real beauty

It's a man's world, but there are very few times when I would actually like to be one. One of those times is when I see how un-self-conscious most men are about their bodies.

That's because I don't know a woman who doesn't wish she was taller or shorter, thinner or curvier, had bigger or perkier breasts, clearer skin, different eyes, or better hair.

On the one hand, it's admirable to strive for a goal and to better oneself. On the other hand, the self-loathing that leads to eating disorders and a multi-billion dollar cosmetic surgery industry gives me pause. In short, most women have bought the beauty myth (to one extent or another).

And I am one of those women.

Consider this: I've never traded on my looks. In fact, I didn't really believe that I was attractive until not that long ago. Part of it was reality: I never was the prettiest girl in class, and I never defined myself in terms of beauty. (I always thought — and still do— that my intelligence is my most attractive quality, because to me, smart is sexy no matter how you slice it.)

Do I blame society? Check. Do I blame my mother? Of course. And do I, at thirty years old, now own my issues and work at loving myself everyday? Damn skippy.

Enter Dove. Dove (ostensibly) sells beauty products, but I would argue that they (like all beauty products) are actually in the business of selling hope. Now, they've formulated the campaign for real beauty.

The whole phenomenon fascinates me. And I'm sure that I'll be writing more about it after doing some reading.