Every weekend we will post overhead musings from friends and random women we run into in bars, cars, restaurants, and on the streets.
One of my best friends Jane came into Chicago this weekend to help me celebrate my 23rd birthday. As we lay in bed one morning, groggily addressing our hangovers and our hungry bellies, we got to talking about the female obsession with weight. Jane had thoughts to share:
“Even if we blame the patriarchy for planting the seeds of body image anxieties, it seems to me that it was women themselves who disseminated and watered these seeds into the monstrous weeds they are today. I’ve observed that perhaps contrary to biological instinct, women mainly base their aesthetic self worth upon the assessment of other women: I dress to impress my female friends, not my boyfriend. These friends are more conscious, critical of weight fluctuations, bad haircuts, and make-up faux pas than my boyfriend—if he even notices that anything is different, he would be incapable of verbalizing the nuances desired in such a critique. A female friend satisfies the neurotic dressing room desire for abasement (honesty), she would tell you that your ass looks too fat in that miniskirt, your boyfriend would say, ‘you look hot…' ”