Where is the one place you would never want to go on vacation that other people seem to love?
Where is the one place you would never want to go on vacation that other people seem to love?
Have you ever gotten involved with someone you shouldn’t have had a relationship with?
How funny, I was only talking about this to a co-worker the other week. I was telling her a story about a guy that I was casually seeing. We’ll refer to him as J.
I met J when I was in my early twenties. I was living in Malvern and life was great. J was an older guy (well, mid-late thirties, but I was about 23, so he was considerably older). J was just somebody that I really enjoyed hanging out with. Well, initially anyway.
My relationship with J was interesting. I wouldn’t even call it a relationship, it was more of a friendship. He lived in Fitzroy in this incredible 4-storey converted warehouse apartment which was just utterly breathtaking. I still remember the first time I went to his place, and when he gave me the tour, my mouth just dragged along the ground the whole time as we went from floor to floor. J was one of those people who always managed to find the good in people, and remind them of all the wonderful qualities they possess; identifying everything about them that makes them special and unique.
I remember one time he and I had agreed to just go for a drive, and we ended up somewhere in Port Philip Bay, and walked all the way out along a pier to a breakwater and sat there for quite some time just having this incredible D & M (Deep & meaningful). At this point in my life, I had distanced myself from G, and this night; this conversation, I opened up so much to this person who was still somewhat of a stranger, and he actually questioned my decisions; asked how I was feeling; and all I remember was bawling my eyes out for most of the conversation. As somebody who doesn’t necessarily reveal their emotional state, I had a lot of pent up emotions that literally came flooding out. It was as though such a massive weight had been lifted off my shoulders and off my soul. It was quite cleansing. I actually think it was one of the very very few times in my life where I’ve actually opened up so much and allowed myself to become so incredibly vulnerable.
After that, I realised that the time I spent with J was going to be quite safe and somewhat healing. Whenever I went around to his place, we would just hang out, watch a movie; have dinner; or just sit there for hours and talk about anything and everything. It was like therapy, without actually having to pay for it. Sometimes I’d even just go over there after a really shitty day at work, and fall asleep on his couch for a few hours, just to have a decent sleep. I really enjoyed being in such a calm and relaxing environment.
Then, he started acting a bit odd.
It began when he admitted that he had feelings for me. I’d be naive to say that I didn’t already have an idea that he felt like this, but those feelings certainly weren’t reciprocated – I made it quite clear that I wanted nothing more than to just be friends with him. He, however, wanted more.
One day I was at his place, and I had just woken up from a nap on his couch, and he was in the kitchen cooking some pasta for dinner. I layed there just observing, and soaking up my surroundings and revelling in this feeling of happiness and comfortable environment. Then it dawned on me that most of the conversations we’d had were about not just my issues and feelings, but regular topics as well… however I realised that although he now knew so much about me, I knew very little about him. Whenever I had asked him about himself and his life etc, he quickly changed topics, or avoided them completely. Realising that this was incredibly one-sided, and that for a friendship to actually work properly, both parties need to be open to the idea of sharing details about themselves. He couldn’t avoid the conversation forever – it just doesn’t work like that.
We sat down for dinner at his massive solid timber dining table (seriously, it was like a massive tree trunk, just cut in half lengthways, right down the centre. It sat 14 comfortably, and had long matching bench seats. It was such an incredible piece of timber… and naturally, cost an absolute fortune!!) and just began talking about whatever was being reported on the news, and then there was a bit of silence, and I took a deep breath and confronted him about his avoidance of discussing anything about him.
Well, had I known that he was going to react the way he did, I wouldn’t have said anything. He froze, was staring at his bowl of pasta, and I saw the skin on his neck instantly turn bright red. His grip tightened around his fork, and in a very calm voice, without making eye-contact, calmly said “I’ve already told you before that I don’t like to talk about myself. I’ve already told you before that we don’t talk about me”.
I sat back and apologised, and tried to explain myself, pointing out that all we’ve ever done is talk about me, and that it’s becoming quite one-sided – he knows so much about me, and yet I barely know anything about him…
“HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES AM I GOING TO HAVE TO TELL YOU TO MAKE SURE THAT YOU GET IT THROUGH YOUR JUVENILE FUCKING MIND, THAT WE. DON’T. TALK. ABOUT. ME!! WHY IS THAT SO FUCKING DIFFICULT FOR YOU TO UNDERSTAND? I FEEL LIKE I HAVE TO KEEP FUCKING REMINDING YOU, BECAUSE YOU SEEM TO KEEP FUCKING ASKING ME ABOUT IT? WHAT IS IT WITH YOU? ARE YOU JUST COMPLETELY FUCKING STUPID OR SOMETHING? IS THE MESSAGE NOT GETTING THROUGH? DO YOU THINK I JUST SIT HERE AND SAY THIS FOR FUN? PERHAPS IF I WANTED TO FUCKING TALK ABOUT MYSELF, THEN I’D FUCKING DO SO, NOT JUST BECAUSE YOU START TO DEMAND THAT I DO SO. IT DOESN’T WORK LIKE THAT.”
I don’t actually remember what else was screamed at me after that. During that initial outburst, he had picked up his bowl and thrown it across the room, sending pasta all over the floor, and smashing the ceramic bowl against one of the kitchen walls. In all honesty, I thought he was going to kill me. The rage in his beady little eyes was simply terrifying and I knew that I was on the second floor of this building, so racing out and jumping over the balcony wasn’t exactly an option.
