The New, New Sexy?

There is this really awkward battle that all magazines seem to be waging about what is sexy. Splashed across every Cosmo and Vogue are “sexy secrets” and tips on how to look sexy this season and blah blah blah. That’s good. That’s great! I love sexiness, and advice about how to have more of it is always A-OK with me.

But. I’m just saying, I think somewhere in the past forty years or so, what actually constitutes “sexy” has changed. For the worse. Take a look at this month’s Runner’s World‘s cover girl, for instance.

Now, before you get all up in arms saying that Runner’s isn’t a fashion magazine and isn’t touting sex appeal and you break a key from slamming on your laptop so hard, relax. I fully and totally agree with you, but I am just using that as one of many examples of how the standard of what looks good has changed. The editors at Runner’s picked someone they obviously thought was attractive and had a good, fit body. Similarly, Miss Wintour’s bella counterpart threw Karlie Kloss in her latest edition of Italian Vogue, and she might not have the jogger’s creepy six-pack, but she is one hell of a string bean.

OKAY. So now we have established that people–specifically, media moguls, since most guys I know would still rather date a curvy girl than a stick–today find no-waisted, four-pounds-and-fit girls attractive, but for the love of God, what about the fine felines of the 50s and 60s? What happened to my girl (as ever) Brigitte Bardot? What about everyone’s favorite sexpot, Marilyn Monroe? Betty Grable? Sophia Loren? Anita Ekberg? I mean, I fully admit that I have a total love for all things vintage, and that includes the way-sexier, thirty-thousand-times-more-appealing stars of the past, but come on. Scroll up and look at Ms. String Bean, and then have a gander at BB here. (Ooh, I just realized, it’s KK vs. BB!)

Right? Right. Brigitte (and Marilyn, and Betty and seemingly every other famous lady in the past) had a waist and hips and breasts and didn’t look like you could draw her body by tracing a ruler. If I’m not mistaken, most people don’t find rulers sexy. All I’m saying is that I think Ye Olden Days had a higher class of woman–sexier, better-dressed, and all-around more attractive than the stabby-boned/overly-toned celebrities who are popular now. And I miss it, and fuck all of you, I’m going to wear vintage skirts and Bardot eyeliner until the end of time.

*Disclaimer: 1.) There is nothing wrong with being skinny. I know plenty of girls who are not naturally born with curves and could eat a horse and still be Ruler Girls. Not their fault, and it doesn’t mean they’re ugly. But…I’m just saying, I’d take Brigitte Bardot’s body over theirs any day. 2.) There are plenty of curvy, gorgeous women today, but to be frank, I don’t really trust that 90% of them are REAL in the Age of Implants. To the other 10%, kudos.

Ooh La La, French Beauty Secrets

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, I LOVE YOU! You’re not one of the hundreds of people who found it by Googling “tumblr daddy fuck me” or “lion blowjob girl giving” (two real and horrifying terms people used today, according to WordPress–I don’t know what a lion-blowjob-girl is, nor do I want to). Anyway, what I meant to say is, if you’re a regular reader of this blog, you probably have noticed that I like French things.

Stripy t-shirts, their classic style, their crazy fuck-you-ness, and those bonkers accents–they’re all great things. (Plus, a post about French things is the perfect excuse to throw up some pictures of my girl BB!)

But aside from all that, they also are allegedly some of the most gorgeous people in the free world. In a totally different, eclectic sort of way. Or something. This is all from the Internet machine, people, so if you’ve been to France and they’re all hideous slags don’t get mad at me. But it is a stone-cold, not-just-stuff-I-found-on-Google fact that they are skinnier than everyone else, and that’s usually prettier than being wicked obese, so ha!

Annyyyyhooo, after my extensive researching, I have concluded that other people who write blog posts about French beauty secrets have pretty much come to the same conclusions, so I’m going to steal all their ideas and bundle them up in one giant stellar post of beauté. (Hey, it’s fair–they stole them from the French first.)

