Eye of the beholder

Mirrors don't lie.

Actually, they do. What does mirror image mean? Mirrors show you images with left and right reversed, after all. A true reflection might appal us by being rather unlike what we are used to seeing in our mirrors. But even as it jolts us to see ourselves as our near and dear ones actually do see us, there is this; they see us thus and they still put up with us and love us.

Pictures don't lie.

Well, they do, too. What with touching up and airbrushing away blemishes and magicking away a few inches, the supermodels we see in magazines are not what we should be aspire to be, figure-wise. It is software telling us lies. They are not very real, what with all the doctoring that goes on before we see the images.

Recently, I read with great bemusement that Victoria Beckham has a twenty-three inch waist. Fascinating to know that a mother of two can regain such wasp-waisted hourglass figure. And more fascinating still, to think that media write about it and we read about it as if it was an earth-shattering piece of news. Kraktoa erupting again it isn't, after all.

I've been reading about how hyper thin is the new standard, too. But when I look at the specimens held up to aspire to the thinness of, I am gobsmacked. Is anorexia what young women should aspire to? Looking like a victim of famine?

I have never aspired to thinness because I am realistic. I know I have big bones. When I look in the mirror I see, always making allowances for the reversed image bit, of course, a reasonably well preserved woman in her late forties, with a face that will crease into smiles or frowns if I am talking instead of gazing into the mirror.

But when anorexics look at themselves, they don't see a toast-rack of a ribcage, or stick thin limbs. They see what for them is a very real acre of flesh to be dieted, exercised and exorcised away into preferred weight, size and shape. They truly can't comprehend when slim becomes thin and thin becomes dangerously anorexic ready to hand in the dinner pail, never mind it's not been touched for days.

I read about this somewhere, and I was reminded of it as I heard a friend list his body flaws. I have a lump of a nose, I have buckteeth, I am not hirsute enough, he grumbled.

I considered the possibility that he was fishing for compliments. On a scale for hunks I'd give him an 8 and that would be to seem impartial. He had a straight nose, lovely thick eyelashes, designer stubble and a beautiful mouth. He did have a gap-toothed grin, but it was an endearing thing, nothing like Bugs Bunny. But no, he was honestly if erroneously, dissatisfied with his appearance.

I can sympathise with that. Because on days when I am feeling low or wretched, the mirror shows me a rather plump woman who desperately needs a make over and needs to shed some five kilos. Every flaw becomes magnified. My laugh lines are transformed into wrinkles, my reasonably full-figured body looks pudgy and in need of those clinics that offer to sculpt your body for you.

Despite such a demoralising image, I prefer to look after my body without intervention of scalpels or liposuction and variations on the theme of body sculpting. Walking is healthy and it costs me only the calories I expend. Yoga is good for the same reasons.

After all, body image shouldn't be confused with self-worth.

Cheers!