Is Too Much Confidence a Bad Thing?
Credit: Txema Yeste/Trunk Archive
“My thighs look so big!” my friend says, contorting herself like a gymnast so she can simultaneously see her face and her rear in the dressing room mirror. “Just look at my stomach!” my other friend says, standing next to her, pinching the most minuscule amount of ab flab, which I suspect is just skin. I don’t say anything, but look at myself in the adjacent mirror, and think, “I look OK!” I am objectively not prettier or thinner than my buddies, but I do not seem to see myself the way many others of my gender view themselves: critically, disdainfully. I think I have reverse body dysmorphia.
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Most people with actual Body Dysmorphic Disorder (BDD) perceive a defect in their features or body where none exists (usually the face, skin, hair and nose), causing psychological distress. Yet so many women I know are constantly picking themselves apart: Their breasts are too small, their chins too long, their earlobes too thick, you name it.
I’ve always been the opposite. Whereas others might zoom in on their faults, I’ll barely notice my own. If I do, I’ll manage to explain them away with rose-colored glasses. “Oh, I’m just bloated today, but my stomach’s rather nice,” I’ll think, even though I may have been saying that to myself for three months (three months of bloat?), excusing my tight jeans as “one wash too many.” Or I’ll think, “Besides for that pimple, my skin looks great!” and I’ll turn my face to the left so the offending blemish can’t be seen. No matter what’s reflected back at me, somehow, I seem to see my fabulous self on her best day. Is there something wrong with me that I won’t engage in this competitive female self- denigration? (See also: this hysterical Amy Schumer “Compliment” skit, where all women react to compliments by putting themselves down with horrific insults.)
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I think the way one views themselves is rooted in adolescence. Remember how the chubby sophomore, who stood on the sidelines as her cheerleader friends got asked out, was an awkward wallflower at the school dance? Yeah, I can’t relate to that. In high school, boys liked me, girls weren’t mean to me, and I’ve always had confidence. With age, as my tautness turned to flab, my bouncy curls to drab, I fear my self-acceptance has become self-delusion. If you see yourself as the Homecoming Queen when you’re really the 40-something equivalent of the AV Club head, how will you be inspired to improve?
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I know in this bifurcated world where the debate teeters between radical self-acceptance and hypercritical impossible feminine standards it may be healthier to have reverse body dysmorphia, but for me it may have gone too far. As I stand in the dressing room with my girlfriends I wonder if maybe we could all learn from each other. Perhaps I can admit my jeans haven’t shrunk, that maybe it’s time for me to take a trip to the colorist. And perhaps they can learn that no one but them sees their imaginary flaws. We should all see ourselves not the way we were, or the way we are, but the way we want to be.
