design ANABEL DENT
The Girl In
34
Every morning I roll out of bed and walk by my mirror. And every afternoon and night. As I pass watching window sills or curious car doors or even the spying bath faucet, I see the girl looking back. She is sometimes smiling. People say they really like her smile. But in seconds she’ll be picking at her teeth or thighs or stomach. I know her ways. She’s beautiful. She is so flawed. There are hairs on her arms, and her stomach isn’t washboard flat like it was when she was 15. She is developed and has curves now – what all the boys want. And that’s what it’s all about, right? Appeasing to be the apple of man’s eye. I tell her that isn’t true, not these days. But it is already ingrained in her, subconsciously. It has been since before she even existed. Lucky for her, though, she’s got it – those parts. Yet as hard as she tries, there’s no way she could pull off the current low-waisted, tiny-top look that the titless girls can. To do so she’d have to be much thinner, but luckily she doesn’t go that far. She eats food because she wants to, but she beats herself up after, too. She has to stay skinny, or at least fit, and everything must have balance. A constant stream of simple calculations. She was good at math as a kid. She sees a new flaw every few months or weeks or days. She knows she is beautiful. But too often it is hard to believe. She cries for herself on occasion, during heavier times of each month. She cries for the existence of women. “Barbie” motifs and “Little Women” monologues circle through her head like the Roman Empire for men. We are so much more than what you make us out to be. We have minds as well as hearts. We can be lovely while also sexy, and we can be tough while also kind, and we can be attractive while also healthy. She really can do it all. Why do we have to do it all? She will always keep looking for more. A new fault of her reflection that only she could see. She doesn’t mean to or want to. It just is how she is. Some days, she will decide she looks perfect, how could she wish for anything more? But the next, she’ll look at herself and feel bloated, and she’ll forget about the days before. Who would I be without my mirror?