Stephanie Cake

I've been giving a lot of thought to body image lately. I know its a horse that women's magazines and the media and feminists have beaten to death but being a generally obsessive individual, I have been pondering my own image with a rather critical eye.

I work in an industry where there are far fewer women than men. And the women are mostly single, in their mid-20's to early 30's and very image conscious. Fake tans, boob jobs, eating disorders, weekly mani- and pedicures, the works. Average dress size - 2 or 4. And I'm not in Hollywood nor the fashion industry. I work for a run of the mill (although up and coming and very profitable, mind you! [god forbid my boss ever reads this]) financial services/sales organization.

In my world, career tends to define me even when I don't want it to. (case in point: March 2003 - Sept 2003: I was an unemployed slob, through and through, top to bottom, head to toe) And being surrounded by vanity.... ok, I'm just going to say it - SKINNY BITCHES.... in my career, nay my identity, puts an ugly, indelible mark on my self esteem.

All my life I've struggled with being tall and sort of lunky. When I was in high school I briefly dated a guy who was about 4 inches shorter than me. That was catastrophic for both of us and we mutually called it quits. I slouched a lot. My pants always seemed to be high waters. As an adult, however I have reveled in my height -- I can reach stuff other people can't, you generally can't tell when my roots are growing out because most people can't see the top of my head... but all that is another subject entirely.

Weight has been a different animal entirely. I have no recollection of weight consciousness when I was a a teenager and I was recently suprised to learn that several friends thought I was seriously anorexic because I was considered "so tall and thin" and was never seen eating. My only teenage memories of my body, other than its tallness are:

• A boyfriend (not the shrimpy one) laughing at a middle school picture of me because I "looked fat". I probably did shed some baby fat around this period but in truth I have a round face that has always made me look chubby plus my mother used to dress me like a porky little frump... so in hindsight I'm sure it was an optical illusion... but I digress. The point is, I was horrified by his observation. And baffled because I had never thought of myself in those terms.
• Around the same time, I was changing my shirt at a relative's house and caught my reflection in a full length mirror. I could see my ribcage and I thought to myself "hmmm, I must be really skinny".
• I also remember, due to the esteem crushing practice of height and weight measurements in gym class, that I was approximately 5'8" and 120 - 125 lbs for most of HS. And I wore a size 8.

In college everything changed. Bad dining hall food and insipid depression helped usher in the freshman 15.... er, 25. It all came off my sophmore year - I biked to school, smoked like a freight train and rarely ate because my financial aid didn't cover dining hall anymore. And there started the yo-yo weight drama. Junior year I moved farther away and drove to school - put some pounds back on - luckily I had a better job and could afford to buy bigger clothes. Senior year I was back near campus - biking and not eating. But then I graduated and started planning a wedding - it was a bitch squeezing into my wedding dress. I bounced between a size 10 and 11 in those years.

Out in the work force I got a job with Target. (yahoo, Targhetto!) Target's management training program includes fantastic learning experiences... and lots of free lunches. And candy. Oh, the candy. I managed to work my way up to a size 12/14. Once on the job, however, I was literally hustling my ass off - went back to a size 10/11. For about three months. Then I got pregnant.

While my pregnancy was rough - especially the first trimeseter: I threw up non-stop and struggled to put any weight on at all - post-birth there seemed to be no stopping the increasing girth of my ass and other accoutrements. My son is almost 7 and no amount of dedication to the diet, exercise, or willpower seems to be able to turn back time for me. I think pregnancy totally wrecked my metabolism.

In the past 7 years, I've also battled some major depression as well as some major turning points. I stopped weighing myself a long time ago and mostly go by how my pants fit. Some days its great - I end up wearing the optical illusion pants that fit really well and make me look like a supermodel (in my head, at least). But most days it seems to be the pants that ride up my ass and are too tight in the thighs and force me to suck in my stomach to get them zipped. So I go into denial mode and tell myself they shrunk in the wash and curse the manufacturer for making such crappy clothing. And while I'm proud to sport a sizeable load in the breast department, I was horrified to discover that a recent bra purchase was considered "PLUS SIZE". WTF????

And then I go to work and spend the day toiling alongside 25 year old sylph-like creatures (aforementioned skinny bitches). I watch them eat their Lean Cuisines and moan about how fat they look in their size XS bikini and it seriously crushes my ego. So I resolve to go to the gym more and stop eating Taco Bell Chix Quesadillas. But at the end of the day I end up ditching the gym in favor of time with my kid and we feast on quesadillas.....clearly a vicious cycle if I ever saw one.

....but in the long run, after some thought, I think I'm probably happier than the skinny bitches. I may be pasty, out of shape, pretty much hate the way I look and sport seriously ill-fitting pants. But I also have a great kid who is more important to me than looking like a supermodel. And if he's the reason that my thighs have grown to astonomical proportions, well then bring on the muu-muu's, baby!