I didn’t really know how to react. I think I was just far too terrified to even look at him, so I just sat there, staring into my bowl of pasta. His tirade continued for several minutes, but it felt like an eternity. I just wanted it to stop long enough for him to catch his breath so I could just grab my stuff and run downstairs. My heart was racing and my palms were sweaty. I really had no idea what to do. This was the moment I realised that something was so severely wrong with this guy, and I began to understand exactly why we never talked about him. It was like Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with this guy. I couldn’t believe that somebody who was so completely comforting and relaxing to be around, would completely flip out like this.
I didn’t want to stay any longer.
I waited until the screaming stopped, and I apologised for upsetting him, clearly not knowing that it was such a severely sensitive issue for him. I walked over to get my backpack and my jumper and headed towards the hallway. As I got close enough, he pushed the timber bench seat across the doorway, “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO LEAVE? DO YOU SERIOUSLY THINK THAT YOU’RE FUCKING LEAVING NOW? YOU’VE UPSET ME SO MUCH, YOU’RE NOT FUCKING GOING ANYWHERE, YOU CAUSED THIS AND NOW YOU’RE GOING TO FIX THIS!!”
I told him again that I was sorry and that I had no intentions of upsetting him whatsoever, and that I thought it would just be better for both of us if I left. I offered to help him clean up, and he screamed at me some more, so I said that I should just leave so he can calm down and when he’s had some time to think about it, we can talk about it later.
“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND? DO YOU SERIOUSLY THINK THAT I’M GOING TO LET SOME STUPID CHILDISH LITTLE CUNT LIKE YOU FUCKING TELL ME WHAT I’M GOING TO DO? WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? NO, REALLY, WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? BECAUSE ALL I SEE IS SOME FUCKING INSECURE FUCKING PRETENDER, WHO LIKES TO ACT ALL SMART AND INTELLIGENT AND ALL TOGETHER, BUT WHO REALLY IS SO INCREDIBLY FUCKING INSECURE WITH HIMSELF THAT HE MAKES HIMSELF OUT TO BE SOMEBODY HE ISN’T BECAUSE HE’S NOTHING BUT A FUCKING WANNABE. YOU’RE FUCKING NOTHING. YA HEAR ME? NOTHING. YOU ARE THE FUCKING SCUM OF THE EARTH AND I CANNOT EVEN BELIEVE THAT I EVEN LET YOU INTO MY LIFE, WHEN ALL YOU’VE DONE IS TRY TO FUCKING DESTROY IT, BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT CUNTS LIKE YOU DO… DESTROY PEOPLE’S LIVES, SO FUCK YOU!!
I took a deep breath and asked him to move out of my way. He refused.
I asked him again, and he pushed me down onto the bench seat.
I asked him one more time to let me leave, otherwise I would call the police. He refused.
I exhaled, spun around on the bench seat and walked over to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water.
“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”
Well, J, I’m taking a moment to pull myself together, because I’ve asked you three times to let me leave, and you’ve refused. You have just pushed me down onto the bench which could be classified as physical assault, and after the last 25 minutes of you screaming at me, that’s just verbal abuse. You’ve left me with no option that to contact the police and inform them that you’re holding me here against my will. So if you don’t mind, I’ve got a phone call to make.
From the look he was giving me, and the colour red his face had gone, I literally thought his head was actually going to explode all over the doorway. He began to climb over the bench. I’m warning you, J. I’ve got the number ready to go. I showed him the screen with 000 ready to be dialled. So, now we can do this the easy way, and you can let me leave, or we can do it the hard way and involve the police. And I don’t think that police charges involving haloing somebody hostage and physical assault will look too good with your peers, will it?
“ARE YOU FUCKING THREATENING ME?”
No, I’m making you a promise. If I wanted to threaten you, I’d tell you that there’s a third option, it’s called ‘take another step towards me, and I will literally beat the living daylights out of you and put you in hospital’. So you tell me, how do you want this to play out?
Suddenly, there was a Mexican standoff. He was standing on the bench in the doorway, and I was standing in the kitchen… literally surrounded by a multitude of potential weapons. Without losing eye-contact with him, I felt around the bench top for the rolling pin, and picked it up with my free hand. He climbed down off the bench very slowly, and stood there. He was so full of rage, and I was backed into a corner. Even I knew that I was all talk, but I knew that if it came to the crunch, and I had to defend myself, I’d do a pretty damn good job of doing so, and I’d do a bit of damage in the process.
“DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT I’M SCARED OF YOU? YOU’RE NOTHING BUT AN INSECURE LITTLE CUNT! YOU WOULDN’T DARE TOUCH ME!”
I WARNED YOU, ONE MORE STEP, AND I HIT DIAL.
He thought I was bluffing. So I hit dial.
‘Emergency services. Police, Fire or Ambulance?’
“YOU FUCKING CUNT!!”
Yes, Police please…
I was connected to an operator and explained the situation. J kept inching his way further, as I tried to explain my situation. Screaming out the whole time that he was going to kill me. I put them on loudspeaker so I could throw things at his head in an attempt for him to keep his distance. They asked me if I needed police assistance with the situation. J screamed out no, and I said yes. They said they’d send a car to the location of the call and would be there within minutes.
I kept the line open and jumped up on the kitchen bench as he charged towards me.
“WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE YOU FUCKING CUNT? THOSE FUCKERS ARE GOING TO BE HERE AGAIN! YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD. I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU, YOU HEAR ME, I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU, CUNT!!”
‘WELL DONE, THE POLICE JUST HEARD ALL OF THAT. I’M GOING TO ATTEMPT TO LEAVE NOW!!’ and leapt off the kitchen bench and made a dash for the hallway. As I leapt over the bench seat, I looked back to see how close he was and he had slipped on the pasta. I kept running down stairs, to the entrance and waited to hear him come after me.
I opened the doors and walked outside into the freezing winter air. I could hear a tram in the distance, and the temptation to just jump on the tram and go home and never look back was so incredibly appealing. However, something in the back of my head felt concerned. The fact that he had slipped and didn’t get up to come after me was of concern to me. What if he was hurt? What if he was badly hurt? Oh my god, what if he was dead? I’d be charged with murder. Oh god, I’d go to jail. I can’t go to jail!
I waited for the police to turn up, and I introduced myself and explained the whole situation. I told them about my concerns that he hadn’t followed me, and I requested to go and check that he was okay. One of the officers remained in the car and called for an ambulance, and the other officer went into the apartment. A few minutes later, he radioed to the other officer that everything was okay. The ambulance had arrived by this stage, and we all went into the apartment and upstairs to the kitchen.
As I walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, I could hear J crying, whilst trying to talk to the officer. I let the other officer and ambo walk in whilst I stood out of sight to listen to what he was saying. I peeked around the corner and saw him sitting up against the wall with his hands cuffed behind his back; squashed pasta and sauce all over his top and face, and blood coming from his face. Turns out he was okay, he’d cut his face on broken pieces of the ceramic bowl he smashed against the wall earlier.
I walked around the corner and let him see me. The person sitting on the floor was a completely different guy. This wasn’t the rage-fuelled monster threatening to kill me only minutes before. This was the J that I knew.
He felt so remorseful, and couldn’t stop apologising for whatever he had done. He hoped that he hadn’t hurt me, and was so sorry if he did. I stood there, and gave my statement to the police in a play-by-play making sure not to leave out any detail. I just glared at him the whole time, and watched him sob uncontrollably. When the ambo’s had finished cleaning up his cuts, they left and I was escorted out of the room so they could interview him. Turns out he had absolutely no recollection of what happened. He completely flipped out, and it’s not the first time it’s happened. According to him, it happens from time to time, he has these fits of rage where his memory goes completely blank and he has no recollection of anything that happens.
The police asked if I wanted to press charges, but to demonstrate that I’m not the monster, I refused and simply told him that he needs to get professional help. I could no longer be his friend, and wanted to have no further contact with him. The police even suggested taking out a restraining order, but I said that it wasn’t necessary. They escorted me out of the building, and got me to see the ambo’s to be treated for any injuries. I just said I was in shock, and then the police drove me home.
A few weeks later I received an email from J, who happened to write in detail all about himself. His issues, his personality disorders, his medication… anything and everything I had ever wanted to know was there in black and white. I couldn’t believe that he was actually detailing all this highly personal information and sending it to me. I was amazed at what I was reading, but acknowledged just how much it must have taken for him to get to this point. I figure this was his way of making amends or a way of apologising to me.
Soon afterwards, he began calling me again. And then calling me constantly. Wanting to meet up and talk. Wanting to hang out again. Asking if I’d like to come over to his place. I ignored all his calls, until I saw him parked outside my apartment one night when I arrived home from work.
I couldn’t believe it. After everything that had happened, he was still behaving like this. I wasn’t standing for it. I walked over to his car, and belted my hand on his window and started yelling at him. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? YOU’RE STALKING ME NOW? DO YOU REALLY WANT TO TEST ME AGAIN, BECAUSE YOU KNOW BETTER THAN TO CALL MY BLUFF. I WILL HAVE YOU ARRESTED… SO I SUGGEST YOU DRIVE AWAY RIGHT NOW, AND NEVER SHOW YOUR FACE AROUND HERE. I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY TO YOU, AND I DON’T WANT TO HEAR WHAT YOU HAVE TO SAY TO ME. NOW, PLEASE LEAVE, OR I’M CALLING THE POLICE… SERIOUSLY… JUST. GO.
And on that, he didn’t even wind down the window. He nodded, started the engine, and drove off. That was the last time I ever had any contact with J. It’s a shame that it turned out the way that it did, but unfortunately that’s just how it played out. I actually haven’t even thought about him until now. I wonder if he ever managed to resolve any of his issues?? Oh well.
People come into our lives for all different reasons. I like to think that J came into my life to get me to experience the true feeling of vulnerability. Which might explain why I’m so heavily guarded now?
Do you believe that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Or do you think there is a basic standard of beauty that everyone agrees upon?
**WARNING: Contains stereotypes and generalisations**
I vaguely remember watching a Comedy Debate a couple of years ago on this exact same topic… I guess it probably would have helped if I had been paying attention more, then I could have relayed the messages from both sides of the debate.
There are so many different ways in which I could address this, so let’s just see how this all unfolds, shall we? I think I’ll break it up into a few different sections.
Is there a basic standard of beauty that everyone agrees upon? Yes and no.
Let’s take this whole concept of beauty back to the most iconic of them all, Barbie.
Barbie has gone through quite a number of changes over the years, but looking at the image above, it’s quite obvious that she’s had a bit of work done. Poor old Babs was stuck with that 50’s-esque body type and some people felt that she needed a bit of a change. So off she went to hospital, had a few ribs removed and come out looking like a brand new bitch.
