The Nelligan Review

 

Hey. You there.
I see you trying to ignore me. You should know by now.
 

It’s impossible.
 

I mean,
I’m in your TV and billboards.
Grocery stores. Schools.
Homes. Habits.
Dreams. Nervous system.
Psyche.
 

You can’t escape me.

 

Okay. I guess there’s the first few years. When girls are so young, so blissfully unaware. They don’t notice me. (How cute is that?!) But when they start to move around in the world–glue their eyes to a few screens, take in a few ads, meet a few older kids ... Well, then it’s game on.

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***

 

You have no idea how fun it is. You know. To mess with so many women. I don’t tell you to be thinner, younger, sexier, or more conforming. I just pepper you with promises.

Flatten your tummy
Stop the signs of aging
Get instant hourglass curves
Smooth frizzy hair

All I do is show how you can “fix” totally normal features of biology.
 

And just like that, without you even knowing it, I sew a seed of doubt. An insidious insinuation that there’s something to be corrected, which of course means there’s something wrong. A very potent (and a very important–for me) idea:

“you’re no good if you’re anything other than thin, young, and perfectly polished.”
 

***

 

Want to know the best part? Some of you take the bait! You scramble online. You search. You shop. Because you know just the thing to fill that hole, what will kill that ache. I mean, the answers are right there in front of you: 

 

Slim your waistline in best-selling shape wear
Reduce wrinkles with age-defying serum
Fuller lips in just one treatment

And just like the good girl you are, you Buy! Consume! Conform!

I cackle in silence as I lap up the spoils.

That's not all of you, though. Some of you sit back and watch, reluctant and wary. But inevitably, you quietly crack, and I work my way in. Swirling around, I splash up against your insides. It’s not long before your seams begin to corrode. The doubt gnaws. Your framework, once firm, begins to fray. And your thoughts drift to that friend of yours who’s been looking awfully youthful lately ...
 

Which med-spa did she get that laser skin treatment at?

It’s just a matter of time now. I know you’ll come around.

And then of course, there’s the staunch few who set up a wall and defend. Buttressed by intellect.
Flanked by feminist friends, you shout in your echo chamber of woke women. Convinced that
defiance alone will save you. So smug in your self-assurance, you stubbornly declare,

“I’m beautiful just the way I am.”

I nod and laugh. And laugh some more.

And I say:
Well of course!
You’re right!
Every body is beautiful!
Love the skin you’re in!

You raise a fist and rebel:
Out with unrealistic standards of beauty!
Every woman is beautiful!
All shapes and sizes!
No matter the age!
I’m beautiful JUST the way I am.

That’s it! That’s right. That sounds right ...
Right??

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***

Your body’s done a lot. I mean––from miraculous feats (bearing children!), to sustaining life (the meals!), to physical triumphs (the healing!), to making meaning (the hugs!), to mundane tasks (that snow won’t shovel itself!) The strength and utility, quite frankly, is beyond measure.

 

And then there’s your face: a visual vestige of your mind. Where every tiny fold between your eyebrows was etched by deep thought. Each crease was carved by a problem you solved, a plan you made, or a rhyme you wrote. Each line memorializing your creativity.
 

Subtly attuned to the truth of your greatness, objection swells from your depths: I’m more than

something to look at.

 

You think it. You want so badly to believe it.
 

But the thing is, I know:
 

Under the cover of your closet, you pinch and poke at your softness. It doesn’t feel very

beautiful. Does it?
 

In the solitude of your bathroom, you peer at the mirror, scrutinizing the wrinkles on your face.
Not a lot of love for that skin. Is there?
 

And that’s when I’m sure, I have you right where I want you:

That pain needs fixing, doesn’t it?
 

Strong arms that can carry ten bags of groceries? Shrink that bulk away. Traces of every good

idea you’ve had? Smooth that shit out.

***

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You know I’m just doing my job, right? I’m just doing what it takes to, you know–get money.
My savage hunger, it has no end.

So I manufacture demand and conjure a mirage. I put a price on your satisfaction, then steal it
away. I extract your earnings, your savings ... your self-worth. It’s never enough, I always want more.

And you have to admit, I’ve got it figured out. You either hate the way you look, or you hate yourself because you can’t wholeheartedly love the way you look. 

 

Either way, the solution is just one product or service (one purchase!) away. The formula isn’t complicated.

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Distaste for aging, hungry to be smaller––you’re eating right out of my hand. By keeping the 

emphasis on physical beauty ... well, it’s working beautifully.

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