To All the Mothers and the Sisters and the Wives and Friends

I'm part of the problem. No secret.

I rant and rave to female students about the importance of education. I encourage them to focus on wit rather than waist line, intelligence instead of beauty. Forget how magazines define fabulous, I tell them, cultivate a personality and the rest will take care of itself.

"Smart, kind, funny...those are gorgeous traits. Inside and out."

Come on, the idea of a flawless female is a marketing ploy. Right? Of course, right.

For years, I boycotted makeup and doused myself in patchouli oil. I wore oversized t-shirts ("Ummm...Katie...you wear that so often it could walk by itself.") and refused to comb my hair. I knew I wasn't pretty so I made damn sure I was the funniest girl in the room - happy to repel and glorify the state of loneliness. Scared away every man except the one who saw through my bullsh*t. He didn't care that I smelled like hemp and needed a shower.



Well, maybe he did. But he loved me anyway.

I became smart and funny and kind. Now what?

Now I have my hair styled professionally (enough with the jokes) and shop at Banana Republic and Frederick's. I take my time and try to look good every day. I put patchouli away and wear Pleasures instead. There's never a reason not to exercise.

Yesterday, I spent an hour enduring a Brazilian wax.

Can't wait until June when Dr. Berger cuts me open and returns my body to its former glory.

I've asked you to donate money and look at my breasts.

And so it occurred to me that I'm part of the problem. No secret.

h/t to Dalia