1. Moisturize. Maybe just stick like 5 IVs of fluid in you at all times. Everyone seems to agree that French people are like sponges. They drink a fuckton of water, they toss on moisturizer like nobody’s business, and they like to shower (contrary to my former beliefs that they weren’t too keen on the whole hygiene thing). [Also, I guess they like cold showers and washing your face in cold water, because circulation, and science, and something-or-other?]
2. Use a lot of creams and magic potions and stuff. This goes back to #1. They’re apparently crazy about their skin, which means they find some super-great face wash and stuff and use that religiously. And then they use lotions and powders for everything fucking else–they even have bosom cream. (Yeah, I didn’t typo that.)
3. Don’t wear a lot of makeup. And I know you’re thinking, look at BB, but she picked one thing to emphasize–her peepers–and pretty much left the rest be, except for some neutral lipstick. The French aren’t into the whole flawless face thing; they just want it to look sexy and natural without it being obvious you used 18 products to get there. ALLEGEDLY.
4. Try not to be a big fatso. How, asks the person eating three pints of Ben & Jerry’s as they read this? (Just kidding, that’s me. No, it’s not, it’s you. Shut up, just read!) Apparently part of their staying-thin secret (besides that they walk every-fucking-where and exercise a lot of portion control) is that they are vain as fuck. They want to look like hot French mugs, first, and second, they always dress up everywhere, even to take out their trash. So you don’t really want to blort out when you’re wearing a garter belt and nice clothes, ’cause you feel disgusting. So there. Mrs. Ben & Jerry’s, maybe if you change into a skirt suit, you’ll put the spoon down.
5. Be a sexy bitch all the time. See #4–they just try and look hot 24-7, unlike us lazy Americans/Brits/Haitians/Russian spies, and trying pays off. Almost anyone can look good if they put effort into their appearance, and the French are way into doing so.

So there you go, now you can look like a gorgeous French lady, with the added bonus of shaved armpits! (I’m just kidding, they apparently do that. Except they wax them instead. So get on their level.)

Eat Me

Okay, so I used to have a bit of an issue with food. Nothing cray-cray full-on anorexic, but it would go a little something like this: eat only dinners (small ones) all week, then eat a bunch of junk one day, feel horrible about myself, and resume not eating much until the next week when all seven days’ worth of hunger built up again. Besides the days when I ate nothing, my proudest day was eating only a serving-size of Triscuits (which is 4, in case you’re curious).

That was a while ago, about seven years, to be exact (holy fuckadoodledoo, I feel old). It wasn’t super horrible, I guess, as far as eating issues go–I lost my period and prided myself on staying in the double-digits of the weight range, which was not so great because I was (and am) tall, but I never grew lanugo or started cutting myself or wearing tiny fisherman’s sweaters. And after a while I just stopped doing it, because hey, I was hungry.

But at the risk of being a little over-dramatic, it has fucked up my relationship with food ever since. (Also, I hate that phrase, even though I just used it. “Relationship”? The only people who have “relationships” with food are fat, because the rest of us have real-life people for that. But you get the idea.)  Even though I started eating normally again, I still hated myself for every single thing I put in my mouth (that sounds ridiculously emo, I know. Fuck you guys, go eat something) and felt guilty after every meal. But that shitty side effect (mostly) went away.

But the past couple of weeks, I feel like I just got sucked back into a tube of oh-fuckkery, as far as eating is concerned. I’ve been working out every morning and stuff, which is good, but now I’m also geeking on calories and whatnot. SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN I TRY TO BE HEALTHY?

In all honesty, though, this is no buneo. It’s even more fucked up because I don’t want to go back to that, but in some horrible way I do; it’s like an old friend. If you’re nodding in agreement, you are also fucked up.

This isn’t normally the type of thing I post on here, but it’s my blog, and if blogs weren’t made for posting dramatic self-absorbed accounts of personal weirdness, then what are they for?!? Okay, fine, fine, I’ll post something about sex after this.

