Why I Wouldn't Trade My Body with a Supermodel

Captivating.  Breathtaking.  Exquisite.  Stunning.  Flawless.  Ideal.  Perfect.

These are just a few of the thousands of words one could use to describe the anatomy of a supermodel.  Everything about them brings a sense of wonderment. Their eyes suggest of a story only the highly fortunate will be graced to hear.  Their lips pout in a way that rivals the most innocent of children.  Their limbs stretch across glossy magazines as if they are doing the bound pages a favor and, let's just admit it, they kind of are.

These women are intoxicating from the tips of their immaculate toes to the ends of their silky strands of flowing hair.  A work of art in a living, breathing and thriving body.  And why shouldn't they be proud of what they have been blessed with?  They have every right to embrace the skin they have found themselves in.

I'd say the only problem with those colorful and impeccable spreads of their manicured beings sprawled across the beaches of our world, is the hands that are holding them.  Those unsure, critical and unknowing small hands of our sisters, our nieces, our granddaughters, our daughters-- our girls.

For these young girls, all the words that a confident woman would use to describe these lovely models, have become simultaneous with a few other words in their developing minds.

Unfathomable.  Distant.  Untouchable.  Desired.  Unattainable.  Coveted.  And, once again, Perfect.

 The models they admire are pictured at parties, on yachts, in the best parts of towns and in cities that most will only know through their history books.  They are seen with the best looking partners and equally attractive friends.  They are spotted backstage at concerts and owning the strips of the most extravagant runways.  Their lives are painted in a light that any impressionable young girl would go dire lengths to step into.  They have it all.

However, these images fail to fill in the blanks of what it is actually like to be these women, day-to-day.  So our girls fill in the details for themselves.  They make them out to be living the very lives that they lay awake at night hoping and praying to catch a glimpse of in their own dreams.  And why wouldn't they?  Society has assured them, again and again, that this IS the life.  They have force-fed them the idea that if this isn't the type of body you must have, the place you need to live, the luxuries you crave or the men you will last after, then what kind of life are you chasing?  Not a desirable one, this is for sure.  If you don't want to be them then who are you?

What those articles fail to mention when they are asking these unblemished works of nature about their beauty routines and junk food weaknesses, is what it is really like to be them.  Yes, their lives may be posh and favored, but let's talk about how unflawed the hearts that beat inside their proportionate chests are and discuss how untarnished their souls must be.

What's that?  They aren't as polished on the inside as they are on the out?  Shocking.

We need to remind each other that they are as fearful, scarred, awkward, curious and hopeful as every single one of us are.  They have personal hurts, they have been lost and even felt loss, too, and probably still do now.  They carry much of the same weight on their bronzed shoulders that most all of us do.  Being alive means you have no choice but to feel and all feelings are not created equal.  Even for the unequaled, and seemingly secure, frames.

We have been tricked into thinking that by attaining a perfect body, we will be granted a perfect life.  I'd bet every dollar I've ever touched that if you sat down with these women who have been labeled to be living the ideal life that you'd be surprised by how unsettled they really are.  Some of their hearts may even desire many of the things you have the choice to still keep. 

Anonymity may just be the most underrated quality of our time.  A life beneath a microscope may seem enticing.  That is until you have to come to terms with the fact that your mistakes are no longer your own, the way you live your life is freely (many times maliciously) criticized and your loved ones are also seen as society's personal entertainment.  Think about it.  There is some serious heat that comes with those flashing lights.

I'm sure when a lot of people read this title, they scoffed and thought to themselves: Uh-huh, sure you wouldn't, lady.  Get real.  But I really do mean it.  And I hope you will join me and want to be no one but yourself, too.

Pick your favorite body.  It can be anyone, whomever you believe to have the perfect figure.  Now, imagine it's yours.  Some fabulous genie finally came out of that damned lamp you've been mentally rubbing all these years and gave it to you.  How does it feel?  Can you slip on that dress you haven't worn in years that collects dust in the back of your closet?  Did you go strut by your ex that intentionally crushed your poor heart into pieces just to watch his draw drop?  Did his new girlfriend see you?  Did you make sure she did?  Or did you confront that bitch who called you fat all those years ago?  Was she filled with envy?  Did you give her that piece of your mind that you've rehearsed a thousand times?  I bet it felt pretty damn good, huh?  This new body might just be the answer you've been looking for.

Now I want you to think of all of the things that you did really well or enjoyed in your old body.  Maybe you were a good singer.  It could be you were a great dancer and maybe you even liked to dance around your kitchen as you cooked, because you've always been able to whip up a good meal when the time called for it.  Perhaps you gave the best shoulder rubs and could always be counted on to relieve the tension of those you cared for.  You might have even prided yourself on being able to soothe the fussiest of babies in town, something you also loved to do.

Now, what if this perfect new body couldn't do these things?  What if you tried to relearn them and still it could never quite get the hang of it?  When you opened your mouth to sing along, your vocal chords did not release any sort of harmony.  And when you went to dance about your kitchen while you cooked, your feet fumbled beneath you and you dropped your third pan of burnt cookies, because you just haven't been able to get the measurements right with those new sultry pair of eyes.  What if your fingers clumsily searched for the knots of stress in a loved one's back but brought no relief. 

And what if you were no longer able to calm the newest baby in your life right to sleep?  What if their squirming little limbs felt foreign in your newly toned arms?  Let's say that you were trying to have a baby of your own in this new body but it won't seem to carry it.  Your new perfect body is now incapable of giving you a new and perfect bundle of joy.

What if your old body was not capable of being with child and you welcomed this trait of your new one with open arms.  It sounds wonderful, yes.  But what if that meant that you were to never open your arms to that new bundle at the agency who needed someone with extra love to give?  What if that unwanted new baby had been meant to be held by your old arms? 

For me, I have my own reasons why I honestly would never make the trade.  I love hearing from people that I have my mother's soft skin and comparing freckles with her in our swimsuits.  I love that when I pick up the phone most people hear my sister's voice.  I think it's awesome that every Christmas my aunts fight over which of them I got my bubble butt from.  I love that I have my father's brown eyes.  And I am proud to carry on my Grandma's tilted smile.

The biggest reason for me though, is that I never want to take on the responsibility of having to explain to my nieces or, one day, my own daughter why I gave away the body I was given. 

I don't want to ever help them to understand why I thought my face was too round, my arms too freckled and my hips too big.  No, I never would be able to.  Because I love their round faces.  I adore their freckled arms, especially when they are wrapped around my curvy hips. 

If I tell them that I don't think that the body I was given is worthy of being called beautiful, then how are they ever going to, not only be able to feel it, but believe it? 

So, do you still want that wish granted?  Are you still willing to make the trade?

I hope not.  Because there are still countless new reasons to start loving the old you.

Charlotte Crow

I'm a modern day farmer's daughter who shares and seeks inspiration from the comical & beautiful things that get caught in life's curious little web.