Plastics make everything possible but body esteem

I’ll be honest. I think that my body more closely resembles that of a 9-year-old boy rather… I’ll be honest. I think that my body more closely resembles that of a 9-year-old boy rather than that of a 20-year-old woman.

Could it be that I have this mentality because I was blessed with three roommates with beautiful bodies? Nah, I’m going to trace it back farther than college.

Perhaps it is because at the age of 12 or so, I entered the dreaded “awkward phase.” And I partly brought it on myself. I had my hair cut to approximately half an inch long, had no knowledge of how to apply makeup and also had a mouth full of braces. Slap on some of those hot wide-leg jeans and an oversized sweater and I think the visual I’m trying to create here is complete.

Now here’s the shocker – I thought I was normal. I wasn’t concerned with my lack of curves until my grandmother went into a nursing home. Don’t worry, I promise this won’t turn into a sappy story about the senile elderly. Well, maybe it depends on your perspective.

My grandmother shared a room with another woman who was slightly more senile than she. Every time I visited my grandmother, her roommate insisted on referring to me – or, specifically, my shoes – as though I were not in the room. Not only that, but she repeated this same phrase over and over again.

“Where did that young man get his shoes? They’re such nice shoes.”

Grandma would try to tell her roommate that I was her granddaughter and not her grandson. But her efforts were in vain. My family would end up in a fit of laughter by the end of the visit, entirely at my expense.

So I realized I had to take matters into my own hands. I grew my hair out, learned how to pluck my eyebrows and apply makeup and selected a slightly more feminine wardrobe. Eventually the braces came off, and by freshman year of college that little boy was history. Almost.

I can’t change my figure. Well, technically I can – but I refuse to. As much as I may poke fun at myself, I’m pretty comfortable in the skin I’m in. And although on occasion I would love to fill – or should I say pop out of – a top like Pam Anderson, I don’t mind that guys look me in the eyes when we talk.

However, I was still shocked to hear about a high school friend getting breast implants for her graduation gift. But perhaps it shouldn’t be so startling. According to an article in Girls’ Life, in 2003, around 74,000 people under the age of 18 had cosmetic surgery. And I’m not talking reconstructive surgery for birth defects or health problems. I’m talking breast implants and nose jobs.

While I may try to kid myself and hold onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, I’m a really late bloomer, I know for a fact that a 15-year-old is definitely not done developing.

And not only is plastic surgery a danger to a young girl’s physical health, but it’s detrimental to her body image. Let’s face it: Bigger breasts are not the cure for a low self-esteem, and insecurities run rampant through teens’ hormonal minds.

“Reality” shows like “The Swan” and “I Want a Famous Face” make it seem like cosmetic surgery is not a big deal. After all, how much of the excruciating healing process can be shown when 90% of the half-hour show is spent depicting how much better life will be for Susie once she can become a stripper who ever so slightly resembles Carmen Electra?

The real cure starts at home. While my parents may be a little wacky, they have always insisted on telling me how beautiful I am. Yup, even during the little boy years.

Positive reinforcement is slightly cheaper than cosmetic surgery. And girls, any guy that’s right for you will let you know that a brain is 10 times sexier than a body. OK, for young guys, maybe they believe that about 5 percent of the time. But when I’m old and gray, I want someone I can still talk to for hours and dance with in my kitchen. And the good guys eventually realize they want that too as they get older.

So, big or small, short or tall, embrace your bodies. Because it’s yours and no one else’s. I prefer to look on the bright side. After all, what I don’t have now won’t sag when I’m 50.

For tissues to stuff your shirt or to wipe your tears while you listen to that Christina Aguilera song, e-mail Jessica at jrp32@pitt.edu.