The problem with Barbie is that although she may be one of the most fashionable ladies in the history of, well, ever, the fact still remains that some view her as a negative role model for young women. Girls all over the world have looked up to Barbie and told themselves that one day, they too will be just like her – blonde and plastic-fantastic. And unfortunately, some make it their life’s mission. Everybody knows somebody like this – the blonde dyed hair, the fake breasts, fake lips, constantly covered in fake tan. And they no doubt have their own version of ‘Ken’ – the tall guy with rippling muscles everywhere that can barely string a sentence together.
This brings me to my first topic:
Beauty and Fitness
Now that it’s the era of the gym bunny – these Ken’s and Barbie’s probably spend their lives at the gym, toning up the rest of their body in the pursuit of what they consider ‘perfection’. But to some people, the ideal of ‘perfection’ doesn’t necessarily equate to ‘beautiful’. Have a look at these lovely ladies and all their, um, fakeness. Some might consider them to be beautiful. Others, however, might assume that they’re all dancing down at the local Oompa-Loompa strip club for when Willy Wonka’s minions feel like a boys night out and wanna blow a wad (of cash!).
Some of the Barbie’s probably also do something called ‘Bikini Modelling’ which is apparently, a thing now… but basically it’s just these gym bitches parading around in a couple of strips of material which is smothered in diamantes and sequins in order to attempt to cover their pikachu, whilst they parade around in those ‘glass’ hooker heels. to show off all the hard work they’ve put in at the gym – and probably all the food that they haven’t been eating in order to help ‘shred’ those last few pounds.
Oh, I totally forgot – they’re also the type of person who is probably so narcissistic that they feel the need to constantly take selfies and share them on every type of social media account they have… just so other ‘models’ can message them and say ‘OH MY GAWWWWD… OMG GAWD YOU LOOK SOOOOO HAWT…’ and then flick their hair and give a little duck-face.
Let’s face it, she looks like she’s a heartbeat away from pole-dancing lessons.
I’m in two minds about this. Yes, I think it’s great that you’re going to the gym and working on your body etc… but are you actually fit?? Yes, you might spend 3 days a week working on your legs, but can you actually run? I’ve seen far too many people at the gym who look ‘fit’, but are actually quite the opposite. And to be honest, I secretly enjoy it. I love nothing more than going to a high-intensity interval class and seeing some muscled up jock there as well, and then see him struggling during the first track of a 30-min class, only for him to give up by track 2 or 3. Now, I’m not exactly a beacon of health and fitness myself, I’m somewhere in the middle. It just goes to show you that yes, you can spend every spare moment you have, of everyday, in the gym targeting each and every muscle group on your body, so you too can get to a point where you can’t buy regular clothes and you have to walk around holding invisible briefcases, but when tubbly ol’ me goes into a class with you, you’re expected to be able to wipe the floor with the rest of us, because you look the way you do. Nobody is anticipating on seeing you, not even half-way through the class, collapsed on your bench wondering if you’re about to have a coronary.
Like I said earlier, we associate muscle with fitness, when really it’s just strength, not actual fitness. Next time you’re at the gym, just take a moment and look at the people who are in a group fitness class. Look at their body types. They may be sweating and grunting and have their ugly concentration face on, but do you consider them beautiful? Now go for a wander down to the free-weights area and check out the people there and their bodies. It’s okay, I’m giving you permission to perve. Do you consider this group more beautiful simply because of their dedication to muscle definition? If you just said yes, don’t you think that sounds a bit shallow?
And don’t get it twisted, this is NOT what I mean by ‘cardio’.
There’s also a couple of different types of bodies that people consider fit. For example, the ripped guy who’s trying to look like The Hulk… some view him as fit. The triathlete / runner / cyclist etc. Some view them as fit whilst others just think their skinny. Yet, those who are simply swimmers, are a different body type all together. ‘Fitness’ (and I use the term loosely) comes in all shapes and sizes, and all are considered beautiful to all different types of people. To these people, the athletes, their bodies are treated like machines. They are all about the biomechanics of how their body works, how it needs to perform and how they can improve that performance. It’s no longer considered a body, it’s a machine. And to be an athlete is something that requires pure dedication, which in turn, becomes a thing of beauty (especially if it’s on film and being shown in slo-mo… moreso if it’s a hot guy without his top on hehehe).
An ex-boyfriend of mine was once part of the Victorian Institute of Sport, and I remember him telling me stories about some of the people who live there, and how much dedication they put towards what they do. Specific sleeping, eating and training patterns that would seem ridiculous to the average person, but is considered normal to those at VIS. He would tell me stories about the punishing training they put themselves through; the pain that they have to experience almost constantly all in the belief that it might earn them a gold medal, or better, Olympic medal. You might seem them competing at a national or even international level doing something that they’ve dedicated their lives to. Completely tortured themselves in the process, and there’s no denying that that’s not something truly beautiful.
I don’t think I could possibly continue writing any more if I didn’t at least address the most obvious topic – Ballet.
