This summer, I spent some time at a health and wellness clinic in the countryside, focusing on detox and fasting. One sunny afternoon, I decided to lounge in the garden and catch a bit of sun. There, on a neighbouring deckchair, was a stunningly beautiful young woman, straight out of a fashion magazine.
We struck up a conversation and soon found ourselves chatting about the reasons wed chosen fasting.
I just need to lose less than a pound, she confessed, her voice perfectly serious. I thought she was joking and laughed, but she looked at me in earnest.
Ive been fat for a year now, she continued. My boyfriend says hell leave me if I dont slim down Look. She pinched a tiny fold of skin on her stomach. Im too embarrassed to even sit down these days.
I couldnt get her out of my mind for ages. Ever since, Ive mentally dubbed her Lisa Four Hundred Grams.
It makes me wonderif her boyfriend thinks like that, then people like me must belong at the bottom of the cliffs in Dover, as only the razor-thin deserve a place in his perfect England, where theres apparently no room for anyone whos a touch softer around the edges.
Just the other day, I attended a lively dinner at a restaurant full of people I didnt know. Amongst the guests, a well-groomed woman sat elegantly, her legs gracefully crossed, sheer tights shining under the candlelight, a shoe dangling from her heel. She caught every mans attention as she sipped water from a wine glass, perfectly poised.
Her husband arrived and strode over to shake hands with the men, then spat at her through gritted teeth: Cover yourself up! Look at the way youre sticking your legs out….
She straightened, face flushed with shame, asked the waiter for a wrapeven though she was by the fireand spent the rest of the night hunched and silent.
At one time, I decided to read biographies of famous British writers and poets, searching for some key to their genius. I didnt last long. It was impossible to reconcile a living, flawed human with the brilliance of their work.
I gave up entirely after reading about Charles Dickens. I adore Great Expectations, but after learning some facts from his life, I was honestly appalled. Aside from his rather unhealthy fascination with mortality, when his wife Catherine grew frail after their fifth child and doctors urged against further pregnancies, Dickens said, Well, what use is she to me then? Catherine ended up bearing him ten children.
Instagram is something I browse now and then. My feed is filled with perfect, doll-like beauties. Their days are built around fitness, spa wraps, tanning beds, and endless beauty treatmentscreating flawless bodies with the full force of the beauty industry behind them.
Being professionally beautiful is time-consuming, expensive work. I respect all hard work, but I worry that weve muddled everything up again. Young women only want to be beautiful so theyre chosen, so boys will notice and pick them. Theyre told: This is beautya tiny waist, plucked brows, plumped lips, a peachy bum, and off they march, eager to fit some arbitrary standard.
Meanwhile, boys are stuck trying to choose among rows of identical dolls.
Once, my husband and I visited a garden centre. He was off buying tools, and I found myself wandering the garden ornament section. There were lanterns, spinning flowers, watering cans, rabbits, and foxesall sorts of whimsical things.
By a collection of large garden gnomes in bright red hatslooking rather like fly agaric mushroomstwo men were deep in a debate, choosing the best gnome.
One was examining them from all angles; the other burst out laughing: Come on, mate, make up your mind You looked at prostitutes with the same expression yesterday…
It was honestly hilarious.
Girls, darling Lisa Four Hundred Grams, Sarah Cover-Your-Legs, Catherine Ten-Children Why are you so hard on yourselves? How have you come to believe that being treated like damaged goods is love? Who said a perfect body or face is the key to happy relationships?
I could give you a hundred examples where love has nothing to do with looks. A friend of mine met her husband in hospital, in the nephrology ward. He fell for her when she was pale, gaunt, in a hospital gown with a catheter bag peeking out beneath.
Have you seen Frida Kahlo? What do you think? With those brows? Men of her time fell madly in love with her.
Years ago, I had a wisdom tooth out. It went wrongmy mouth was torn badly, the wound got infected, temperature went sky-high, my face ballooned. I was lying at home, spitting blood, swollen and weak, thinking I looked ghastly. My husband gently fed me milkshakes, the only thing I could manage. I caught sight of myself in a mirror, whispered, God, and burst into tears from horror.
Then he said: Youre the most beautiful woman in the world, you know? Even now. Will you marry me? Say youll marry me?
When I recovered, there was a restaurant, a ring, him down on one knee, applause and flowers and yes… but its that first, real proposal I treasure. Because beauty isnt about looks, and love has nothing to do with perfection.
Our flaws make us real, unique. Thats what people fall in love withthe things that make us us.
And, in truth, perfection doesnt really exist. Or, rather, everyones perfection is their own.
Recently, I decided to get braces for my teeth. They are, by any measure, crooked. My husband said:
I adore your smile. I dont see any reason for you to put yourself through that. Do it for yourself, if you wantbut I wouldnt change a thing.
After my first son was born, I weighed over eighteen stone. My husband showered me with compliments, leaving me little reason to diet. I lost weight when I decided, not because anyone pushed me.
We looked at old photos recentlyme sprawled on the sofa with our tiny son, looking anything but slim. I asked, Why didnt you tell me to lose weight? I was huge!
You were a gorgeous, cuddly darling, he replied. Lose weight when you feel like it. I loved you just the same.
And five years back, when I had a summer psoriasis flare-up, blotches spreading everywhere, we went on holiday. I refused to take off my cover on the beach. My husband frowned: Whats wrong? And I realisedhe genuinely didnt see anything. To him, I was gorgeous, and nothing else mattered.
This isnt about advertising my husband, but about what a good relationship should be. If your partner demands that you meet his idea of beauty, its not loveits domination.
Youre an absolute peachand if he only sees imperfections, then he doesnt want a peach, he wants control.
Yes, any man wants to lead. But that right is earned through admiration and respect, not fear.
Your willingness to follow shouldnt be unconditional; it should be your choicea conscious decision to follow someone who is confident, reliable, strong, and kind. Hell take your hand and lead you to the ends of the earth, and youll follow because you choose to, not because you have to.
And remember: the right to lead you anywhere is something he still has to earn.
