Body compulsions

I’m on dirty vodka martinis tonight.

I did write for my dissertation today; I think I’ve moved beyond my block. I seriously think that this blog has something to do with that. I've promised myself to post daily, so here it is.

The topic is the body image thing: I get quite frustrated thinking about this issue, so I’ll probably write some and edit/re-edit it later.

My mother bought into the family obsession with female figures, facial beauty, and the need for male affirmation. Always bodily fixated, she requires sexual affirmation--whether from males or females--that is, she needs people to let her know her how appealing she is. She’s passed that onto me. But in my mom’s case, the primary means of affirmation--her source of identity--is tied to her fuckability.

My mother’s an attractive woman. But she’s always seen herself as imperfect. She had her first lipo in her 30s, when it was pretty new for non-celebs. Her first eye lift in her early 40s. She’s in her late 50s now, and she wants a full-on facelift, but she’s hesitant (she did speak to me about getting one of those “lunch hour facelifts.” I helped change her mind by sending her links to a CNN report on how often they backfire). Instead, she’s opted for injections of something that fills in her wrinkles. Remember, we're from thrifty working-class folk. So she shops at Goodwill and St Vincent’s, Wal-Mart, Costco--anything that will save her money. She is parsimonious--always worrying about her pension and saving money. She dumped HBO (a channel she loved) because of its cost. But she’s willing to cough up for cosmetic procedures. It’s paid off, though. Every time I visit a cosmetics counter with her she announces “I’m her mother,” and the saleswoman invariably responds “but you don’t…she [me] looks….” [awkward silence].

Of course I look older than her. I’m a smoker, a drinker, and I haven’t paid the obsessive amount of attention to my body and face as my mother does (mind you, she does look terrific) because I've always believed myself ugly--even when I was a making a good income as a stripper. Admittedly, I'm regretting my inattention to my appearance now that I'm aging.

My mother's appearance has a downside, though: she’s been lifelong friends with Ana and Mia. As a consequence, she’s had some health issues; she's perennially ill. More on that in another post, I think.

How did her fixation affect me? Well, she put me on my first diet when I was ten years old. When my body began developing, it didn’t develop the way she liked; she began talking to me about plastic surgery when I was 14. My bust was “too big” and needed to be “corrected.” She continued to advise: I needed surgery on my face, my belly, my teeth. All of this before I was 17, but, of course, she didn’t want to pay for any of these treatments. But she felt it was her motherly duty to point out my imperfections, to inform me of my options, and to leave it at that. I realize she wasn't trying to be hurtful, that she didn't see that I might interpret this as "my mother really thinks I'm ugly." But that is how I interpreted her advice.

She didn't stop with her plastic surgery suggestions until I was in my 30s. The last time it happened, we were in my husband's presence, in her car as we pulled into the family's garage. She said, cheerfully, "you know, there's a new technique. It's called a "skin bra." It would be quick and easy, and [my husband] would really like the results." After that humiliation, I spoke to her. I was pretty passive-aggressive, but I let her know she wasn't allowed to talk about my body anymore. She's mostly stopped.


Boy O boy. This is getting whiny. I’ll cut it loose now. Happy weekend.