Real Women Have Fat…Er, Curves

First of all, let me apologize for yet another gigundo absence. I was off visiting people and doing things and putting the finishing touches on my crystal meth lab, and it got kind of hectic. Plus sometimes I just can’t think of anything good to say, so I just Tumble pictures instead. But anyway.

So, I have this thing that bothers me, and it’s the phrase, “Real women have curves.”

Okay, listen. That is just not true. Some women have curves, and then there’s the other 92% who are some variation on skinny or fat (Google it–only 8 or 9% of women have an hourglass shape). Like, that phrase is just a stupid way of saying that women have boobs and butts, but what pisses me off about that is 1.) I hate when super-fat people call themselves curvy. Like, you’re not “curvy” because you ate three buckets of fried chicken for breakfast. You’re fat. And 2.) Some girls are naturally not curvy at all, and that phrase is kind of mean to them.

Take me, for instance. I would say I’m average weight, although people usually describe me as skinny, I think because I’m tall and it creates some kind of optical illusion or something. And while I have a pretty awesome ass, my ta-tas aren’t huge (although they’re still awesome. Let’s be serious.)–I’m a B-cup. Long story short, as far as I can tell, I’m a real woman (if I’m not made of people meat, no one’s noticed yet) but I don’t have textbook curves (although in college a bunch of people told me I was “skinny-curvy” and I was like, “You wack,” ’cause I am not). You see where I’m going with this? The real phrase should be, “Real Women Come in All Shapes and Sizes.”

And before I get 98 e-mails bitching me out about saying fat people aren’t curvy, I am not saying that heavier women can’t be totally gorgeous. But there is a difference between curves and fat rolls, people.

Absolutely beautiful. But curvy? I DON'T KNOW, PEOPLE. That's the whole question.

You know what though, fuck. After writing this I just feel all jumbly, because when I searched “curvy” for pictures, 99% of them were of chubby girls. So maybe I’m the retarded one and that is the technical definition of curvy. So I probably should go back and re-write this post. Or…I could just post it and let the People of the Internet see the hideous mess that is my brain. Yeah, that sounds like a better plan.

The Skinniest Fatty

Dun dun…dun dun…DUN DUN! You know what that scary sound is? (Don’t read it like, “Dun dun. Dun. Dun.” Read it like, “DUNDUNDUNDUN” all Jaws style.) Something is coming. And that something is…swimsuit season.

I’m stupid. But anyway, that retarded intro to this post aside, I need to Get My Fat Ass Into Shape. Or should I say, my skinny-fat ass into shape. If you haven’t heard that cute little term, it describes people like me. People who look decent (okay, fine, awesome) but are actually not really in shape at all and are just possessed of one kickin’ metabolism. And if you’re thin and you’re reading this right now, it probably describes you, because most people just don’t work out. But do you know what happens if you count on that metabolism holding out for the rest of your life? YOU GET SUPER FAT AND KIDS POINT AT YOU IN THE GROCERY STORE BECAUSE THEY ARE AFRAID YOU’LL EAT THEM.

Okay, maybe not. But you will get fat. And even if your poor body somehow manages to keep you skinny while you wolf down Hungry-Man dinners and Keystone, it’s still not as sexy as being skinny and toned.

I mean, don’t let me cramp your style. There is nothing wrong with being whatever size you want to be. But just speaking on a personal level, I want to be thin and in-shape, not some gross tube of Cheetos and fattiness or whatever. I used to run track, so that’s obviously back on the menu to get myself looking extra-spicy (what? Fuck you. How many synonyms for “sexy” do you know? I’m not gonna go grab a thesaurus for this), as well as dancing, because it’s fun and it’s supposed to make you less chubbsy ubbsy. And some weight-lifting, because every fitness thing I read is all “blah blah blah calories blah blah don’t forget WEIGHTS weights weights weights weights!” And yoga, since that’s part of the daily hullabaloo anyway.

I mean, I’m sure I have a few good years left before the skinny-fat thing stops working for me, so I could just sit around eating Ben & Jerry’s instead. But that’s not my jam. (HAHA food puns.)