So I know this’ll come as a shock to all of you, but I do not, in fact, look like Kim Kardashian. I know, right? Spoiler alert. Let me explain.
The other day I decided to treat myself to a pedicure. Actually no, I wasn’t treating myself, I was treating the general public by getting my Bam-Bam feet worked on so that they were maybe slightly easier for passersby to look at without horror overcoming their faces. Maybe because there’s a nail salon on every corner here in NYC, things are done a tad differently than in other parts of the country, but it’s very assembly line-esque in my hood. However, I go there enough to know the drill: walk in, randomly yell out “pedicure?” into the universe and then someone says “pick color!” and you move over to the wall of a billion choices of pink, pale pink, and traffic cone orange. It’s very in this season.
You pick. You grab a magazine. You sit down and wait, and then someone eventually comes over and, without saying anything, motions you towards a comfy leather chair where you sit in silence as someone takes horse tools out to work on your feet. It’s all very relaxing.
But my nail place is a tad different in that I’m reminded every time I walk through the door that the very same people de-crudding my feet, de-crudded Kim Kardashian’s not too long ago. That’s just how I roll.
Anyway, I know all of this because there’s photographic evidence everywhere you look: Kim posing with the nail technicians and owners, her autograph framed near the front door. It’s all very glamorous and I usually think nothing of it.
However, the other day as I was sitting down in the comfy chair, the pedicurist said “And you get your eyebrows done, too?” I was a little confused and worried that she’d mistaken me for someone else, so I said “Oh nope, just a pedicure! Thanks!” and then she stared at my face and said “No eyebrows?”
Uh….wait. Am I not taking the hint? At this point I looked in the mirror to see what the hell was wrong with my face – had it grown lots of brow bush during the half block walk to the salon? Nope, looked the same to me.
Me: “Uh, no, just a pedicure……why, do I need my eyebrows done?”
Pedicurist: “You need shape.”
Me: “Shape?”
Pedicurist: “Yes. And lip?”
Me: “Wait, what? No! I don’t need my lip waxed!”
Pedicurist: “Oooooh…….ooooooooh….” shaking her head.
What the hell does that mean???
But since I totally have really good self-esteem and don’t let stuff like that get to me, I slinked down into my chair and put the magazine up in front of my Frida Kahlo face.
- I mean, c’mon guys, this is obviously not me. I don’t even smoke!
Also, I definitely know what makes you feel better after being told that you need a dose of hot wax all over your face asap: reading Glamour magazine. What could be better?
It started off innocently enough, reading little tid bits about “Who Wore it Better” and stuff. Uh, obviously J-Lo. No brainer. Next page: “What bathing suit is best for your body?”
And this is where it started to go downhill.
First of all, does anyone know what body shape they have? I’m asking because I thought I knew until I started looking at the descriptions and diagrams. First of all, did you know that there are only four different body types? Almost 7 billion people on the planet and only four female body types? Fine, whatever, so which one am I, Glamour? Well, I’m tall. So I fit this one. But nope, I don’t look like that diagram of a person because my legs look like that other diagram and my chest looks like the other one. Oh, wait, the “athletic build!” Except no, I definitely have more of a situation happening up top, so maybe the plump diagram towards the bottom? No, unless I’m wearing my Booty Bump, I definitely don’t look like that one, either.
So wait, are you telling me that I need to wax my body and put on a Burqa? Because with my athletic, tall, curvy, flat, broad, slim build, a swimsuit with a skirt/Burqa mix seems to be the way to go.
And that’s when I flashed to Tina Fey. I know, right? Totally natural train of thought. But hear me out.
For those of you who haven’t read “Bossypants” (shame on you), let me fill you in on a part she discusses about how our society makes us feel about our bodies. This might be playgarism since I’m literally copying it from the book, but whatevs: if Tina Fey is reading this blog, I’m totally going to be famous and then can afford her attorneys anyway. Bring it:
"But I think the first real change in women's body image came when JLo turned it butt-style. That was the first time that having a large-scale situation in the back was part of mainstream American beauty. Girls wanted butts now. Men were free to admit that they had always enjoyed them. And then, what felt like moments later, boom - Beyonce brought the leg meat. A back porch and thick muscular legs were now widely admired. And from that day forward, women embraced their diversity and realized that all shapes and sizes are beautiful. Ah ha ha. No. I'm totally messing with you. All Beyonce and JLo have done is add to the laundry list of attributes women must have to qualify as beautiful. Now every girl is expected to have Caucasian blue eyes, full Spanish lips, a classic button nose, hairless Asian skin with a California tan, a Jamaican dance hall ass, long Swedish legs, small Japanese feet, the abs of a lesbian gym owner, the hips of a nine-year-old boy, the arms of Michelle Obama, and doll tits. The person closest to actually achieving this look is Kim Kardashian, who, as we know, was made by Russian scientists to sabotage our athletes." - Tina Fey, Bossypants
So I thought back to this passage, like you do with fine literature, and started to laugh at myself for ever even caring whether or not the pedicurist thought I needed my lip waxed or that I couldn’t pull off wearing a bikini without scaring small children and grown men. And then I glanced over at the picture of Kim on the wall and smiled. At which time the pedicurist saw me peeking out from behind the magazine and said:
“So you get lip wax now?”
And I just smiled and shook my head. And punched her in the face with my mind.
- Maybe the problem is that this is still my go-to when I picture myself. I mean, who could mess with this kind of perfection? Look out, Kim K!
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