#body objectification

[whoops-im-obsessed]

Shitty high-school boys part 2 ft. Equally Shitty dress codes and teachers.

Ok I have to rant about this bc it just makes me really uncomfortable.

My school has a uniform. We have non-uniform days. Since these days are few and far-between, the school hasn't bothered to set guidelines for them. This can lead to some odd outfits, but also some disrespectful ones.

I'm going to use 2 examples, but there were more.

The first kid was wearing a playboy top. It had pictures of borderline naked women on the sleeves. This made me rather uncomfortable, but the pictures were small, so it didn't really bother me unless I was nearby.

The second kid however was wearing what looked to be a normal black hoodie, but when he turned around, there was a 1940s style picture of a naked woman on the back.

What perhaps bothers me the most, is that I've seen both of these kids wear these clothes multiple times, and they have never been asked to change, or cover their clothes. The teachers literally do not care.

These kids are 14, 15 at best.

As a female in her mid-teens, I really do not want to see my body objectified like that!

My body does not define me.

I have a mind, and a heart, and, a soul, and a voice!

My body does not define me!

[sincerely-krystal]

Body Objectification

When I was in high school, I never worried about my body the way that I do now. At 14, I was content with the curves in my hips and thickness in my thighs. When I was 17, I drastically lost weight when I became depressed. I didn't even question my body then. I had no appetite and smoked about three times a day. I went from a size 6 to a size 2 in jeans. My face became slimmer, my eyes became swollen with dark circles and my cheekbones poked out of my face like blades. Teachers knew I was sleep deprived and so did my mom, but she never questioned anything. As long as I was keeping up my grades, nothing else was her concern.

When I got to college, I finally gained the weight back in my thighs, ass and waist; the weight I once adored for making me fully figured. I became "normal" at a solid 130 pounds. I knew this because I would go to the gym with friends (for only 30 min.) and would check my weight occasionally just cause.

Then, people started approaching me about my weight, sarcastically joking about my newfound "chichos", my new "muffin top" and my flabby "rolls." When all the ridicules began to pile, I started looking in the mirror more at my body and less at my other features. I was pinching the fat on my stomach like an obnoxious pimple that only ended up scarring me. I found myself sucking in my breath when I'd take photos to make my body look slimmer. Then, I'd walk down the street and hold my breath so others would also see me slimmer. I even wore more high waisted pants to minimize the shape of my hips, wanting less curves until, it grew to an inner hatred.

Through the intentional and unintentional taunting of my family, friends, lovers and peers, I became disgusted with my body, eventually making it difficult to fully look at myself in the shower. It was like the more I looked and ran my hands across my stomach and legs, the heavier the burden grew. Each dying day brought a new shade of pain only I could understand.

Within the span of four years, bodies have been objectified in the media, in television, in the workforce and almost anywhere you can imagine. Expectations of "the ideal beauty" are constantly changing more than food in a grocery aisle; you're either too small, too big or disproportioned with too much ass and no breasts, or too much breasts and no ass. This fluctuation of the "image of beauty" is what almost drove me to suicide. Even though I have come a long way, it still remains one of my stronest triggers. Approaching graduation 4 years later, I've come to love my body, despite my current weight of 145.

It's a process to love your body, to love yourself--to feel like everyone else, even when you've been subdued to believing that to be beautiful and admired, you must look a certain way. But when you've come to the understanding that you aren't like everyone else, that's when you can start to actually live life. If you live life through a gray lens, you adapt to dismal clouds and dampening rainstorms. But when you live life through a kaleidoscope lens, life becomes more vibrant with warm energy and less stress.

I wrote this now because I haven't really expressed myself in awhile, especially not to anyone close to me. All I have to say is love yourself and all else will prosper.

If you feel any way about yourself and want someone to talk to, I'm always open to venting and conversation. Thank you for listening.

[akmarik]

Today I got a nose ring. It hurts when I flare my nostrils and I’m afraid I’ll never again be able to blow my nose (which will hopefully give me an excuse to not cry for a while) but I’m very happy with this decision.

I was calling it my “reclamation of body” but, really, there’s no “re” about it. This is an attempt to claim my body for the first time. I think I only really became aware of my body when I was about 8. I started my period around that time and puberty hit like a tidal wave. I shot up in height and I shot out in girth as my metabolism ground to a halt. I had acne and braces and just felt gross all the time. There was no easing into the process. One day I was one way and the next everything was different. And none of these changes were particularly pleasing. Most of them were awkward and ugly and repulsive and there was no solidarity with my friends and classmates because the process started for me so much earlier than for them. I got my period before I got any kind of reproductive or health education. I felt scared and betrayed by my body every month, ashamed to tell my mom what was happening to me. I was silent about the stuff others didn’t need to know about and willfully tried to ignore the stuff that was plainly visible. I wanted to shrink into myself and disappear. 

