Confession is Good for the Soul

I confess I've been spending increasingly excessive (and unnecessary) amounts of time in certain forum I will not name. It's usually not a problem, until a week ago. Someone I personally know opened a thread about plus-sized model Chloe Marshall, who was up for the title of Miss England.

I didn't post anything in this blog about this particular topic because:
1) I didn't have the time
2) I didn't know what to say
3) I believe that a single size 16 model won't make a true change in the beauty and health industry
4) It's a beauty pageant, for gossakes! And given point #3, it's such a biased event, with such a narrow spectrum of what beauty is, that I find all of it incredibly boring.

However, the girl that posted the thread thrives on pageants, celebrity gossip and your general menagerie of "girly" topics (makeup, diets, clothes). I decided to dive in when some other girls started talking about Miss Marshall's health.

The only facts stated in press releases are Miss Marshall's height and weight. This is, in my opinion, not enough data to go on to make a solid statement about the girl's health. However, I found out last week that there are more fans of the BMI index than believers in "God". And it seems a bit funny to me, considering that the BMI index was originally created by a Belgian mathematician for statistical purposes. It was not meant to be the end-all/be-all of health, much less was it meant to be the founding stone for physicians and health-care professionals to diagnose their patients' health.

Most people I know, however, swear by this scale. They don't believe that someone size 16 could be a healthy person. Miss Marshall said in her interviews that she eats sensibly and exercises regularly. I, for one, believe her, because I've seen girls the same size, young girls, beautiful girls, girls that eat normal amounts of healthy food (vegetables, fruit ... not junk food) and exercise normally as well. They are not naturally thin, and I really hope that these girls will understand that being a healthy size 12, for them, will always be more beautiful than a forced and emaciated size 5.

So, back to the forum thread, I immediately started voicing the opposing point of view, always the dissonance in the crowd. Obviously, most girls started voicing their own opinions, most of them based on the BMI index philosophy, most of them awash with fashion-industry culture and thought. But there was one, sister to the girl that started the thread, that right away pointed spears at me as an individual. Not so much my opinions, but the reason for them. Her specific words, and I quote, were: "Girl, instead of a stick on your shoulder, you have a sequoia tree."

Of course, she kept on at it, and the barrage didn't stop when I clarified that this was more of a cause than a personal issue. She made sure to always state that my points of view were an exclusive product of my body and image issues.

Well ... I wish I had had this blog post that day. Later on that day a friend of mine read the thread and insisted that I did have to lower my weight, of course, for health issues.

And this is the thing: they're both right. My friend is completely right and I know where he is coming from: concern, worry, affection. I appreciate it, the same way I appreciated every single comment I received the last time I touched the subject. Most of you who read this blog mean well, and I thank you for your attention and friendship.

But the girl at the forum, my ex-roommate's sister to be more precise ... well, she may be right. That afternoon, after all was written and read, I had to sit down and come to terms with the fact that I have as much a body and image issue as I did when I was an anorexic 16-year-old. But I do not appreciate her intentions. The way she expressed herself about the things I said helped me realize that she was more bent on hurting me or making me feel bad about being fat (and she probably thinks I am in denial about it too) than she could have intended for her words to be enlightening or helpful.

Whatever her reasons for being such a bitch (which she was, no se puede tapar el cielo con la mano), I suspect it has less to do with difference of opinion and more to do with things that went down a year ago. And that, to me, seems petty, shallow and rude.

However, I gotta thank her. That afternoon I cried a bit, because coming to terms with issues that have been standing there for 14 years is not easy. What my friend said made me realize that I do have to do something. But what that bitch said gave me the strength to actually START doing it.

So, thank you, bitch, whether you read this or not. You did me MUCH LESS harm than you probably intended. :) Isn't it ironic?

The Beautiful Fat Girl - A Fallacy

Even the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty chickens out before putting an obese woman at front and center

"Real women have curves", or so some say. Specially in this Caribbean piece of land, where we are told from a very early age that our heritage includes equal parts of Taínos (the indigenous people who occupied this island before the Spanish invasion), Spanish and African. Of course, that is pretty much a lie, since most taínos were finished off before the second or third generation after the invasion came to life, but I digress.

