The Naked Truth 2

Oh the naked.

I’m pretty sure that the only people who think they look good naked are the beefcakes from Jersey. Wow. I just said beefcake. How disappointing…

Not, however, as disappointing as that first summer day when, knowing it’s going to be glorious outdoors, you mad-dash to the not yet unpacked boxes marked “Summer Clothes.” Oh the horror of holding up a pair of shorts and knowing, without even trying, that they’ll never fit. Sure, you can get them on… but looking into the mirror you know there’s no way you’re leaving the house.

Like everyone else, I blame the media for our sense of physical inadequacy. While on one television channel we find ourselves watching impossibly thin women living impossibly fantastic lives, on the next we’re faced with “foodies” taunting us with delicious delectables whose first ingredient is a full stick of butter.

Adding insult to injury, it’s not as though only women are watching. The men in our lives now expect us to be both trophy and chef – a feat I’ve found completely impossible... and I’m pretty sure moderation is not the answer. To achieve that kind of thin, you’d have to swear off all caloric intake outside of lettuce and sugar-free Red Bull and replace every “spare” moment of your day with aerobics and pilates. Where’s the life balance in that?

I keep reading about this “new normal” whereby a muffin top is apparently considered okay. *shudders* I just can’t believe any non-desperate man would find that acceptably attractive. That’s like saying a too tight tank top that reveals the exact location of your belly button made out of fabric so thin you could read the newspaper through it is acceptable. It’s not! This “new normal” idea was obviously mass marketed by women who are either terrified someone is going to snatch their man, or those too lazy to lose the gut.

On the upside, I’ve noticed a decided trend toward “fullness” on the male-front. The difference is that they don’t seem to care if they’re somewhat less fit than they used to be. They’re still prancing about like they have their 17-year-old forms. I would venture to say it has something to do with NOT being bombarded by unrealistic media images. That, or their attention span really is so short they forget they should be concerned about it. Either way, I’m fraught with envy.

When you get down to the nut-cuttin’, the naked truth of it all is that we’re stuck with the basics of our genetic make-up. That’s no excuse, but there are some undeniable truths here. For example, I can say with 100% certainty that I will never crest the 5’1” mark; that my “pear” shape can only be tortured into a smaller piece of the same fruit; and that these Irish eyes will always long for food with the highest amount of all things dastardly. Because of these – none of which are my own fault, but rather the curse handed down by my gene pool – it’s safe to say that I will never really think I look good naked.

So what’s the answer?

I decided someone really needed to work on this question in earnest because, after all, it affects every part of our lives, from shopping to sex.

[sidebar: Oh yes, fellas… it’s true. If we don’t feel like we look good, there’s no way you’re getting a look at the goods. I haven’t sashayed around the house in a thong since the day I discovered my ass was starting to fall. It’s been full-bottom panties since.]

Employing my standard method of problem solving - many hours of mulling over my vodka - the answer naturally came to me. I popped upstairs to my dressing room and threw a sheet over my cheval mirror. Ta da! Problem solved! If I can’t see it, then I can’t obsess over it. I figure that if the only naked I see is when I’m showering, and I can still see all of my parts without bending over, then everything is still where it’s supposed to be and I’m good!

My Nana used to say, “Eventually, every woman’s looks will fade. When that happens, you’d better have something interesting to say.” I think I’ll go obsess over that for awhile.