Time for the fattists to shut it

The Oscar nominations came out this morning, and I am thrilled because my favorite movie of the year—Winter's Bone—was nominated for best picture. If you haven't seen this film yet and can stand a movie that is pretty gritty and dark, rent it ASAP. It will kick your ass. (On top of that it's also a movie by and about real women.)

Now that the Oscar noms are out, I guess I should finally wrap up the Golden Globe coverage. And I want to do that by shaking my finger at Time magazine for posing an article called "5 Stars Who Looked Fat and 5 Stars Who Looked Fit" after the Globes.

Yes, as a friend pointed out, "it's not bad enough, fashion-wise, to be overweight, but now it's a fashion faux pas to look an ounce larger than you really are."

I couldn't agree more. What the hell is wrong with people—I'm talking to you, Charla Krupp—that makes them think it's acceptable to call people fat? Guess what, Krupp? It hasn't been okay to call someone fat since fifth grade. Time to grow up.

What's crazy is that this salacious headline promises more bite than it delivers. If you read the article, you'll see that Krupp calls Christina Aguilera "buxom" and "hippy," describes JLo as having an "ample derriere" (see picture above), and says Jennifer Love Hewitt's "top half is voluminous."

Buxom? Hippy? Ample? Voluminous?

I don't know about you, but I would have no problem having JLo's ample derriere, Hewitt's volumnious top half, or Aguilera's buxom and hippy. And I certainly know it would make my husband happy.

Oddly, Krupp included Heidi Klum in this list of "stars who looked fat," which doesn't even make sense. If Heidi Klum looks fat, then my next birthday wish will be to be as fat as Klum.

And I think that the fact that Krupp doesn't get this proves that she's out of sync with so many of us—those of us who want to accept our bodies the way they are and don't feel a need to cleave to some ridiculous model of perfection.

What's worse is that this article ran on the Time magazine website. Really, Time magazine? Really? You think it looks good to talk about how "fat" someone looks? It's not like this is some tabloid we'd find in the checkout line. I expect more of a "news" magazine. I expect integrity. So let's see it.

Loving whatever size you have and aging gracefully

198 pounds

Since I wrote about women who don't have a lot up top in my last post, today I want to write about women who do have something upstairs.

I once heard Madonna say that when you're in your twenties, your breasts stand at attention, when you're in your thirties, they start to sag a little, and when in your forties, they are hanging pretty low.

In general I would agree with this assessment, but what I take issue with is the implication that this is a bad thing. Sure, when I was in my teens and twenties, the girls were pretty perky, standing proud every day, but they were also not quite big enough to offer me any real cleavage, which was for all practical purposes nonexistent. But now, twenty years later, I'm all about the cleavage.

Which raises the question, which is better—perky breasts or ones that give you good cleavage?

If you ask me, the answer is both. When they were perky, I loved that about my body, but now that I have cleavage, I love that too—possibly even more.

And maybe that's because we're not supposed to look—or be—the same as we age. I wouldn't give up my cleavage for anything right now—even my former perkiness—and when I see middle-aged woman who have breast implants that look like they could take someone's eye out, I think it looks not only fake but ridiculous.

During a recent trip to visit family, I had the pleasure of seeing Solitary Man, an independent film about a divorced couple played by Susan Sarandon and Michael Douglas. In one scene, Douglas' character visits Sarandon's and finds her in a low-cut top that perfectly shows off her cleavage. I have to say that Sarandon looked amazing. But more than anything, I loved that—at the age of sixty-three—she was still working it. And why shouldn't she?

Dave and I saw that movie with my mother, and I wondered then why Mom almost never shows off her assets, which are plentiful. I think it's because we're taught that after a certain age—possibly after childbearing age—women aren't supposed to be sexual creatures.

Well, I think that's a load of crap.

And I'm thrilled that Sarandon is bucking the trend.

The same week we saw that movie, I also spent a good deal of time with my two nieces, who are now becoming very curious about women's bodies. They talk about them constantly and are always launching questions in my direction that I find hard to answer. Maybe because they think they can get more out of their aunt than their parents? Perhaps, but I also know their mother is pretty up front with them about this stuff too.

No, I think that they are just trying to cull information from as many different sources as possible, so they can make up their own minds about this issue. One of the things they taught me is that some women have "sporty" breasts—read small—while others have big "pillows." (Cute, huh?)

But I noticed that they didn't make a connection between body size and breast size. They claim that when they grow up they want to be really skinny but have big pillows, a fact I digested with horror while also taking the opportunity to explain to them that there is usually a direct correlation between body size and breast size and that not very many women get to mix and match, per se.

They seemed to get it, and by the time Dave and I were heading home a week later, they knew how to answer the question, "Which size is best?"

"Whatever size you have," they said in unison, and I smiled with relief.

Even skinny women get the blues . . .

197 pounds
I've had the good fortune of going shopping with many wonderful women lately—sometimes I've been going out just for fun, and other times I've been with a friend who was on a mission. These women have come in numerous body shapes, and it's been a joy to see them all look beautiful at any size.

But what I can't get over is that all of them—no matter how thin or how curvy—have very real insecurities.

One of these women, for example, is very thin and incredibly well toned—she wears a size two and has Halle Berry's muscular arms, Jennifer Aniston's shapely legs, and Emily Blunt's tight little butt. But she didn't see any of that when we were in the dressing room recently.

Instead all she saw was her chest, which is a bit on the small side. She was, in fact, so worried about not having enough up top, that she refused to wear anything that didn't have wide enough straps to accommodate her padded bra, which she claimed she needed to look normal.

When I finally convinced her to try on a very fashion forward strapless dress from the clearance rack, I was astonished by how amazing it looked on her—it was both hip and adorable at the same time—and she was really rocking the look: the dress was short enough to highlight her toned legs, and her long dark hair hit her shoulders in just the right place to draw your eye to both her sculpted arms and her gorgeous hair.

But she couldn't see that.

"You look incredible," I told her.

"Are you kidding?" she said in a suspicious tone. "I don't have anything up here." She put her hands on her chest and cupped what she saw as her inadequacy. Then she nodded at me. "If only I had what you have."

I gasped. Her comment shocked me that much.

She was wearing a dress that fell halfway between her ass and her knees, and there wasn't an ounce of cellulite in sight, but she wanted what I had?

Then I laughed because, from my point of view, the situation was completely ludicrous—I wanted what she had, and she wanted what I had.

"You're crazy," I finally said.

But my friend could not be swayed. "You don't get it. I can't wear a dress like this. I have to have something with sleeves."

The irony of the situation did not escape me.

Though I have a few select sleeveless dresses, I avoid them almost as much as I avoid fried food. I'm just not that comfortable revealing my arms, which I see as a bit too fleshy for display. On the other hand, my friend has supermodel arms, but she won't show them off because she thinks her breasts are too small.

Together we made quite a pair.

Despite my protestations, I didn't talk my friend into buying that fabulous dress, but I did win in one regard: since then I have not thought twice about wearing my own sleeveless outfits, bare arms and all.

A side note: Need another reason to go sleeveless, strapless, and/or braless? Do it because you can. Far too many women in the world aren't allowed to show their arms, shoulders, and cleavage, and that's a reason to revel in them.