A Body Manifesto. ~ Elissa Scott

Via Elissa Scotton Aug 4, 2013

smellysocks

What’s the point of perpetuating deflated body images with labels advertising a product to rid ladies’ physiques of ‘muffin top’ and ‘camel toe’?

Let’s celebrate every womanly body!

I rock out a scanty sports bra (Just Be It) in yoga, honored to bear the badges of an abundant life. This includes marks, contours and adipose tissue. A beer belly rolls in halasana  (plow pose).

There’s curves where we don’t want them and a lack of curves where we do want them. We’re programmed to lose, gain, rearrange, starve, restrict and deny ourselves. We torture ourselves with radical fitness regimens that are doing more damage to our health and bodies for image sake.

Men are equally brainwashed to expect this visually ridiculous notion.

Since when is body fat only notably noble in specific areas? Tits and asses. Get ready for bikini season Chubster. National Geographic versus Cosmopolitan.

Women get silicone glue from the hardware store shot into their butt cheeks in hotel rooms—seeking out the perfect ass—and end up mutilated or dead. Don’t fret. There are padded butt panties for purchase to enhance your shortcomings.

I’m blessed with four brilliant children birthed right outta this very flesh vessel. Water-slided right out of  my teensy-weensy-rosebuddy-episiotomied-vajajay. (Extra stitches comments need not apply.)

Shockingly today, women as young as early teens have labiaplasty’s. The inner labia is not only surgically and painfully butchered, but brazillianed and bleached to attain some newborn virginial, male-topia image of what a cherry-licious circumcised cunt should look and feel like.

Thanks porn. Apparently a beef dip sandwich lodged between the thighs apparently ain’t so pretty. A camel toe conveys slutty-ness. As do our naturally serrated, uneven, randomly hued inner labia folds. God forbid we look like fertile bonobo apes with a free–spirited sexual appetite. Ouch, spiritually and physically. Instead, we strive to look like 12 year old boys with huge racks of silicone titties in a whisper thin tank top to reduce and seduce with cleavage.

Stripper? Hooker? All invasive, violent titles for female suppression and exploitation. Just as getting shot at for going to school or put in jail for refusing unfair political and religious regimes. Everything has it’s price.

We chemically saturate ourselves with products and potions, fake extensions for our lashes and our locks, all the while diminishing our worth and value as human beings.

Marketers imply we’re clotheshorse mannequins. Benchmarked by some physical ideal, I’m not going to be shamed or ashamed by marketing nor carve my body up on some operating table to fit into an unmanageable beauty mold. Companies can pay me to market their labels, not the other way around.

When my image—conscious daughter nit­–picked my muffin top, I laughed and told her it was loose skin from transporting her and her brothers into the world. I own it!

Nineteen years ago a phenomenal seven-pound nine-ounce ball of delightful little feminine energy came into my world and I thought I’d won the lottery. I jumped off the delivery table screaming, “It’s a girl? It’s a girl?” She didn’t make a peep all swaddled sweet with powerful Incredible Hulk glowing green eyes (hence her middle name Jade). Perfection. Ecstasy.

She gazed up at me, minutes old, with flawlessly manicured folded hands. What overall perfect feminine energy.

As a toddler, her big brother always spoke on her behalf. She proudly bore a hairless velvety head until age two. I had to train her to speak the word, “No.”Later, twin baby brothers stormed in to crown her Rose Amongst the Thorns. The diamond in a Pile of Rocks. Beautiful An exceptional, classy, sophisticated, intelligent, wise sort of feminine species.

This Gorgeous Goddess with long raven hair and 100% on her university calculus exams. ‘Nuff said.

My “Dot” (abbreviated from daughter), “chub-a-lubs” famed from the plump rolls of thunderous croissant thighs necessary to evolve healthily from infancy to adulthood. She’d climb up my legs begging to be breast fed.  A blessing and gift from the Divine.So proud of her journey.

And to think she thinks of herself as fat saddens me.

One of her boy friends from school wisely observed:

“The next time I get asked, ‘Why are you so attracted to Dot’s mom?’ I’ll let them read this and they’ll understand you are a strong independent woman who sees her natural beauty and isn’t ashamed because she knows there’s nothing wrong with the way she looks. I really enjoy your mindset; it’s appreciated by many of people.”

Please women, wake up from being robotic drones stuck in the tractor lights of advertising illusions. Put down your Frankenstein zombie arms and your designer brand name wallets supporting these corporations masquerading as identity thieves.

Coming up next on channel “Duh” we’ll see soccer hijabs and burkas with a silver omega symbol as lulu et al tapped into yet another expanding spiritual movement.

Just a social observation and commentary on the subjective concept of one’s physical appearance based on self-observation, parroting, parenting and the reactions of others exploited by corporations from my perspective and opinion.

As-salam alaykum (peace be upon you).

Like elephant journal on Facebook

Assist Ed: Julie Garcia/Ed: Bryonie Wise

About Elissa Scott

Elissa Scott is devoted to driving everyone alongside her crazy with her wildly wanton, truthful nature. Her mantra is loving life and is blessed with four dazzling offspring and an equally maddened, adoring and brilliant Navy partner-in-crime Bestie. Many people find her entertaining and lively, while others seek cover from this tornado-on-tour. As a yoga instructor, artist and writer based in Canada, this sacred space, home couture addict is found seeking truth, revolution and social justice. Find Elissa in beditation, a hammock by the sea, sprawled out under pines or other mind-full adventures, like traveling the world with her mate.

4,058 views

Appreciate this article? Support indie media!

(We use super-secure PayPal - but don't worry - you don't need an account with PayPal.)

One Response to “A Body Manifesto. ~ Elissa Scott”

  1. Denise says:

    RAWR!

Leave a Reply