fairly outdated thing), but that certainly doesn't mean that we get to avoid messages about what a woman is 'supposed' to look like.

I went to bed, my heart angry about the crazy standards we internalise at some point, in some way, growing up and feel we need to adhere to to feel worthy.

I drifted off to sleep planning to plaster my 7 year-old daughter's walls with posters of RBG, Sam Kerr, Misty Copeland, Malala, Angela Merkel, Rachel Maddow, Laverne Cox and Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....

The next day came the inevitable...pool time.

I had expected to be filled with anxiety, to feel self-conscious and to be convinced that everyone would be thinking to themselves what a heifer I was in my fancy new one-piece. Like, "Nice try Rach, you can buy all the pretty swimsuits you like but it ain't going to hid that paunch and pudge." 

And they may have been thinking something along those lines - who knows? But also, who cares? I didn't. Which was a delightful relief.

Instead of feeling self-conscious and like I was playing mutton to her lamb. In fact, I felt great. In fact, I felt confident and competely happy with myself.

Because, I do happen to quite like myself.

I am capable of empassioned and fascinating conversations - I read, I know stuff.

I am no longer afraid to speak my mind (in my twenties, I was far to worried about being perceived as "nice" to really say what I thought).

I can stick up for myself and for others - I have developed some sass and smarts along the way.

I have been knocked down a time or two, but I have hauled myself up, dusted myself off and reapplied my lipgloss without becoming hardened by those experiences.

I have lived and have a depth of experience to dive into and draw upon.

I have also observed and noted the nuance and grey that exists in the world when it comes to others' experiences and have great compassion, empathy and admiration for what people live through.

I have not one, not two, but three awesome children, who are all so completely different from each other, but equally incredible peoplings.

After a false start on the partner front, I have an incredible person to share my life with - someone who is the funniest, kindest, most caring (and sexiest) person in the world. He makes me feel like superwoman every day.

I can speak two languages fluently, plus some German when I am drunk, sukoshi Japanese hanashimasu and ballet words in French.

I have a bachelor's degree, a postgraduate degree and a masters degree.

I have found a profession that I am perversely passionate about and reasonably successful at.

I am bolstered by friends and family who do kind, creative, inspirational things in big and small ways.

I am a glorious tangle of a person at 40 - as we all are probably. 

And if the spirit of waistlines past descended and offered me the chance to rewind and go back to 21, I wouldn't.

Twenty-one was fun. It was so much fun. 

But 40, I can promise you, is better - with or without a broader bum.

By Rachel Moore