Unfortunately for a lot of us in that kind of situation, it’s hard to grow up and out of that kind of mindset. When you go years without looking in a mirror because you’re so embarrassed and ashamed of what you see, it’s hard to just up and look yourself in the eye.

So, I get into this relationship at the end of last year. And she somehow made me feel beautiful and important and worth caring about. It’s not so much what she said, though she used her words effectively, but about the way she looked at me and touched me. For the first time, in at least twenty years, I didn’t see my body as my enemy. I started to see it as my friend.

But then our relationship took a turn and a really strange thing took place: I felt objectified by her. It’s a complex story and has down a multitude of emotional and psychological damage, but one of things that came out from it is that I felt gross and used and ashamed about my body. Not because of the way it looked or performed but because I had been reduced to it, by her. 

Generally speaking, since I am a woman, I have felt generally objectified by society as a woman, but I’ve never felt particularly objectified as an individual. I don’t get cat calls, I don’t get pervy smirks, I don’t get inappropriate touches, I don’t get dick pics. But suddenly, and by the woman I had fallen in love with no less, I felt like I had been reduced down to my body and what my body could do for her and what she could do for my body. And when she called off our relationship and she kind of shattered my illusion of our relationship with her version of the truth, I felt disgusting. I felt gross. I felt shame. And I can’t say for sure but having never felt that way before made feeling that way even worse.

When I first started fitting her narrative or our relationship with mine and went into a deep hole of depression where I berated myself constantly for the delusion I had created in my head of our rare and deep emotional, mental, and physical connection, I stopped caring about my body. I went back to avoiding myself in the mirror. I showered less (and if you know me, that’s barely possible). I stopped eating and lost almost two sizes. I’d wear the same outfit for several days. Because being reduced to my body felt just as damaging as purposefully making it invisible to myself.

But here’s the thing: Before she broke my heart, she did give me a gift, of some measure, of body positivity, but my positive relationship with my body should not depend on her relationship to it. And having a positive relationship with my body should not depend on anyone else’s relationship to it. So, at some point, as I started to come out of the incredible depths of my depression (I’m still in it but I function on a much “higher level” than a few months ago), I decided to say, “Fuck it and fuck you if you don’t like it.”

My positive relationship to my body started by buying a Diva Cup. Not only is it cost effective and way more environmentally friendly than using pads and/or tampons, seeing what your body is producing is incredibly empowering. 

Next, I bought new pants that were less baggy, thanks to the unexpected weight loss. 

Then I experimented with body hair. At first I stopped shaving because I was too depressed to deal with it, but then I started making more informed decisions. As it turns out, I do prefer myself with my legs shaved, but I’m currently in a hairy armpit phase that suits me well. And I’ll happily lift my arms up for you to see them. And while you’re staring, notice my lack of a bra. While I recognize a need to wear one professionally, I really don’t need one for other occasions. I like my body better without one and my body feels better physically without one so, for now, bye to the bra.

But all that shit is naturally occurring, right? My armpit hair is a “show” but it’s simply part of my body, a natural thing I’m happy to let flourish for the moment. And my breasts gently swinging in the summer breeze are similarly natural. Just a part of me. And my clothes provide me with more choice, but as it turns out, I really just like a comfortable, non-flourished look.

So, I got my nose pierced. Now, it’s a small silver hoop (not actual silver, but silver in color) on the right nostril. When I look in the mirror (since I’m better able to do that now), I have to be kind of close to even notice it. But this was a conscious decision of body decoration. Yes, I got it for myself but I got it for myself because I see it for other people. I can’t see it, after all, but you can, and in a sense, I am inviting you to look at me. 

Because I don’t think I’m interested in being invisible anymore and I’m okay with you looking at me, if you’re doing so with objectification-free eyes. I am, for the first time in my entire life (and I’ll be 30 in less than five months) claiming my body. If you like what I decide to do with it, great. If you don’t, that’s great, too, Either way, it’s not for you. It’s my body and it’s for me.

[cocomingox]

Is it wrong to look at a woman's cleavage? Both of a friend and a stranger. My eyes seem to just get drawn there and then I feel really guilty.

My honest answer, without any information about the individual interaction between yourself, your eyes, and the woman whose cleavage is in question, is to say yes…

…but. But. BUT. Attention. Listen. Alert.

It is perfectly natural to admire another person’s countenance - their physical beauty, conventional or not.  Natural or not, to stare at a woman’s (or anyone’s) body for any period that makes them uncomfortable is a big no-no.  

First of all, do the women know you are looking? Consent to look upon someone’s cleavage for longer than a moment or two - i.e. taking in a person’s appearance - should never be assumed.  Even if they’re looking at you, and watching where your eyes are going, they might not know that you are admiring them without intent to harm, or that you are aware that this behavior can be construed as sexual. That’s where I suspect your guilt comes in, as hopefully you already knew this. If you insist on looking for longer than a few seconds, you may want to announce that you are looking, and why.  If doing so would embarrass you, or make you feel guilty for saying it, you should probably stop. If they are uncomfortable, or exhibit body language that says they are (crossing arms, turning away from you, giving you an angry glare, etc.,) then you should stop immediately, and apologize.  

