Some Kind of Miracle
As summer winds down, my inbox is over-inundated with ads for “Miracle” bathing suits. At discounted prices! You know me, I’d really like to buy a miracle, especially on sale. But, of late, I am more than tired of being told my body needs one.
Besides, shouldn’t the word miracle be saved for a true wonder? Like an astonishing act of divine intervention or, at the bare minimum, desperately wanted ideals like peace, social justice or a sustainable planet? No such luck. Instead, miracle is used to describe a swimsuit that holds-in my belly or, at best, tries to hide it. It’s for women, mind you, we of the pre- and post-menopausal stomach weight gain. The one that’s treated like a scourge of womanhood, something to point fingers at and, above all, control at all costs. And pricey it is. Even at "end of the season” pricing, “Miracle” bathing suits are “50 dollars off an order of $250 or more.”
These corsets of the beach, oops, I mean swimsuits, are not alone in their declarations of panacean promises that’ll make me appear slim and trim. These days I can manage my middle in so many ways. I can buy tummy-control underwear, dresses with built-in “shapewear,” or there’s the other option, just stay home and not offend anyone with my anatomy. After all, my dog doesn’t seem to mind my belly, in fact, it’s something we have in common.
Face it, there’s entire industries cashing in on the fact that my stomach isn’t flat. Not only the fashion industry, there’s the fitness industry, the diet and weight-loss industries, the cosmetic and aesthetic industries . . .
Kiplinger, an American publisher of business forecasts, wrote, “Fighting fat is a ‘megatrend’ sure to drive the stocks of dozens of companies over the coming decades, according to a report from Bank of America/Merrill Lynch.”
Profits from these fat-fighting investments are garnered through selling quick, and often false, fixes while capitalizing on women’s insecurities. Ones we are not born with, but rather are taught throughout our lives. Societal pressures telling us how we should look. And our abdomen, the holy midsection that carries our reproductive organs, is the main target for subjugation, exploitation and apparently dividends.
Maybe there is a miracle needed here. But it’s nothing we could buy, wear or take. The miracle might be in simply calling it out. Noticing the onslaught of advertising that creates and encourages a uniquely predatory kind of body-self-loathing that has been de rigueur for girls and women for lifetimes. Yes, it’d be great if we could refuse and rebuke all girdle-cinching clothing, endorsements by celebrities the size of my arm, along with targeted ads that yell, “Do you have a beach body?” But seriously, that would be a near Herculean task.
Wait a minute, did I just use a masculine adjective instead of invoking Hippolyta, the queen of the Amazons, as in an “Hippolytan” task? I admit, it’s a made-up word but also an important nod to Hippolyta’s strength, which we’ll need to overcome such literal and figurative bondage.
Maybe someday we women can let our stomachs be and all breathe in comfort. For now, let’s wield our powers of observation, introspection and compassion. One thing I know for sure, women have an incredible capacity to endure. Perhaps we can do so in continuing to notice the falsehoods we’re being sold instead of buying them.
By the way, Hippolyta wore a girdle. But hers was a magical belt. A symbol of her power, it granted her immense strength and signified her authority. Unfortunately, there are different versions of how her story ends. One where Hercules kills her and steals the girdle, in another, Hippolyta gives it to him after an intimate encounter.
Either way, in my imagination, when Hercules ends up with the girdle, it miraculously turns into a flesh-toned undergarment to make his stomach look smaller and firmer.