We are a mixed breed: we have African blood, as well as heritage from the Middle East and from Europe. Obviously, the mix of breeds results in the passage of dominant genes...

A huge, round ass is apparently the most widespread, lasting gift to us as a race.

Whether you're out at the supermarket, the mall, a disco, a church ... everywhere you will observe that most females are equipped with a considerable butt. The size of the rest of the body will depend mostly on age, and then metabolic heritage. But most women I've seen nearing their thirties have already lost their washboard abs and thighs of steel. A slim and lithe build seems to be reserved for girls 23 and under.

You would think then that given the increasing difficulty with which we face keeping a given weight and shape, we would be more empathic towards each other. Maybe I'm being too naive to expect women to be more enlightened as time passes, to start seeing beauty in things other than a perfectly formed butt and ribs that hint themselves out of a sinewy torso.

Some of us will never have the experience of fitting in with what the populace considers beautiful: an "ugly" face is rarely so as a general rule (someone will eventually find the most hideous of mugs strangely endearing), but a fat girl will never be considered pleasant to look at. If a girl is born fat and grows up fat, she will most likely live through the experience of being put through numberless diets by her own family, never being quite accepted for who she is, always being an "opportunity for improvement".

Eventually, those born fat will either start ignoring these forms of aggression (the "well-intended" advice to diet, the slanted looks, the whispers, the loud scorn by classmates - children can and WILL be cruel!) ... or in the worst of cases they will let the criticism eat away at their self worth. I have yet to meet a fat person who is completely happy with who she or he is. "There is always room for improvement".

There are other cases in which a girl is born slim, or grows up to be slim, and eventually age will do its job and fill her form out to a plump and round issue of itself. I don't mean to be an absolute judge of which pain is worse, but I can tell you it's incredibly mortifying to
a) not be recognized by old friends because you went way beyond recognizable with 50 additional pounds weighing on your belly and hips
b) being recognized by old friends, and said friends presuming off-the-bat that you are pregnant
c) look at pictures of barely 2 years ago and realizing you're not only growing old, you're growing fat.

In short: changing from "that hot mama" to "that fat mama" in 2 or 3 years' time is frustrating, and it gives a more somber perspective to aging.

However, one good thing I've noticed about my friends (most of which are fat) is that they usually will find loveliness in a person due mostly to what the person is like, rather than what the person looks like. We hate ourselves, we hate our bodies, but we can usually see beauty when it stands in front of us, even if it's living under 200 pounds of fat.


You type in "sexy girl" in google.com, and what do you get? A girl that is barely thicker than the snake she is holding.

Not so with thinner girls. I've surmised that somewhere along the line, something goes on in a thin girl's brain that clicks, and then suddenly they're on a class their own, they belong to a clique, and whatever stands outside this circle is not worth even looking at.

I've heard the most hurtful, insulting comments about fat people coming from a thin person's lips. I guess it's the same "fear of the different" that plays into action in racism and xenophobia.

And incredibly enough, we the "fatties" will give credit to what they say. We will let these comments corrode at our own confidence. I don't know why, I haven't yet figured it out, much less found out a solution to protect ourselves from it. But apparently, the bigger we are, the more vulnerable we become to comments coming from razor-thin assholes.

Saddest part is, these razor-thin assholes, given the way the corporate mechanism works, are the ones in charge, the ones making the decisions on marketing, advertising, purchasing, etc. These are the ones that will push for the airbrushed look on magazine covers, these are the ones that will create demand for thinner models and actresses, these are the ones creating a homogenized world of creatures more resembling the aliens from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, rather than a homo sapiens.

The tragedy of all of this? That the new generations are eating it up. Girls will want to emulate the next Kate Moss, and will begin checking themselves out in the mirror, making sure that the hip bone sticks out enough to be sexy. Boys will be fed pictures of airbrushed females, creating expectations that no regular girl will be able to fulfill (and let's not even talk about how males have been put under scrutiny lately, as well. That is a whole other chapter!). All around, a more strict guideline for beauty is being set up. And wherever we look and read, it's being perpetrated by males and females alike.

