Uplift Magazine

Our Self-Esteem, Our Selves

By: Kate Cunnane, 30.04.2008 | Comments (3)

We all have those mini-crisis days. You know the ones I mean – where one persistent tuft of hair spoils any style you try, or where every item of clothing you own seems to cling to that part of your midriff you’re feeling self conscious about. For some of us, however, it goes much deeper. Have you ever had a bad body month?

I’m just coming to the end of a period of very low self-esteem. You might not notice half the things wrong with me that I notice when I’m in such low spirits. I really hope you don’t. When I’m in that frame of mind, I look in the mirror and see looking back at me a blotchy face, framed with limp hair, atop a lumpy body. And on those days, no matter which outfit I wear or how much make-up I put on, I fail to feel better. When in that mindset, I’m convinced I have a barrel-esque body with useless spindly limbs. I would compare myself to, at best, a Tim Burton lady puppet, or, at worst, Flat Eric. The idea of leaving the house, where other people might chance upon me and, perish the thought, actually look at me… well, the idea fills my stomach with equally plump and clumsy butterflies.

This isn’t a static feeling. My self perception is ever changing, as is my style and, of course, my body itself.

I am not alone with my bouts of unhappiness and desire to change. The ‘You!’ Magazine Body Shape survey 2007 reported that 11% of women surveyed are very happy with their weight, and 30.9% are reasonably happy. But only 14.6% of those asked had never dieted, and a third confessed that they would like to lose half a stone. It seems those who responded to the survey changed their mind between questions! The women surveyed by ‘You!’ were not alone in their desire to lose weight and look different; The Dove Campaign for Real Beauty Survey (originally published in Feb 2006) revealed 97% of girls and 92% of women in the UK would want to change their appearance.

I started getting angry. Why are we feeling this way?

A theory that often crops up is that we’re all screwing ourselves up in a genetically-programmed vocation to please men. In an article featured in ‘You!’ Magazine, Toby Young concluded that women have become obsessed with appearance and the attaining of ’size zero’ in an elaborate competition to win a mate; “By and large (women) are engaged in a battle to attract male attention”. But are women fooling themselves in a belief that all men want is a stick thin skinny minnie? The women’s glossies constantly conclude their supposedly esteem-boosting articles with such statements as “… and anyway, guys love women with a bit of meat on them!”. The ‘Now!’ magazine 2007 Body Survey, published last autumn, included statistics such as “Only 24% of men care if their girlfriends put on weight”, “86% of men would rather grapple with girls who are sizes 10 – 14″ and “A whopping 92% of guys don’t even notice when we’ve put on a little weight”. But whatever the preferred ‘perfect’ size, why does it come down to what men say, what men prefer? Shouldn’t each woman prefer her own perfection?

Another popular scapegoat for our fluctuating image esteem is the fashion industry. We’ve all read and seen the news about size zero models, the increase in eating disorders, the worshipping of stick thin celebs.

The average woman sees between 400 – 600 adverts a day, 9% have a direct beauty statement, whilst many more have indirect ones. The average fashion model weighs 23% less than the average woman. So even though I have no desire to look like any of these girl-next-door pretty 20-something women, in their contrived situations (eating low fat cereal at the breakfast table, dying their hair in the bathroom, relaxing on a stylish yet affordable sofa) subconsciously I may have started linking flawless appearance with happiness and satisfaction. That woman seems so much happier than me, as she applies age-defying foundation just before her date arrives… why aren’t I happy? What’s the obvious difference? Well – besides the fact she isn’t real – she is thinner than me, with better skin, and glossier hair.

I idolise women who challenge the norm – Courtney Love with her over bleached locks and baby-doll riot grrrl clothes, Brody Dalle with smudged red lips, piercings galore – but I suspect that secretly, without me even knowing, I sometimes monitor myself using the constant stream of images on television and in magazines. I don’t have the hourglass figure, honey-blonde mane and Topshop wardrobe. And even though 99% of the time I’m glad I don’t, on the odd occasion I think there’s a tiny part of me that sometimes worries I don’t measure up.

I know it sounds a little sick, but on those days when I am grappling with my body image I would rather look slightly emaciated than slightly chubby. And I bet an unexpectedly large proportion of women feel the same. I find these skeletal shapes that glide along the catwalk and grace the pages of our magazines increasingly ethereal and gloomy, disgusting even. But at the same time, I get a sneaky thrill if I’m told I look skinny or if, when catching my reflection as I pass a shop window, I glimpse a hint of my hip bone making itself known through my clothes. I’m a walking contradiction.

And who would I like to notice that I’m thin? Or that my make-up looks good? If I’m honest with myself, truly honest, it would be my female friends, the women in my office, the girls stood behind me in the queue in the supermarket. I often make comments about the way other women look, quite often positive. But I’m not adverse to saying something mean about a person’s figure, fashion sense, personal style. However if I say something to my friend about that woman’s frizzy hair on the bus, … she has eyes, a mouth and an opinion too. What if she says something about me? That ‘You!’ survey stated only 4% of us never notice other women’s shapes. So perhaps the other 96% of us should learn to stay quiet.

So it may not be men who are the root of our self-esteem issues. It looks increasingly like it’s women who are to blame. But it’s not just those in our peer groups, it’s the ones who raised us. Artist, musician and all-round creative Billy Childish says “It’s the mothers who pervert their precious little darlings, not the dirty old men. It’s the mothers who set the mould and administer the poison… hating life, hating men, but ultimately hating themselves. It’s hardly surprising the little darlings turn to drink”. In the flourish of a pen, Childish has managed to sum up the content of several sprawling articles I’ve read recently into one poetic statement.