Ballet, I think would have to be regarded as the most beautiful form of dance in the history of the world. It’s so elegant and graceful, and let’s be honest, those skinny bitches know how to fly around on that stage and make it look so effortless. I remember when I was younger reading an article about fitness and sport, and there was a study done between all different types of athletes. Sprinters, runners, swimmers, footy players, soccer players, basketball players etc and a male ballet dancer. They were put through a series of drills to measure endurance, cardiovascular activity, Co2 etc, and who came out on top?? The ballet dancer. That article then went on to talk about how dance in general should be considered a sport, because dancers are a type of athlete… well, that, and dance is beautiful. Art in motion. Emotive.
They’re also a bit obsessive. The hardcore ones have either inhaled a bit too much hairspray over the years, and had their hair-buns pulled a bit too tight, because they are all striving for the same thing – perfection. The problem is, that like most sports, the pursuit of perfection is never easy. It’s long and it’s painful, but the result is beauty.
HOWEVER, this type of beauty does come at a cost. Especially for ballerinas. What is the cost?
How beautiful do you think ballet is now? Does it change your views at all? The phrase ‘pain is beauty‘ is no truer than right now. The ballerina, let’s face it, will go through the gates of hell in order to achieve ‘perfection’, but unfortunately, their concept of perfection may be rather different to yours or mine. These ladies, literally, torture themselves all in the name of dance, art, grace and beauty. Yes, the end result can be simply breathtaking, however, there is a trade off. That image above, is the trade off.
So everytime you see a ballerina doing this:
…I want you to remind yourself of this:
In this instance beauty certainly is in the eye of the beholder, because we don’t see underneath. We don’t see the mangled feet, or the bloodied pointe shoes. We don’t see the bruising, or the contorted joints. We don’t see the tears and the pain. We just see the elegance floating on the stage in tulle.
That is Rick Genest a.k.a. Zombie Boy. He is covered from head to toe and everywhere in between with tattoos. Most of it is all anatomical – bones, organs, veins etc. Most people would look at him and feel uncomfortable, or even scared, simply because of his tattoos. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a human being like the rest of us, he just looks a little different. Why should he be judged on what’s on the outside, rather than what’s on the inside?
Some people would consider him ugly, yet others consider him living art, and yet he’s achieved quite a lot. He’s been featured in Theirry Mugler’s fashion shows, he’s done makeup campaigns, he’s even in the Born This Way video for Lady Gaga.
People wonder why others go to such extremes with tattoos – in today’s society, it’s quite common place to see people with ‘sleeves’, or tattoos on various parts of their bodies, and even that in itself has people divided, and I for one have seen some really ugly tattoos and some that are truly beautiful works of art. I might not necessarily agree that it needed to be tattooed, but it’s still a form of art, and art is considered to be beautiful, right?
I came across the following video when doing some research on Mr Genest, and came across a video campaign he did for DermablendPro, which is truly remarkable:
After seeing him covered in tattoos, and then seeing him with ‘normal’ looking skin, it’s quite a dramatic change, and almost makes you question why a person would do that to their body.
Personally, I think it’s fascinating, and I believe that he is a walking, breathing work of art. The amount of work that has gone into those tattoos, the detail, not to mention the cost and the pain, it’s all in the name of his image. And like the saying goes, ‘pain is beauty’ – or does that now only apply to corset’s and stiletto’s?
This brings us to the next topic – beauty and fashion. Hands up those of you who always dreamt about being a supermodel. Yeah, me too. I would sometimes dream that if I were born a girl, I’d grow up to become a Glamazon as well. Tall. Toned. Legs for days. I’d have an incredible body, and I’d use it to make a fortune.
As a kid who grew up in the 80’s and 90’s, it was the time of the true supermodel legends – Linda Evangelista, Claudia Schiffer, Cindy Crawford, Christy Turlington, Naomi Campbell, Helena Christensen, Eva, Herzigova. Gorgeous women who drove men wild with lust and drove women wild with jealousy. They were everywhere you turned – commercials, magazine covers, interviews, billboards on the sides of buildings etc. The world was obsessed with them and couldn’t get enough of them. They were the epitome of beauty. Ladies went to the extreme of drawing on a mole that looked like Cindy Crawford’s.
Imitation is the highest form of flattery, dahhhlings.
But then something happened, over the years the modelling industry took a turn for the worse and started to give off the image that only emaciated young girls could be models, and for quite some time, some designers would only use these types of girls in their runway shows. That was considered beautiful. Some skeletal bag of bones who looks like she’s been wrapped in couture and sent down the runway in a pair of stilts. Sorry, no. Not in the slightest. (Sidenote: if you’re looking for a laugh, do search for videos of models falling down. Guaranteed to make you feel better!)
Now, let’s fast forward to 2013 / 2014 and shine a spotlight on Carmen Carrera. Carmen is the first transgender model. I had never heard of Carmen before, until I saw her walk in the Marco Marco show.
Check out the full show:
When it comes to the modelling industry, it can easily be summed up in one word:
However, have you ever really looked at a fashion show, and studied the models, rather than the clothes? The models seems to all look the same, especially the male models. They all just seem to be clones of each other – they have the exact same body type, the exact same chiseled jaw, and the same blank expression that tells us there really isn’t much going on upstairs. I put them in the same category as all the other hot guys – you can stand there and look beautiful, but please, for the love of god, don’t say anything.
The other issue I have with the modeling industry is that even now, even after it’s cleaned up its act a bit and now actually wants people, rather than bags of bones in Manolo’s, it’s still giving people, primarily young women, this unhealthy view that in order to be accepted, you need to look like a model. You can’t achieve anything unless you skinny. You can’t be in the media. You can’t fit in with the cool kids at school. Boy’s won’t talk to you etc.
