Me: "I think I can guess what it refers to, but tell me."
B: "It's the gap between a woman's upper thighs when she stands with her legs together ... thus the box gap."
The concept wasn't new to me. Years ago I read a novel in which the heroine recounted her teenage failure to achieve the three triangles of space between her legs (upper thighs, below the knees, above the ankles) requisite for all the girls in her summer camp in crowd. Since then, I've periodically attempted to reach the golden proportions of female thighs ... with no success.
It's a tricky balance ... you have to be thin enough to have the gap, but shapely/tone enough to achieve the desired diamond or triangle shape (diamond from the back, triangle from the front). Too thin and you end up with twig legs/table legs/insert equally offensive label here. Too muscular and you lose the "ideal" gap shape. Too plentiful and you lose the gap altogether. I suspect it comes from a combination of diet, exercise and awesome genetics.
Anyway, the conversation with B left me thinking of two things:
1. Lobbying for a new term for it.
2. Is there any solution to our thigh loathing?
First ... I want to rename it "the light box". The term retains the crudeness of "box", but is elevated by the "light" (referencing a little peak of light between the upper thighs). For me, it conjures up a Botticelli-Birth-of-Venus sort of etherealness (although, ironically, I suspect his Venus wasn't slim enough to sport a light box), whereas "gap" just makes me think of the London Underground or a missing tooth. Mull it over, let it marinate, let me know what you think.
Second, as an American female of my generation, I've been well schooled on thigh revulsion and carry the appropriate amount of hate/dread/fear of my thighs. Why? They're relatively strong, hardworking sections of two perfectly serviceable legs. They help me move from here to there, they run, they dance, they stretch. So, what's my problem?
They don't look they way I think they should. I have ... cellulite (gasp, I can't believe I just said that out loud ... well, not out loud, but in a public way). I've been an avid and faithful worker-outer since my mid 20s. I've climbed mountains, I've rocked half marathons, I've never succeeded in ridding myself of the dreaded bumps and ripples. However, they work well and look okay and B thinks I'm beautiful.
So, again, what's my problem?
I guess, ultimately, I don't think it's my problem. It's your problem. It's our problem. It's an institutional problem.
We can tell ourselves, our daughters, our nieces (hell, our sons, too; body image issues wreak equal havoc on men) to be proud of who they are and to embrace their particular loveliness, but until our culture genuinely embraces this, real change isn't possible. The view of beauty is too narrow and the variables impacting self image are too numerous.
I'll keep striving towards lasting change, but until society makes the shift, what do you think about joining me in calling the elusive upper thigh diamond a "light box"? It's good, right?
I briefly thought I should wait before I typed, but then what sort of true reaction would you be reading? I feel a little sick about your post. I didn't even realize I had a problem with my dimly-lit box until just now, so this twinge of inferiority makes me mad.
ReplyDeleteOf course there are symbols of youthfulness and beauty and I don't think there is anything wrong about celebrating them. But, just as touring a fabulous castle makes us feel romantic, my home - where I raise my daughter, grow my garden, make love to my husband - looks nothing like that castle. And yet, it is the place I feel most comfortable in all the world. It is mine and it holds countless personal tales.
Like any movement towards change, it starts with an iconoclast. Yes, you are opening the dialogue, but it seems as if you are double-talking. Promoting two sides at once. While putting yourself down ("they don't look the way I think they should") you're asking others to embrace you/themselves and agree on a lesser-degree of self-loathing (with a little less light on our boxes...)
How do we really change, Pamela? We, as individuals, change by creating an environment and attitude of celebration rather than intimidation. We let our actions serve as in instructions manual to others on how to live joyfully. My practice with Daisy is to never talk poorly of myself (my hair, my weight, my skin tone, my lack-of-whatever.) Of course she will hear others do it, but she will know of one person she loves that loves her that does not participate in that.
I've never seen your light box but I do know you are beautiful.
(I just realized something... even though I love my home, I often ramble on about all the stuff that needs to get done. You've given me lots to think about today.)
It's true, I've exposed myself as quite ridiculous here ... of course, I'm pretty confident this isn't news to you. And, isn't the whole thing somewhat ridiculous?
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