Women's Health: How To Develop a Positive Body Image

Any woman of my generation reading this will know exactly what I'm talking about. The rest of you young folk will just have to run and catch up.

Twiggy! ..the unattainable perfection of form and glamor! Slim, saucy, effervescent, Carnaby Street...poster girl for the nineteen-sixties British fashion revolution, she epitomized the look and embodied the essence of that decade. She was what every pre-teen, teenage and modern young single woman of that era aspired to be.

The Twiggy phenomenon hit my neck of the woods sometime in the mid-sixties, along with Petula Clarke and "Gerry and the Pacemakers". Everyone between the ages of 13 and 35 wanted to live Downtown and take the Ferry 'Cross The Mersey .

...and we all wanted to look as cute as Twiggy in our go-go boots, fishnet tights, funky hats, and paisley skimmers - those lovely a-line, just-above-the-knee length, sleeveless, dart-less wonders that were all the rage in stylish women's dresses. No closet was complete without at least one of these in shades of lime green with navy trim, multicolored paisley, or some other wild, sixties color-combo.

Much like the ubiquitous slip-dress of a generation or so later, these came in every fabric and fashionable color under the sun. The idea was that the dress would "skim" the body, hence the name "skimmer". Unfortunately, if there was much more than a very slim and prepubescent twelve year old under the skimmer, the dress would become a bit of a clinger, depending on the fabric.

The haircuts, too favored pert noses, smoky eyeshadow capped off with mink-thick false eyelashes, high cheekbones and long, slim necks. Those of us who were young enough and slim enough to carry it off were ecstatic. Those of us who were slightly more well-endowed did as best we could, and, short of opting for a teen mastectomy, few of us came close to matching Twiggy's sylph-like slimness.

I remember beseeching the hairdresser to make my hair look "just like Twiggy's". Twiggy was then sporting a boy-bob, which looked devastatingly sweet on her. The long-suffering woman managed to convince me that the best my baby-fine locks could support would be to try for a fluffed-up pixie cut. It was a good compromise, but I didn't want to hear her wisdom when she said, in all kindness, "We can't all look like Twiggy, dear."

There it was. She had said the terrible words - aloud. These self-same words had been ringing loudly in my mind since I tried on my first skimmer.

Now, let me assure you, I was then a well-built and athletic teenager. My older sister had graduated from "gawky stork" some years before to achieve an elegant slimness. Thanks to ballet lessons, she no longer tripped over the pattern in the linoleum floor.

I was not so tall, and had always carried a bit more weight. My mother, too was quite slim, but ever so slightly more athletically built. She, however, was petite.

So there I was, caught between petite athlete and the tall, slim princess. I felt like the family moose. It didn't matter that I knew, should I starve myself to death, I would never be as tall and slim as my sister, and that I could never shrink to be as petite and trim as my mother.

My brain said these things quite clearly, but my heart cried out to be Twiggy. My school-mates, too were caught up in this quest for glamor. Fed by the media, hyped by the print ads, the illusion that if only we purchased the right clothes, the right perfume, the right makeup, the right shoes, patronized the right hairdressers and the right night spots, we, too could be as glamorous and sought after as our idols.

Of course, most of us would require a total body make-over to measure up.

Every generation, every era, every design fad or fancy, has had its "woman"...the one who so completely captured that style, one has to only say her name, and everyone can describe exactly the look or the era to which you are referring.

Mae West, Fay Wray, Betty Grable, Joan Crawford, the Vargas Girls, Twiggy, Peggy Lipton, Jacqueline Suzanne, Kim Carnes ("Betty Davis Eyes") , Diana Ross and The Supremes, Jackie O, Audrey Hepburn...all names to conjure by, and all women whose style most of us tortured ourselves to emulate.

It was bad enough for women of my mother's generation, trying to emulate Suzy Homemaker and Betty Crocker all the day, without having to feeling inadequate because we didn't look like Dorothy Lamour for hubby, after a long day with the kids.

Nowadays, we have a different set of names and faces and styles, but we still allow ourselves to fall into the trap of comparing ourselves to others. Worse, we allow our girls to do the same. What young girl doesn't grow up today wanting to look just like Miley Cyrus or Avril Levigne. Our fascination with our media darlings does not allow us to look at ourselves realistically.

One of the most promising ad campaigns I have noted in recent years is the Dove campaign for Real Women. Yes, it, too is a marketing ploy, but it is one I can get behind, even if I am allergic to their soap.

I adore all the shapes and sizes and colors of the smiling models. I love every line and wrinkle on their faces and bodies. I so admire their serenity and their joy. They are truly beautiful, every year and every pound of every one of them.

The solution, the changes we need to make in our attitudes, in our marketing strategies, in the way we choose to see and value ourselves and others, is complex and difficult, but it can start with a very simple step. We need to honor ourselves and our gifts as women first, and then as whatever else we were born to be. We all need to love ourselves a little more, and compare ourselves to others a little less, and we need to teach our children to do the same.

© 2009 Text by Elle Fredine, All rights reserved