All body issues and no real issues makes the world a dull place
There’s nothing new about characterising Western culture as superficial and focused on appearance. As a culture, we shame, worship and obsess over people’s bodies and looks, and we know it. And yet there is a difference between knowing something and fully internalising what you know to the extent that you perceive the world differently as a result of that knowledge.
Spending three months in a country which lacks mirrors, magazines, PR campaigns, advertising (apart from colourful hand-painted adverts on shop walls, usually for soap) and an overpowering presence of social media was probably the healthiest thing that ever happened to my brain as far as body image is concerned. A wholesome yoga retreat, a raw-food diet and a brisk hike on some tranquil mountains all rolled into one.
In terms of looking good, Malawi posed a challenge. It was 30°C+ every single day - I was sweaty, smelly and shiny all day every day. Jess and I over-estimated how conservative people would be re: dress and brought horrible, horrible clothes with us which we then had to wear on a daily basis (we even named some of these rags; ‘dentist shirt’ and ‘muffin skirt’ will give you an idea of how god awful they were). We had a tiny pocket mirror and about a handful of beauty products to share, so getting ready in the morning (or for parties) was an exercise in minimalism.
I never heard anyone say anything negative about anyone’s appearance at all, ever. Now this may have been because a lot of conversations were conducted in various bantu languages I don’t understand, but the absence of negativity was nevertheless part of my experience, whether genuine or down to my linguistic challenges. Comments about looks were rare anyway, but if they existed they were always in the form of a compliment, or a simple observation. Calling someone ‘fat’ or ‘big’ was not an insult at all, merely a way to describe them. Hey, how about you hop on this bike taxi because you’re big and I’m strong, and your nimble bird of a friend gets on the other bike with the puny driver?
And just like there was a noticeable absence of body shaming there was also no glorification of fit, conventionally good-looking bodies. Female UK volunteers were perhaps the only people who noticed and eagerly appreciated all the six packs and toned legs, arms and backs of hot Malawian men we were surrounded by (I suspect). For everyone else it was just, well... bodies. Nothing that special, really. Big, small, soft, round, lanky, fat, toned, what have you. Let’s talk about something more interesting.
Because the thing about 'body issues' as I've come to know them in the Western world is that they occupy a big chunk of time and space that could be taken up by SO MANY interesting, exciting, important things that are happening right now and should be the focal points of our collective attention. I can’t even imagine all the fun stuff that I’m missing out on because my brain cells are busy filtering out pseudo-information about how to look different to the way I do at the moment; a bit like Luke, Leia and Han Solo in the Death Star garbage compactor so full of rubbish they almost got killed. This near obsessive-compulsive fixation on looks is also mind-numbingly boring when you come to think of it - and being boring is the greatest sin of all.
[Intermission: for example, a thing a lot more fun to know than the five best ways to lose those Christmas lbs: there is a type of bakery bread in Malawi that's named after a current household name, and at the moment is known as ‘Obama.’ A few years ago, these buns were known, and rather ironically so, as Osama bin Laden. ‘Can I have five Obamas please’ is a legit thing to say at a Malawian bakery.]
So, spending time in a place where ‘body image’ did not even exist as a concept was like a lovely, relaxing holiday. Now imagine the look on my face when I log onto Facebook on the day I arrive back in Glasgow and the first thing I see is a picture of a human's ass - it’s a blog from a sportswoman who’s being shamed for apparently not looking fit enough for a professional athlete. I get a heavy, sinking feeling of ‘ohh yeah, shit, this is a thing’, which only gets worse as I scroll down my shitty newsfeed. Another blog by a woman about how insecure she feels about the way she looks in the morning, waking up next to her husband with bad breath and bed hair. A third article: write down 100 things you love about your body!
But of course I knew about this - the land of nomakeupselfies is where I hail from and none of this is new, and yet it looks so different after I’ve stepped out of it for a while. What used to be white noise in the background is suddenly something I hear loud and clear and cannot escape from - my social network is a collection of selfies, adverts with airbrushed models and articles about BODY ISSUES scrolling out in front of me in some demonic, never-ending succession.
So I switch off the laptop and place it on the desk. Outside, there’s billboards and shop windows and Christmas extravaganza which feels like a lot to deal with right now anyway, so I just lie down on the bed for a little bit. I’m alone in the bedroom; it’s just me and the hair spray, leave-in conditioner, curl definition serum, texturising spray, heat protection spray, dry oil, nail polish, nail polish remover, body lotion, moisturising hand cream, lipstick, foundation, mascara, eye-liner, blusher, bronzer, body spray, deodorant and a selection of perfumes.
