You might not know it due to the lack of red circles drawn around my thighs or arrows pointing at my butt but I have cellulite worthy of an US cover, In Touch at the very least. It’s cottage cheese-y or orange peel-y or any other bumpy food analogy you might care to apply but you know what it’s not? Embarrassing. At least to me. I wear a swimsuit with no sarong tied around my waist. I run in my Nike tempo track shorts. And when I step out of the shower, my eyes never linger disapprovingly over my misbehaving collagen. (It helps that it is behind me.)
Even worse than not being embarrassed about my cellulite, like any good woman should according to dozens of breathless shame-filled articles, I absolutely refuse to do anything about it. I’ve never bought a “firming” cream or special tights or supplements. I’ve never tried thermologie or endermologie or any other -ologie that involves heat and/or lasers aimed at my backside. I’ve never even used fake tanner to cover it up – which brings me to another “flaw” I refuse to apologize for: my pale (to the nth power) skin. I’m not knocking any of you who love your self-tanners but for me the idea of daily painting all my exposed skin an entirely different color than the one it comes in is the very definition of ludicrous. (Note to all high school SAT essay writers: “Ludacris” is a rapper and I can think of no occasion that would make it appropriate to invoke his name in your college entrance exam. Unless you are him. For the sake of my sanity, please learn to spell the word correctly.) It’s bad enough I feel compelled to paint my face on Sundays and other dress-up occasions; most other days I don’t bother as I’ll just sweat it off during my workout, plus my baby likes to lick my face and what’s the point in buying her organic baby food if I’m giving her a cocktail of known carcinogens and lead with every kiss?
I don’t know why this is. Frankly I’m as baffled by my confidence in this area as you are. It’s not like I’m known for my self-confidence, especially when it comes to my body. Cellulite has just never bothered me. I don’t notice it on myself and, even better, I don’t notice it on other people either. Although that’s not for lack of afflicted specimens, apparently. According to an article on the dreaded red-circle disease in May’s Fitness magazine (which contains a shout-out to our very own MizFit, holla!) over 90% of women – and 0% of men – have cellulite. (For those of you curious, the gender discrepancy is accounted for by the different way male and female bodies position their collagen. According to the article, men’s collagen lines up diagonally while women’s goes straight up and down, thereby making it easier for fat molecules to squish through.) The article then goes on to explain that cellulite is “incurable” but don’t worry they have pages of advertisements disguised as reporting listing various creams you can try anyhow.
Can someone please explain to me how a condition that over 90% of women have – including Brittney Spears, Beyonce, Lady Gaga, Jennifer Lopez and a host of other gorgeous women – and is “incurable” is a flaw? Doesn’t that just make it normal? It’s like criticizing women for having elbows. And then trying to sell us an elbow-removal file.
How do you feel about your cellulite? Or are you in the genetically-blessed 10% without it? What’s your “flaw” that you refuse to apologize for?