Why?

If you are looking at someone in a way that they have not implicitly stated is okay to, then you may be objectifying them.  Staring at a woman’s cleavage for any longer than you would look directly into her eyes and hold that gaze would be your first clue. 

Objectification doesn’t have to be done on purpose, either.  You might accidentally stare too long at someone’s body while lost in thought, and lose sight of the individual that they are as a whole.  The best course of action is always to apologize.  There doesn’t need to be guilt-laden sonnets about it, but a polite and succinct “I’m so sorry” will do wonders to smooth over any hurt or misunderstanding.    If you insist on staring for longer than a once-over, and I don’t care why you’re staring at her cleavage - boobs turn you on, your eyes just go there, or purely aesthetic reasons - she doesn’t know why you’re staring unless you speak up. 

If you can’t say “Hey, you’re beautiful,” “You’re a great nude model and this sketch is going to turn out great,” or “Can I get your number?” while looking into her eyes, then you’re not comfortable making your intentions for looking known. She might become uncomfortable, and revoke consent for you to look at her by exhibiting the behaviors we discussed above. Worse, she might tell you to fuck off, and she would be well within her rights to do so. 

One of my favorite points of view on this subject is from Hugo Schwyzer and his relating on how our culture of objectification can affect the simplest interaction of admiring a woman’s body. He correctly identifies and narrows down a major reason being the concept of “the male gaze,” and acknowledges that women can be made uncomfortable in being admired due to the patriarchal belief that it is a man’s right to look, and more. 

“When I got to college and took women’s studies courses, I heard for the first time about the problematic power of the male gaze. I listened to my classmates tell painful stories of the first time they noticed men ogling their bodies. I realized that I’d grown up believing what many men believe, that guys may not have a right to touch what they see, but they have a right to look as much as they want. Listening to women’s stories, I understood for the first time just how uncomfortable it was to be on the receiving end of those penetrating stares.”

As an FYI, you don’t have to be male to exhibit “the male gaze,” or for a woman to feel that your gaze is erring on the side of proprietary and/or unacceptable to her safety and comfort. In my opinion, if you’re gazing because you feel that it is your natural right to, regardless of the person’s feelings on your gaze, then you are exhibiting the behavior.

Bottom line? It’s okay to look.  It’s not okay to look for a length of time that denigrates a person’s individual self vs. your perception of their body, nor for any length of time (from zero to forever) that makes the person uncomfortable. Be aware. Don’t take offense if a woman gets upset for your looking at them - any part of them - for longer than they deem acceptable for their comfort level. 

[kristineisheree]

Yesterday I had two friends tell me about how someone had grabbed their ass in the school hallways, two friends who were wearing backpacks almost covering their butts but no. That is no object for a horny teenage boy. They reached and grabbed anyway. Because they believe a females body is one they own, that they can touch it and play with it all they want. Both these girls were taken from being intellectual learning beings to sex objects. School is the place we are suppose to feel safe to learn and express ourselves, though now we are too afraid that expressing will cause attention and attention will objectification. I am tired. I am tired of being afraid to wear my favorite dress because it hugs my ass a little too well, because the last time I wore it, I got whistled at and told by one of my "friends" to stop dressing like a slut. I am tired.

[merenguito]

Ugh... This body obsessed culture is so gross. Really don't understand it... :/

[xjinn-vii-blog]

[paris-hilton-feed-nonissue-blog]

But do Carl’s Jr. ads really make anyone want to eat a burger?

http://parishiltonfeed.nonissue.com/2015/01/23/but-do-carls-jr-ads-really-make-anyone-want-to-eat-a-burger/ - #ParisHilton

But do Carl’s Jr. ads really make anyone want to eat a burger?

“Hey, who am I?” I asked my husband last time we were out eating burgers. I bit into my super-drippy burger while slowly winking at him, then breathed heavily while crazily tossing my hair around. “You’re a Carl’s Jr. ad!” he said, banging a fist on the table. Nailed it in .0001 seconds. I present to you the above anecdote to illustrate a truth universally acknowledged: Carl’s Jr. is RIDICULOUS when it comes to its way-way-way over the top ads about women behaving ridiculously sexily while getting their burger on. Paris Hilton has sexily eaten one of their burgers while washing a car, Kate Upton has executed a bunch of burlesque choreography plus burger-eating at a drive-in, Kim Kardashian did a commercial for one of their salads, but she was on a bed wearing an almost-see-through robe-thing and she was eating salad with her fingers, you guys, it counts. These commercials objectify and dehumanize women, equating our sexuality basically to that of a burger. As …