losing my curves

Over the past ten years (or more) I would have been able to tell you, at any point, what my weight was in kilograms. I would have probably lied in about half of these ten years, shaving a kilo off here or there for those who dared to ask. I would also have been able to tell you my underwear size for Bonds, jeans size for Levis, dress size for Cue, and much in between.

Having crossed the border from Australia’s very western ‘leave little to the imagination’ style sense to a culture of covering up for women, I have learnt a few things. Most are obscenely obvious and I probably would have been able to list them before experiencing them. The difference though, and it’s an important one, is that I actually know what it’s like to feel these differences.

The clothes I wear every day directly influence the relationship I have with my body
No shit, Sherlock, to steal a phrase. The most important part of this statement is that I didn’t realize before quite how much I thought about my body and all its lumps and bumps. I’m not talking exclusively in the ‘I wish they were bigger, smaller firmer, higher’ kind of way (though this is part of it), but in a much simpler way. It just rarely comes up.

If I track back to only a month ago, one of the first thought processes I went through each day was to think about how I was feeling inside my skin, which would then determine what clothes I wore. There were two significant factors in the end decision: what I had clean (washing not being my forte), and just how close/loose/long/short/breathable I wanted my clothes to be given how fat/slim/fit/droopy I felt that day. Now that I wear the equivalent of loose pyjamas everyday, those thought processes are a thing of the past. Which leads me to my next epiphany.

What would I be like if I hadn’t spent so much time thinking about my hips?
I am really intrigued to know how different I would be if I had not spent so much mental powers thinking about my waistline. I am not implying I would be a better person with a career in social conscience well carved out, a firm Life Plan drafted, and an infallible pension plan allowing me to retire in my forties if I so choose. After all it’s entirely possible I would have substituted the thought power used thinking about my body on developing obsessions with Colin Firth, or a useless mental database of The Cure’s back catalogue etc. I’m just truly curious to know if I would be different.

Not being able to see the shape of other women’s bodies increases my curiosity to know what they look like under there
Which helps me to understand, at least a little bit, the whole ‘nine parts of desire’ idea, in a very shallow, western culture kind of way. I know I am heading into dangerous territory here, so I will try to explain what I am experiencing.

Since arriving in Bangladesh, I am finding myself wondering what women on the street look like with their clothes off. Before anyone gets excited, this is not in a sexual way, but in the way that I have no idea at all what the average Bangladeshi woman looks like naked. And it isn’t as simple as ‘the same as you with no clothes on’, because they have had very different life experiences than me. For example, I have been regularly exercising, albeit with varying degrees of intensity, in some form or another as far back as I can remember. This includes swimming, bicycle riding, playing team sports, roller blading, gym work, aerobics, bush walking, the odd hike, jogging etc.

This is very, very different for Bangladeshi girls who, on the whole, can’t swim, have never been on a bike, never walk very far or for very long, have never been inside a gym, and cannot even comprehend the idea of setting out solo with a pack on your back to hike through an alley way let alone Mt Everest. From what limited limbs I have seen, the big difference is muscle tissue. There appears to be a distinct lack of it. Which means, I am sure, that women do look different to me with their clothes off. Even ones that weigh the same as me and wear the same sized clothes.

At home this curiosity isn’t there because I know if I’m around a woman long enough, I’ll get a pretty good idea of what most bits of her body look like. But here, I’ll probably never get the chance to see. It also adds an air of mystery to a woman’s body I’m sure the opposite sex are very much aware of.

I love this new found freedom
As silly as it is, there is a definite part of me which ties my self esteem to my body. How could it not? We all contribute to building a society where size, shape, style and sexiness all matter immensely. So I would just like to acknowledge that being given the freedom to think about other things than whether my bum looks big in this is great. I wish every western girl could experience it too.