My booty has seen happier, less stressful days. Until this year, it’s served its purpose well–cushioned me adequately and frequently from time to time, adjusted to my demands of squeezing into two sizes smaller, resisted from making a complete ass of itself in very, very snug leggings. Yet, I have remained distraught. I have given into the shapes set by pop culture veterans.
They have trolled my timeline of self assured-ness.
It’s not like the booty didn’t exist before this year–it has like most parts of our anatomy. The attention it got however was unwarranted (for me atleast). One of the biggest headlines of the year that broke me and the internet was Kim’s photoshoot for Papermag. As the delicate stem of the wine glass stood on steady derriere ground, I looked at mine which couldn’t even hold a feather. Nicki Minaj’s ‘Amazonian Anaconda‘ was haunting me not just in my dreams but in my day dreams. I found solace in Miley’s high intensity twerking in latex. I also learnt in the process that I was not the twerking kinds. By now, I was in booty therapy with my tiny-bum-med friends. I found pleasure in making lists of all the things wrong with a big dorsal. Pride needed to be restored, fast and quick before my obsession reached the awful “Let’s consider getting padded denims stage”. I couldn’t become a type, I hated ‘types’.
I trained myself to stop looking at derrieres and concentrate on interiors. Draw the focus back to where it should have been in the first place–to self loving, rather than self loathing. I also decided to blame men, and the few women who had taken it upon themselves to become the champion of big butts. In all this momentous hate and loving I hope I can put this year behind me, literally and metaphorically.
I am also looking forward to 2015 being a booty-less year, with less men queuing up to consume http://instagram.com/thebootyline and my behind sitting out the daily mirror interrogation. Bye bye inconsiderable crisis 🙂