What a bunch of crap!
This, however takes me to my next topic:
Women who are overweight, have always been made to feel bad about themselves, mainly due to mainstream media. It’s plastered with skinny bitches, and they’re always shown to be having fun – they’re on the beach with their (skinny) girlfriends, splashing in the water in their bikini’s and then get approached by a group of guys (ie: gay male models); or their on jewellery commercials, getting earrings, and bracelets from their male-model boyfriend / fiance / husband (again, gay!). Their the ones at fast food restaurants, stuffing their faces with a burger or fried chicken, and having a great time.
…but where are the plus-sized girls?
Why is it that even now, even in 2014, plus-size is still something that isn’t being accepted by the media. Despite the campaigns by various groups to have more ‘bigger’ girls in mainstream media, it just doesn’t happen. What kind of message is this sending to women? As a gay man, to me this says ‘you’ll never be this happy unless your skinny. You’ll never get these kinda of diamonds, or meet a man this attractive, unless your skinny. You’ll never enjoy fried food like this, unless your ski-…’ actually, I think that if you’re a bigger girl, you’re more likely going to enjoy that fried chicken soooo much more than some skinny bitch.
In my search for images of plus-sized models, I came across this little gem:
Who says that bigger women aren’t beautiful, or can’t be beautiful. Can you sit there and look at a plus-sized model and say she doesn’t look beautiful? The key word being model. She’s a model. It’s no longer a word for anorexic bitches on stilts. It’s expanded. It’s diversified. However, there needs to be more light shone on plus sized models to give them the attention, and the recognition they deserve.
I sit here and look at society and think that it must be really tough for anybody who’s a size 12 or bigger, because fashion in it’s purest form is targeted only to those who seem to not like eating, or prefer the taste of their fingers after each meal. What kind of fucked up message does that send to women? No wonder the ‘dieting’ section of supermarkets and health food stores etc is rapidly expanding. It’s like society’s way of giving the skinny bitches an All-Access Pass to life, whilst letting all the bigger girls wait in line behind the velvet rope. How is that fair? It’s high-school all over again. Where the skinny bitches are the cheerleaders fucking the quaterback of the football team, and the bigger girls are hanging out together eating their feelings. And why do they have so many feelings? Because of the skinny bitches being such haters.
Just look at her, curves in all the right places. She is BEAUTIFUL!! And anybody who thinks otherwise, can get themselves well and truly fucked.
Now, having said that, I have to address something. Being somebody who works in the health and fitness industry, there is something to be said for bigger girls feeling sorry for themselves. They too have the ability to lose weight, but it requires effort. It requires changes to diet, it requires exercise, it requires persistence and dedication, and not many big girls have that drive. They would like it to happen, but they want the results without the effort. Unfortunately it doesn’t work like that.
In my experience, I’ve had a number of bigger girls cross my path and I just love the fact that they’ve decided to get active and do something about their weight.
Now, before you start hating on me, I completely understand that everybody has their issues. You might struggle with your weight, it could be a thyroid problem, it could be a genetic condition, but you can’t just sit back, give up and accept it. Well, unless you’re truly happy with how you look and how it makes you feel. If you’re happy to own your size, then good for you. I’m talking about the other ones, the ones who are bigger and unhappy and just lazy. The only one you have to blame is yourself. Yes, I know that you feel like crap because of whatever reason, and yes, I COMPLETELY understand how eating that entire cake is going to make you feel better (trust me, I do it too!) but at the end of the day, it’s not doing you any good.
I only look at this from a health perspective and nothing more. It’s not healthy to be overweight, and any medical professional will tell you this. The problem however, is that what is considered to be a ‘healthy’ weight range, is still considered to be overweight. And that’s wrong. Have you ever checked your Body Mass Index (BMI)? It’s a calculation of your weight and your height and gives you a result. If you want, you can check it out here. I just put mine in, and because I’m 1kg out of the range, I’m considered overweight. For me, that’s somewhat upsetting, but at the same time I just brush it. My weight is always up and down, so I don’t really focus on it. If I’m happy, I’m happy. I know there’s room for improvement, but I’m too lazy to put in even more time at the gym for my own gains. i’m too busy working full time and teaching my classes.
For me, when I teach a class, I love the feeling that it gives me when a bigger person can come to me and thank me… thank me for a class, thank me for putting a smile on their face, thank me for helping them ignore life for an hour, just so they can sweat and dance and have some fun. I love that. I love it because it’s reassurance that I’m doing something right. We don’t often get real feedback like that, but when we do, we treasure it. I’m not there for the social aspect. I’m not there to see friends (it’s nice though). I’m there to positively change people’s lives, and make a big enough impact on them so they’ll want to come back again and again.
The one pet peeve I have about the gym are the posers. Those people who come to the gym, and stand there and stare at their own reflections in the mirror the whole time. Yes, I understand that when using weights you need a mirror to check your technique, but heaven forbid that those last couple of squats you did put a few hairs out of place.
You just just get the fuck out. Right now.
Or the people who do classes, and are always in the front row, doing the same thing. They probably have terrible teqnique, so sense of direction or timing etc, but they just stare at themselves the entire time, completely oblivious to what’s happening in the class around them. OR, they’re the people who go in full-makeup, but don’t want to sweat.
