Are YOU a skinnist?

*Disclaimer: The idea of skinnism is just to poke fun at myself, and the obscene amount of cattiness women are subjected to in general.*

All my life I had to fight. A girl child isn't safe in a world of skinnist. Okay, may be a rendition of Oprah's character quote from the Color Purple wasn't needed, but I am a victim of skinnism. What is a skinnist you ask? It's a racist against skinny people. I know what your thinking. Skinny people are hardly stigmatized, and are relatively seen in the media as being ideal. However, I am here to tell you that skinnism is alive, and REAL. Insert need for demonstration here _________.

As a child growing up, as well as currently, my size and weight has always been a topic of conversation, or a means to "insult" me when all else failed. You see, as a Black American female, I do not fit the stereotype, or representation of what many believe the women in my culture, as well as in other minority groups are supposed to be. I am not an image of large breasts, a rounded bottom, and hips galore. I am a young woman of five-foot-eight-inches tall, a size two in most cases, and one hundred and twenty five pounds on a "good day".  A dream for many woman I suppose, who subscribe to the mantra that "thin is in". However, growing up in a sea of beautiful women who epitomized this voluptuous image, it was hard during my pubescent years hearing things like "why are you so skinny?" A means, I suppose to remind me that I was ill-equipped in respect to my body structure. As far as a few days ago, I was subjected to someone's opinion of my size. Apparently being cold was a direct result of my thinness, although it is the winter in the mid-west, and I'm anemic. *shrugs* Even so, I love me, and the skin I'm in. I take after my mom, who I am proud of, and think is the most beautiful woman in the world. I love that I can go virtually bra-free, because as a feminist, I couldn't imagine burning my bra after having two children, who boobie-fed, although short lived, if I had a size double-D cup. Nope! I also love that my husband loves my body, and tells me so everyday. Essentially, the adult me has told the pubescent me to "Get over it love. This is you. And YOU are gorgeous just the way g-d made you. If you love you, then others will."

Point? This isn't a war of the skinnies vs thick boned vs full figured as can be. Not at all. Nor is it, look at me, I'm so sad because of skinnism (I can't even say that "term" with a straight face writing this). This is... no matter the criticism, or unsolicited responses you may receive, love you and the skin you're in. Don't subscribe to any standard of beauty, but the beauty you see in the mirror before you. There is not a one size fits all when it comes to the human form. A person who is thin is not more desirable, just as a person who is curvaceous isn't sexier. An individual is desirable based on the person that they are. Fad diets, lip injections, breast implants, butt implants, liposuction, etc. All things utilized to subscribe to a standard of beauty, an ideal of perfection that is unreachable, as well as untrue.Why not aspire to be healthy, rather than try to fit an image based on the beliefs of others? After all, as said in a scene in Tyler Perry's movie Madea's Family Reunion..."we are more than just our thighs, and our hips." To leave this post off, I think Maya Angelou's poem says it best, in the face of adversary, ridicule, or judgement, think of her words in Still I Rise.

Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may trod me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops, Weakened by my soulful cries? Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own backyard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.