Impossible Beauty

It's been awhile since I've written anything. I've been entrenched in some deeply personal work -- but more on the heart of that another time.
A small part of this journey has been to re-evaluate how I view myself and my place in this world. I've changed a lot from my 20s to my 30s and much of that is how I treat myself and what I give myself permission accept. Like every other woman out there, I have plenty of thoughts about my physical appearance -- many of which are negative and I would never even say them about my arch nemesis (who, by the way has an over-geled, nasty pube-like haircut and is dark and evil on the inside). In my 32nd year, I began to wonder why. I wish I could say I have this brilliant and original answer, but I don't. Although, I do have a few thoughts:
-I came of age in the '90s when Kate Moss and heroin chic were the standard of cool. Since I didn't intend to stick a needle in my arm, skipping meals and snacks seemed like the most reasonable way to achieve this. Like most 18-year olds do, I had a fantastic body. But all I saw were the flaws. Now I look at photos of myself and think, "GEEZ! Where's that girl now?" Well, she's buried under the pounds of someone who decided she loved food more than the starvation, malnutrition and hours on the Stairmaster it took to achieve that body. So why isn't that okay? Yes, I need to lose some pounds, but most of America does, too! And I now have a phenomenal personal trainer who supports me and pushes me to lose the emotional baggage weight -- not the curves of my natural frame. It's going to take some time to get where I want to be, and that's okay. I'm working on it.
-I was perusing PEOPLE magazine a few weeks ago and there was a picture of the beautiful Bar Refaeli in a story about various star beauty treatments. She had red stuff smeared all over her face and I eagerly read about what berry-based facial this could possibly be. Maybe I needed one. Only, it wasn't berries at all. She had her blood drawn, then the platelets were separated and smeared all over her face because...well, I forget why, but it was something about them being oxygen-rich and leaving her with a glow, or some such nonsense. And I sat in stunned silence for literally several minutes just thinking, "Is this really our new standard of beauty?" Shooting botulism in our faces to get rid of any sign of emotions wasn't enough? Being impossibly thin didn't cut the mustard? Seeing celebrities who are already the most unfairly beautiful creatures then photoshopped to an unachievable perfection didn't give us enough insecurity? Now we're supposed to have blood drawn, separated and then smeared all over our faces for that "extra glow"??? (OH! And the best part of that little article was that this facial costs $1500. Child, for $1500, it better come with a new Louis Vuitton to hold while they stick that needle into your vein.)
And then it hit me: this is ridiculous. This is the definition of ridiculous -- this might be the very 2014 definition of ridiculous, but it is the definition of ridiculous. How could we possibly ever keep up with women who have deeper pockets than anyone working a real job, who are genetically blessed, and who have personal trainers, personal chefs and a private hair and makeup team?
The answer is: we can't. And why shouldn't even want to try.
Being comfortable in my own skin is still something I'm working toward, but it took a platelet facial to push me that much closer to realizing how asinine it really all is. Because, even with my own blood streaked all over my cheekbones, I'm still not going to look like Bar Refaeli.
And that's okay.