Sorry bitches, if you’re coming to my class, you’re here to work. Please don’t turn up and waste my time if you’re not prepared to actually do something. If you wanna go put yourself on parade for everybody to look at, go be a beauty queen.
Beauty pageants. Ugh. Just the concept of a beauty pageant is so ridiculous to me. Basically, it’s a competition only for the pretty, skinny bitches. But it’s a competition to see who’s the prettiest! It’s nothing more than a glorified popularity contest. The only difference is, that these bitches get a cash prize, and the opportunity to parade themselves around the world, telling the world ‘Look at me, I’m the prettiest bitch in the WHOLE WORLD (Miss Universe)”… and then they can go off and blow every guy who says their pretty. I loathe these things. Miss America, Miss USA, Miss World, Miss Universe…
However, without them, we wouldn’t have things like Miss Congeniality, and train-wreck TV shows such as Toddlers and Tiara’s, and of course, Honey Boo Boo.
As much as HBB is one of those shows you just hate to watch, it’s like a secret indulgence. Like when you drive past a car accident, and you just want to stop and have a look, but you know that you shouldn’t – this is how I feel about HBB – you shouldn’t watch it, but it’s so bad, it’s good.
For those of you who don’t know, HBB is a pudgy little girl who does ‘Kiddie Pageants’. Which, are pretty much one of the worst things for a girl to get involved in – well, unless you’re anorexic and your overbearing parents (usually the mother) have tens-of-thousands of dollars to just throw away on costumes and glitter (OMG the glitter!) in some vain attempt at getting you to win the local popularity beauty pageant.
What I love about HBB is that she’s not the skinniest, she’s not really that talented, nor that intelligent, and she sometimes refers to herself in the third-person, and she doesn’t really give a shit. That certainly doesn’t stop her from entering these ridiculous competitions, and in a way, I actually kind of admire her for doing so, because it says to the other tubby kids out there ‘hey, if I can do it, then you can do it too!’ I’m not saying that it’s necessarily easy for her to enter these, but she enjoys herself, and hell, she’s got her own ridiculous TV show out of it.
This is what I like – the overweight people with the fuck you attitude. The ones who aren’t afraid to put themselves out there, even if it’s going to open them up for ridicule.
There needs to be more of this. If the world is going to insist on continually promoting these skinny-bitch pageants, then why can’t full-figured women enter them as well. What has happened to our society where we only want to promote and focus on the pretty thin girls. Like I said before, just because you’re pretty, doesn’t make you smart. Anybody can parade around in some hooker heels and a bikini (See – Bikini Models), but that doesn’t necessarily mean you can string a sentence together.
Well, wasn’t that just a lovely little segue? Paying so much attention to the media, I am of the general view that pretty people are only that – pretty. Pretty certainly doesn’t mean intelligent. As is the case with the youtube clip above, you could be trying to win the vote for the prettiest girl in all the land, and you might not necessarily be able to construct a sentence, but men don’t care about that. As long as you stay thin and pretty, and don’t talk, they’re happy. Oh and as long as you blow them on command and make them a sandwich afterwards, everything will be great.
Hmmm… anybody else suddenly feel like we’ve travelled back to the 50’s??
I am fortunate enough to know a number of people who have both brains and beauty, because, well, generally the two don’t go hand in hand. Well, that’s not entirely true. They do go hand-in-hand, it’s just that it’s actually quite rare – like unicorns.
But I think in society nowadays if somebody is quite good looking, there’s almost a pre-conceived notion that they’re a bit simple. I know that whenever I have somebody who’s really good looking comes up to me and actually deliver a proper sentence, and manages to do so without a grunt, or a hair twirl, or a pout, I almost die of shock. And don’t even get me started on the use of ‘LOL-speak’ – i’ll end up in a table-flipping rage. Seriously, USE A PROPER WORD FOR A CHANGE!! WHY IS IT SO FUCKING HARD… soz, i mean uze props wrdz 4 a chng. Y s it so fckn hrd?
Just. Kill. Me. Now.
I’m not saying that pretty people can’t be smart, I just think that my personal experience is that pretty and smart people are quite rare. They’re an endangered species. We need to get them all together and start a breeding program for them, so they can multiply and we can release them back into our dysfunctional society. I also think that there are a number of smart-pretty people who are just dumb. They do dumb shit. They ask dumb questions. The stuff that makes you wonder how they manage to make it through the day without killing themselves, or killing others. I think these people are everywhere. You can be academic and book smart, but still not have any concept of common sense. I would like to give them the benefit of the doubt and just assume that they’re actually idiot savants, because if they’re not, then they’re just dumb, and that’s so much more disappointing.
There was this one woman whom I used to work with. She was attractive, highly intelligent, was doing her Masters in Law… but she’d ask me the most stupid questions. But she had been working at the same place for a number of years, and still had to ask things. Where did we keep the pens? How do I send a fax? Can I email a book? (Okay, so the last one is actually true! It reminds of the scene in Mean Girls when the guy leans in and says “Last year, she asked me how to spell ‘Orange'”) so it is actually possible to be quite intelligent, but still so dumb at the same time. Needless to say, we didn’t necessarily see eye-to-eye very often. I had my moments where I would point out stupid stuff she said, immediately after she had just asked it… then it was ‘on’!!