Long gone is the perception that men would prefer a "healthier" female over the stick-thin models showing up in street signs and corners in the 90s. I've been reading and hearing men, regular men, ogling at these stick-thin figures, more frequently as time passes. Suddenly, sexual desire is sparked by showing bones and slender thighs, not by the abundance of skin or shapely hips.


No matter that she's gorgeous, she will never be considered beautiful again until she loses those extra pounds...

We've been assimilated into the society of thin. A fat girl with a beautiful face will NEVER be "a beautiful girl". She will be "a beautiful fat girl", 'cuz you have to make it clear: she's beautiful but she's fat. Hence, she's not as beautiful as she could be (don't believe me? Even gorgeous girls will be put down in public if they're not picture perfect!).

So ... a girl both beautiful AND fat? Impossible. Not true in the eyes of society.



Writer's Note: This has been a rant brought to you by Diana Campo. You are welcome to express your opinions on the comment section, but be warned: I do not intend to give off the impression that I am in possession of the absolute truth about how things work and how people feel. This is just MY take on things, and I am very aware that my take on things will differ from a lot of other people's. Variety in opinion is most welcome. I look forward to your reactions! ;-)

Want!

These past few days have been a bit of a Self Crisis. If I were turning 45 in the next March 8th, I'd say I was having a bit of a mid-life crisis. What I refuse to admit, though, is that I'm having a Turning 30 Crisis, 'cuz that is just plain stupid, and I will have none of that in this house (my body is a temple!).

I've been feeling the strongest of urges: to go out drinking, to get a tattoo, to cut my hair, to dye it blue-black (again), to get my nails done, to do a total overhaul of what "Diana" has come to mean in the past few years. I had never felt so strongly about these things, and I'm a bit scared of going near any shopping mall, in fear that I might get drawn into it and shop myself a new self-image, leaving my credit card maxed out and my economy whimpering on a thin line.


Unfortunately, Ebay exists, and I've already succumbed to the purchase of 2 pairs of spiral taper plugs (earrings, for those not familiar with bod-mod lingo): one pair black, the other red. And I'm on the lookout for Hermes sandals, which are not that easy to find (good quality, i mean. The rip-offs abound and will give you a blister you will not soon forget). What else lies in store for this phase of compulsive buying and tendency to make myself over? I dunno. I bought a henna conditioner treatment yesterday, but that is just a lame pacifier for the forces that usually cause my transformations. It's like stopping a hurricane with a butterfly net.

*sigh* The itch for ink has just begun. Whip out your tattoo guns, boys. It's just a matter of time before I enter a door asking for mayhem on my skin.

I loooooove my perfume

Wish you had smell-a-vision. Then you'd be able to smell this...

I know, it's classified as "WTF" if it's coming from me, tooting Puff Daddy's horn for designing such a delicious fragrance (or tooting P. Diddy's horn at all). It was unintentional and the associations to the perfume made the purchase so much easier (and impulsive).














A few months ago I started reading the Sandman comic series by Neil Gaiman, and about time, given the whole lot I had heard before about the comic. I loved it, and I immediately connected with Delirium.

Thing is, one day I'm walking around a mall, and I picked up a small paper card sprayed with this perfume that I pretty much liked. I stowed the paper away, and took it home, used it as a bookmark for Brief Lives. The perfume permeated the whole book, accompanied me in the Delirium-ridden story, got into my nostrils and my senses until the smell of it was forever associated with Dream and Delirium.

This past weekend, Mom insisted on taking me shopping, and I budged. There were more than a few things I was wanting/needing. I decided to go snooping around Macy's perfume department, and I really don't understand how I recalled the name of the perfume so clearly. What I didn't remember so well was why I was remembering a perfume named Unforgiven.

As soon as I whiffed at it again, the decision was made, I had to have it. This perfume IS Delirium, this perfume IS Dream. It wasn't until I was drawing out the credit card to pay for it that I noticed what the signature on the back stood for.

