A couple of years ago people were saying that models where unrealistic images of how women are supposed to look?

Sure. But then what about now? Now we actually have a concept of beauty that is not even found in real life. It’s actually more like science fiction. Even those few percent that a beautiful enough to be featured in your favourite magazine are covered in makeup, photoshopped and most likely had their fair share of plastic surgery too. And we are taking it in without any sense of criticism at all. The walls of my 12-year-old cousin are plastered with posters of “perfect women”. Every day whatever she’s doing she is surrounded by perfection. She is constantly comparing herself to something she’ll never be her parents are doing absolutely nothing about it, because it’s completely normal. But doesn’t the fact that it’s considered normal make it even more disgusting? This retouched fantasy of human physical perfection is not art. It’s propaganda.

And at the same time – even though we know how this distorted image of beauty makes us aim for something we’ll never reach – we still know that we cannot afford to not pursue it. Because everywhere people are telling us that we have to. It’s not just a superficial longing, it is our identity that is at stake. I don’t want to be ugly. Subhuman. I don’t want to be a failure; unworthy of consideration.

And yes, this is about women’s rights.  As it always has been. Where masculinity has traditionally been measured by status, femininity is measured by beauty. And sure, beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, but when all we see are models that would make Barbie cry, the standard of beauty has been distorted to an unhealthy level.

I have no idea what could be done about this. I don’t think banning this would have any influence, or even be possible. How do you tell these people (models, photographers, ect.) that prostituting themselves like this is not acceptable?

Because in the pursuit of beauty, there is no finish line. Nothing about us will ever be perfect. The need will always, always be there. There will always be just one more thing we could do. Or get. Or lose. It is a fool’s marathon. But I don’t care. I will run it anyway.
Augusten Burroughs

This post is a part of an opinions series where I speak my mind on topics that interest me. I have earlier on discussed abortion and the term single.

I am not sure on about how it is in English, but in Danish the “proper” word for certain minorities change every couple of years. As an example I wouldn’t know what to call a person with Down’s syndrome anymore because whatever I choose it will probably be politically incorrect.

I kinda feel the same way about the word “single” (the two probably cannot really be compared I am doing it anyway). The word is obsolete and I cringe at the use of the word as a marketing category: there are single girls, single literature, single vacations, single ready meals and single brad pans. And built into the word there’s an implicit premise that one should be “double” to be whole, and that it’s only possible when you have a man in your life.

I especially hate the fact that being a single woman surely must mean that you are constantly on the prowl for a man.

When I’m asked to describe myself whether I am a man or not is one of the most important things. When I have stated that I am not, then it’s  if I have a man or not. It’s tiring and I sometimes feels like it can build a cliff between me and my non-single friends.

Often I have to remind myself that being single doesn’t translate into being weird or unwanted – because that is what the word “single” carries with it. I guess I would just like a word for my civil status that doesn’t imply that I am desperate, lonely and/or dysfunctional.

“If men could get pregnant, abortion would be a sacrament.” – Florence Kennedy

Today is the 36th anniversary of Roe vs Wade, the United States Supreme Court case that basically deemed abortion a fundamental right, and for the last couple of years this has been celebrated by NARAL pro-choice America with blog for choice day. Now, I am not American, so this day might not mean something to me – but a woman’s right to choose does, which is why I have decided to write about why I am pro-choice and why I don’t think any politician is authorized to negotiate the disposition of my uterus.

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