Glass women
So there's this girl at my gym. She's anorexic - like clinically anorexic - and when I see those arms and legs pumping away on the elliptical, it freaks...me...out. Her bones must be bending like the strings of a zither under the pressure, but management won't do anything about it. Probably because they're afraid of a lawsuit. Voluntarily malnourished, walking skeletons have rights too, you know.
I get the obsession with thinness; I've been there and did my part in perpetuating the myth of the New York woman. Slave to fashion and all that. I've justified the cookie I ate, because I was walking it off at the same time I was eating it. I was a lean, mean calorie-counting machine and to this day, I still feel residual effects of that mentality.
What I don't get is why someone would want to look like a bag of bones. They look so starved, so unloved, and they've taken themselves to extremes into a vicious cycle of being even more starved and unloved than before. Because let's face it, when you see someone who looks like that, you want to step away. Count me in as one of those people who can't handle witnessing the disfiguration of the human body, however the means. You won't see me running up to these women and hugging them, trying to make up for years of the latent psychological issues they have. That's somebody else's job.
Is it any wonder why the average dress size goes up once you leave the NYC Metro area? Is it any wonder why I've almost never dated men from this area? The one native NY guy I did date told me he would break up with me if I ever went over a size 6. Metro-fucking-sexual.
Being surrounded by the amazing food shops and restaurants that this city has to offer, it pisses me off I'm made to feel like a bull in a china shop sometimes. It also pisses me off that as liberated as I think I am from that calorie-counting, obsessively exercising self I was, this philosophy still insinuates itself within my perspective on food today. The only time I'm ever free from that is when I'm drunkenly snarfing down a slice at 3 am in the morning.
Maybe I should move to Kansas.
I get the obsession with thinness; I've been there and did my part in perpetuating the myth of the New York woman. Slave to fashion and all that. I've justified the cookie I ate, because I was walking it off at the same time I was eating it. I was a lean, mean calorie-counting machine and to this day, I still feel residual effects of that mentality.
What I don't get is why someone would want to look like a bag of bones. They look so starved, so unloved, and they've taken themselves to extremes into a vicious cycle of being even more starved and unloved than before. Because let's face it, when you see someone who looks like that, you want to step away. Count me in as one of those people who can't handle witnessing the disfiguration of the human body, however the means. You won't see me running up to these women and hugging them, trying to make up for years of the latent psychological issues they have. That's somebody else's job.
Is it any wonder why the average dress size goes up once you leave the NYC Metro area? Is it any wonder why I've almost never dated men from this area? The one native NY guy I did date told me he would break up with me if I ever went over a size 6. Metro-fucking-sexual.
Being surrounded by the amazing food shops and restaurants that this city has to offer, it pisses me off I'm made to feel like a bull in a china shop sometimes. It also pisses me off that as liberated as I think I am from that calorie-counting, obsessively exercising self I was, this philosophy still insinuates itself within my perspective on food today. The only time I'm ever free from that is when I'm drunkenly snarfing down a slice at 3 am in the morning.
Maybe I should move to Kansas.
posted by Currin Girl at 3:50 PM
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