Puff-fucking-Daddy, aka Sean John. Jeez!

But then again, he's got a better nose for fragrances BY FAR than all the little Hollywood bitches designing stenches for the gullible masses.

Perception of a Weekend: Before (Micro)

First things first - I did my own nails about one or two weeks ago, and the looked fantastic... for two days, that is, until the ol' nail polish chipped off. And that will happen, why not, I mean: i did only one coat, no top coat, no base coat. Can't be bothered with those details, but I realized having a fast-drying nail enamel helps making the process less painful (yes, beautifying myself is always painful).

I found this in my humble nail product box (which is really just an old, wobbly shoe box) in a nice, shimmery, cream-colored shade. Can't remember the name, but it was incredibly quick to dry (plus points) and it turned out to look gorgeous on my short-short nails (double plus points) But then mom showed me a Bettina shade that proved to be an inspiration (#168, I think ... did you know that the company that makes the Bettina nail polish we Puerto Rican girls buy for $1.99 a bottle in our local drugstores and supermarkets, has no presence in the internet!?!?!)

So, that would be my intentions today: buy Maybelline Express Nail Color in a shade called Racing Rubies (see pic above) and get some nice, dark red scratchers, very fast!

Tonight we have a small business get-together with one of the bands we sort-of manage (and by "we", I mean CarbonoMúsica), which means I will have to prove myself once again as ... The HouseWife!

That would mean (mainly) sweeping and mopping the house a bit (white tile is a bitch!), and cookin up some canapés...


HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!

I meant: grab a crate of beer and some chips and dip on the way home. ;-)

Tomorrow is supposed to be the second 1991 Sacred Heart School class pre-reunion, which would be sort of like a staff meeting to plan and talk about what needs to be done for the official reunion. I might go. I might not go. I still don't know, it all depends: Eze gets in to work (@ Border's) at 8PM. Frecuencias Alternas remains under Pepe's control, I might as well help him out.

And Sunday is still a blank, with a small hint of what could be done. BBQ, anyone?



... or maybe some cookies?

Beautifying the Beast

Well, since I spent my Sunday afternoon aimlessly ambling around the aisles at Walgreens (all the while cursing the dratted place for not selling packaging tape on Sundays), I decided to lift my spirits a bit by purchasing makeup replacements.

I was all out of pressed powder (I was dragging around small crumbs of face cake with the little sponge) and it was time to replace my mascara. Also, it's been a week or more since I last shaved my legs. After a lot of thinking, I decided to give up the razor in favor of a more "glamorous" way of getting rid of my leg hair. What got into me? Beats me! I just know I wanted a change in that sense, and after a lot of thinking, I decided in favor of waxing. At least you have to do it less often.

So I start looking for a wax that looks trustworthy and not too lethal. The variety of wax brands in here is fascinatingly sparse! My eye kept getting drawn to the tub of Nads, and in spite of the price tag ($20!!!) I ended up buying it.

In favor of Nads, I have to say that in spite of the bad rep, the thing does work. Most probably, a great deal of the people that have reviewed the product negatively have simply failed to note one detail in the instructions: when it says to spread a thin layer of the product over the area to be depilated, they mean thin. My first trial was with what i understood was a thin layer, and the strip took barely any hair at all. I was flabbergasted (and bummed out, since I thought it was $20 down the drain). But at the second try, Voilá! (and OUCHIEWAWA!) Lotsa hair off the skin! Yeah!

It will take a few days, since I don't want to overwork my skin (and I have tons of hair), but I will finish what I started.

When I got to my mom's home, I got handed this little particular tube:

It's a 'plumper', and the fucking thing works! It works at setting my lips on fire and making me look (and feel) like some superhero with spicy saliva gave me one fury-packed smacker! :-D Haha! Thanks, Tatts!

This morning I tried the new mascara I decided to buy:

Maybelline's Define-A-Lash Lengthening Washable Mascara (fucking long name!)
I wasn't wowed, but I wasn't disappointed either. And the little rubber brush is pretty funny to look at. Fun in the morning routine, yay!