Thanks Xtina. You’re one of the people who has always been scrutinised because of your fluctuating weight. One minute you’re skinny and then suddenly you’ve ballooned to twice your size. But you know what, even overweight Xtina is still beautiful, regardless of how slammed she is in the media. And it doesn’t affect her ability to sing either, because that girls has some pipes on her. And really, why should anybody give a fuck about your weight, when you can sing like that. This is another reason why I love Adele. She’s a bigger girl, and she’s got an incredible vocal talent as well. Her’s is in a much lower register than Christina’s, but it’s still beautiful and incredible.
Ahhh, Dem Lovato. So pretty, and yet such a mess. From punching a dancer, to self-harm, drug addiction, rehab… you sound like you need to be hanging out with Lindsay @ Rehab. You can braid each others hair and talk about boys… and who can get you the best coke. Demi, to me, seems like another one of the manufactured Disney bitches who, yes, looks pretty, but has been built up into a superstar without actually having that much talent. Oh, so you say she’s been in a successful TV show, and sold millions of records? Yes, well that would be because of the Disney brain washing machine + gullible youth of today = overnight success + millions of dollars. Hell, they could market a lump of shit, and everybody would want to buy it – it’s the age we live in. Teens and tweens going batshit cray-cray over some overrated ‘celebrity’ and having this overwhelming urge to own anything and everything with their face on it.
Just like Pokemon: you gotta buy it all!!
So, if you look at the above for long enough, you might start to think that Demi seems a bit forced in what she’s saying. Yes, girls, you ARE beautiful, but only because my agent tells to say so. I personally think that you’re all peasants and you’re beneath me. If anybody should be doing something about self-esteem issues, it SHOULD be her. She’s one of these girls who’s got problems, but is also int he public spotlight, and that shouldn’t be deterring people from whatever shit they’re going through, if anything, they should be owning it and shining a light on it, and telling the rest of the world, ‘well, hang on a sec, actually, I kinda feel like shit for this reason and that reason’.
Whatever happened to people actually helping people??
But this is about beauty and self esteem. And the first thing that springs to mind is high-school. High-school is such a cruel place for anybody who doesn’t fit a specific mould of what teenagers are supposedly meant to be. But because everybody is so different, AND because society has become so multi-cultural, it opens itself up like a gaping wound, just waiting to have salt and lemon juices smeared all over it.
Enter the topic of bullying. Who remembers the fat kids in school being picked on? Yep, I certainly do. I was friends with them. Did any of you actually stick up for them when they were being bullied? Can’t say I did, and I feel shitty for not standing up. Back then, I was also the one being bullied. I got bullied for being a dancer. I got bullied for being smart. I got bullied for having a big nose. I got bullied because of my name (!!). But worst of all, I got bullied for being gay. For being flamboyant. But it wasn’t just from the boys, it was from the girls as well. The girls who I actually expected to at least be some kind of ally, and yet they turned on me without a second thought.
It’s hard growing up in the country, surrounded by dickheads.
And as a result, I turned out like this:
I felt sorry for anybody who was different. Just like in Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion, our school also had an A-Group. They were all the popular kids, with wealth parents who bought them everything (Read: divorced), who were all good-looking, great physiques, and really bad attitudes. Basically, they were a bunch of cunts who took far too much pleasure in destroying other people’s spirits.
And the worst part of it now, is that this type of bullying is no longer confined to the playground. It’s online. It’s cyberbullying. It’s fucking sad. If you’ve never been bullied, then you truly have no concept of how horrible people can be to one another. Yes, sticks and stones my break my bones, but your nasty words will destroy my spirit. And the problem is that people aren’t willing to talk about the problem; parent’s aren’t prepared to take it seriously; schools don’t want to get involved; and at the centre of it all is some kid who’s full of so much pain they don’t know how to handle it, and are more likely to suffer in silence and do shit like self-harm (Hi there, Demi Lovato!) or worse, take their own life.
Nobody, NOBODY SHOULD EVER BE MADE TO FEEL LIKE THAT. To tell somebody you don’t like them, or their not worthy of being around you because they’re different in some way, is one of the worst things you can ever say to somebody. You might laugh it off, but these kids have real emotions. You’re just simply a horrible, nasty person with a blackened soul. If anything, YOU’RE not the one worthy of their company. Yes, you may have your clique of skinny bitches, with your platinum-blonde hair, super-jock boyfriend and drive a convertible, but you have no substance. You go out of your way to knock people down in order to make yourself feel better, but where does it get you?
You might not like somebody because they’re overweight. Or because they’re cross-eyed. Or they’re disabled. Or they’re not as financially secure as you. Or because they’re a different race. Or because they don’t speak English very well… but who cares. Hating on them is not going to achieve anything. You don’t have to like everybody, that’s totally fine, but you don’t have to go out of your way to make sure they know that you dislike them. All you need to do is accept that they’re different, and move on. The least you can do is acknowledge them as a human being, and respect them for who they are, where they are and what they have. Maybe, just maybe, you could go out of your way to try and have a conversation with them? It’s not going to kill you, and who knows, you might even find that you have something in common with each other.
So much time and effort is spent on people trying to bring people down, even as adults, but let’s face it, it’s still just bullying. It’s still high-school, except we’re all just older. Some people haven’t learnt lessons, they’re just older bitches. Some people will never change.
But regardless of who you are, where you are, every single person is beautiful. Some have beauty both outside and in. Some others… just outside. All you need to do is acknowledge it, and take a small step to make your world, and somebody else’s world, a little bit better.
And if I’ve just wasted all this time writing this damn post, then at least I’ve shared it with the world, and left you with one last image for the day:
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