Last night, as I stepped into my friend’s car for us to head to an appointment, she regarded me with a blank expression on her face and said the following:
Friend: I almost didn’t recognize you when you came out of the house.
Friend: That pencil skirt, that blouse. You have curves! WHY HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING YOUR CURVES?!
I couldn’t help laugh. Afterwards, I thanked her and informed her that, as always, the accepting of my body for what it is will be a constant work in progress. Having hidden in clothes for a long time to prevent (what I perceived) the appraisal of my body and physique by others, turning 30 five years ago changed more than a few things. For one, I stopped dressing like my beloved Dorothy Zbornak there to your right. For another, I started making fashion choices that matched my new attitude. Essentially, because I worked on making what was inside all shiny and accepted, my body and I became besties. And, like any friendship, we’re still getting to know each other.
But I have curves? Really?
When I think of curvy ladies, I think of lovely hourglass figures. Of discernible hips. Of a waist. Of a derrière.
I have no discernible waist, the narrowest hips this side of Earth, hardly an hourglass figure, and a backside that must have missed the memo on being shapely in any kind of way. The only curvy things on this body are the reason I hold newborns for a short period of time before handing them back to their mothers and quietly informing them that the babe is hungry. You feel me. So when I reflected on her statement, I was like, for real? Moi? Curvy?
You know what, though? I have ’em. Curves. Although I sometimes gaze at my mother and my Ghanaian girls and some of my awesome friends in wonder and slight envy at their womanly, curvy shapes, I looked in the mirror for a looooonnng time and realized that there are curves there. I saw my waist. I saw those hiding hips. I sighed at the backside, but it’s there, too. It may not be the standard in curves, but it’s my standard, by gum, and I saw some curves! I also looked at myself in the outfit my friend exclaimed over. It was a simple black pencil skirt and a buttoned down coral/white blouse. In examining the way the skirt draped my body and the tucked in look of the blouse though–I looked kind of amazing. What? Yes, indeed. And I loved saying that to my reflection, silently, of course, since I’ve been caught conversing with myself before. Anyway. Saying that felt good and it continues to feel awesome.
This has been brought to you by a square peg who’s becoming progressively aware of a physique that is far from square. Onward and upward.