What kind of feminist blogger would I be without wading into the "beach body ready" debate?
These rather loathsome adverts are all over the London underground like a rash. My objection to them is more ideological than personal. I'm too old and wise (read hard-nosed and stubborn) to allow such blatant shallow advertising get to me. But I despise adverts that plays on fears and insecurities as these ones do, and I worry about the effect the ubiquity of the impossible photoshopped female form has on my naive and impressionable daughters, despite the eldest not being even 4 years old yet.
I'm in my mid-30s and my body has had a lot asked of it for the past few years. A solid 5-year stretch in which I was either pregnant or breastfeeding, a sedentary job, no time for exercise, and a diet driven by hormone-fuelled hunger and a weak will when it comes to chocolate. My party trick of being able to carry two tantruming children at once has not resulted in the kind of muscle tone you would expect from regularly lifting a combined 25kg that can kick and squirm. Despite all this I somehow manage to sit the right side of the BMI overweight line and my fitness is good enough to keep up with the kids (for now), even if it's not where I'd like it to be.
I'm sure the body nazis could find an awful lot to scowl at but I don't care. I'm happy with my life and my priorities and I'm certainly not going to ditch anything from my packed schedule so that I can introduce a "skincare regime".
I think any parent of girls (and increasingly boys) have concerns about their kids growing up to hate their bodies. I worry so much about my beautiful kids being miserable or starving themselves because they think that that's a normal response to a normal body. But my influence in their lives is infinitely more powerful than any advert - at least at the moment. And I know that my innocent and naive girls are also incredibly observant and perceptive, and the way I act and speak and think now is shaping the way they see and understand the world.
So I will show them that it's not just possible to love a normal body, it's not even up for debate. You won't find me covering up the silvery remnants of my stretch marks on the beach, or frowning in the mirror at the bits that wobble or sag. I'm not going to duck out of photos because my hair's a mess or a bad night has left me looking more haggard than usual. I'm never going to turn down food "because it'll make me fat" when I could "choose things that will help me be fit and strong" instead. If I try to exercise more it's in order to live longer and enjoy life more, not to turn my body into something for other people to look at. And I will live and believe these principles deep down in every fibre of my soul, because I know that Hattie can spot an inconsistency from a mile off. Plus, I really can't be bothered to do anything else.
We're off on a beach holiday in a couple of months. I can't wait. I might even wear a bikini. And my goodness, my poor neglected body is ready for some sea and sun. That's what beach body ready means, right?
These rather loathsome adverts are all over the London underground like a rash. My objection to them is more ideological than personal. I'm too old and wise (read hard-nosed and stubborn) to allow such blatant shallow advertising get to me. But I despise adverts that plays on fears and insecurities as these ones do, and I worry about the effect the ubiquity of the impossible photoshopped female form has on my naive and impressionable daughters, despite the eldest not being even 4 years old yet.
I'm in my mid-30s and my body has had a lot asked of it for the past few years. A solid 5-year stretch in which I was either pregnant or breastfeeding, a sedentary job, no time for exercise, and a diet driven by hormone-fuelled hunger and a weak will when it comes to chocolate. My party trick of being able to carry two tantruming children at once has not resulted in the kind of muscle tone you would expect from regularly lifting a combined 25kg that can kick and squirm. Despite all this I somehow manage to sit the right side of the BMI overweight line and my fitness is good enough to keep up with the kids (for now), even if it's not where I'd like it to be.
I'm sure the body nazis could find an awful lot to scowl at but I don't care. I'm happy with my life and my priorities and I'm certainly not going to ditch anything from my packed schedule so that I can introduce a "skincare regime".
I think any parent of girls (and increasingly boys) have concerns about their kids growing up to hate their bodies. I worry so much about my beautiful kids being miserable or starving themselves because they think that that's a normal response to a normal body. But my influence in their lives is infinitely more powerful than any advert - at least at the moment. And I know that my innocent and naive girls are also incredibly observant and perceptive, and the way I act and speak and think now is shaping the way they see and understand the world.
So I will show them that it's not just possible to love a normal body, it's not even up for debate. You won't find me covering up the silvery remnants of my stretch marks on the beach, or frowning in the mirror at the bits that wobble or sag. I'm not going to duck out of photos because my hair's a mess or a bad night has left me looking more haggard than usual. I'm never going to turn down food "because it'll make me fat" when I could "choose things that will help me be fit and strong" instead. If I try to exercise more it's in order to live longer and enjoy life more, not to turn my body into something for other people to look at. And I will live and believe these principles deep down in every fibre of my soul, because I know that Hattie can spot an inconsistency from a mile off. Plus, I really can't be bothered to do anything else.
We're off on a beach holiday in a couple of months. I can't wait. I might even wear a bikini. And my goodness, my poor neglected body is ready for some sea and sun. That's what beach body ready means, right?