The Dove Campaign for Real Beauty says that the mother is earliest and the most powerful influence in the development of a daughter’s esteem and body image. Which I suppose is quite an obvious fact when I think about it. Who is the person I spent the majority of my childhood with? My mother. She’s the woman I admired and emulated for the first ten years of my life. Whether I like it or not, she set the foundations in my head about how women should feel about themselves. My mother lacked self-confidence, and was shy. She went on diets and worried about her figure. She tried Weight-Watchers, gave it up. Then tried again. She poured over photographs of herself, pre-babies, and talked wistfully about when she was thinner and prettier. Sound familiar? I imagine it might do.

The book ‘Fat is A Feminist Issue’ discusses how food, fat and our bodies are all tied up with feelings of anxiety and esteem for the modern woman. Susie Orbach, the book’s author, says that women today have never had a natural relationship with food. And that these “ordinary women are so preoccupied with their own bodies they can provide no period in which eating is natural for their children”.

So our mothers can pass on negativity and self-doubt. But what is the original source of these feelings? I believe that many women who diet and dress and self-loathe to the extreme are battling hang-ups about their appearance which have manifested as a result of insecurities about other parts of life. The things we might use to measure our success – where we are on the career ladder, job satisfaction, strength of friendships, longevity of relationships, social life – they can be pretty intangible. So when we’re feeling bad about something, but it’s not possible to punish that something, we take it out on our bodies, our faces.

Is it just chance that the patch of low self-esteem I mentioned earlier coincided with the search for a new job (do I have the skills to make it through the interview, let alone the skills for the job?), and a transitional stage in a new relationship (is it a fling? Or is it getting serious)?

And it’s perhaps not a coincidence that we’re stuck in a cycle of binge drinking. The newspapers class young women like me as “ladettes”, putting our mass alcohol consumption down to some sort of clumsy attempt at equality. But what if it goes deeper than that? A generation of women drowning their sorrows, blocking out insecurities, drinking to increase their confidence and feel attractive. The worse I feel, the more I drink. For one magical evening, I am super sexy, the hottest girl to ever hit the dance floors of the north. Then the next morning,… the nausea, the shame. Back to the reality of my flat chest and misshapen face. Alcohol poisons our minds and bodies.

So why do we seem to be having an esteem epidemic? It’s crept up on us, right? Women were incredibly happy, until the last few decades… weren’t they? Well, we know that’s a lie – if not from common sense, we have evidence of repression and frustration, literature about Plain Janes with terrible plights in love and life. And, behind the fiction, it seems there wasn’t even chance for a happy ending with an employer (after he’s overcome his emotional repression of course). Ruth Brandon writes of the lives of middle-class women in the 1800s in her book “Other People’s Daughters”. There was a surplus of single women looking for employment – if a woman had no husband or money of her own, becoming a governess was the only socially acceptable way of finding a home. There was often no salary, so once the children had grown up many governesses “spent their final years in poverty and loneliness”. And let’s not forget what the lower class women may have been forced into. So the average woman had no money to call her own, until she was given the chance to vote in 1918 she certainly had no say in how the country was run. What might she wear? Well, long flowing skirts of course. What’s that you say? Trousers? Don’t be absurd.

What’s changed? It’s more likely that our circumstances have, not us. I was lucky to be born into an economically developed country, with free education. I went to school, college, university. I’m in no doubt my disposable income brings it’s own set of problems, as the advertisers fight for it, trying to force aspirations, for longer lashes, pro-biotic yogurts and the like, upon me. But I’d much rather be out earning my own money, in whatever occupation I want, spending my age however I want, wearing what I want. We live in a world which, for the most part, allows women to express themselves, whether it be general chit chat, published articles or a binge drinking session. And perhaps this exposure of our self loathing is a good thing, because now the problem can be seen, we can address it.

We can’t win though. We all say “Oh, you should be happy in your own skin, you really should”. Then, when we do come across the rather rare instance of meeting someone who actually does like themselves and genuinely doesn’t want to change a thing about their appearance, we don’t applaud and say “Huzzah, at last”. We think the person has a huge ego, tut at them in disbelief and make comments behind their back like “Whaaaaaaat? But she has such a massive arse!”. This may be a generalisation, but people are crazy. All People. You. Yes, you. And your mum.

How do we fix this? It can’t be that easy of course, otherwise we wouldn’t have become this nation of neurotics. But we can make a start. No one else can force you to love yourself. But they can certainly point out what is lovable about you. Start believing them. If we act more positively about ourselves and each other then we can influence the newest generation of women. Too many young girls are pouring their insecurities into their looks. Let’s put a halt to this, before the Tweenagers turn into a generation of bulbous-faced Bratz clones, tottering to the off-licence on stick thin legs, who seek employment not for career satisfaction, but for a way to fund their breast augmentations and botox.

Next time your friend is looking pretty, or you think that girl in the toilets of the club has a unique style, or your mum has had a new haircut, tell her how great she looks. Next time you look in the mirror, tell yourself how great YOU look. Be sincere with your compliments. And be positive about everything else that feeds into your esteem. Self-pitying thoughts – I’ll never get that job, he’s going to dump me – can become self-fulfilling prophecies. Negativity can radiate out your pores and warp the view of you that other people have. “She doesn’t seem convinced she can do this job, I don’t think I’m going to hire her” “I thought this girl was so fun, but my god she harps on about being fat a lot. Who wants to date such a pessimist?” Let’s stomp out these whiny miserable voices which echo in our heads. We can achieve anything we want to. We look wonderful.

You’re an intelligent, considerate and beautiful woman. And guess what? So am I.