The other morning I came across Kate Moss’s words, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.”

Kate moss clearly hasn’t eaten a red velvet cupcake.

The patience of the women in our world with air brushed, size zero models being shoved down our throats by the media has run thin.

I hear it and see it everywhere.

I hear it from the women who are out crying and saying, “When did this (size zero) become more beautiful, than this (curvy size)?

I see it in the “real women have curves” campaigns.

I hear it in the voices of women who comment on images that accompany articles I have written, people who ask for a more “real woman” than my size zero self, to accompany my words.

So, I get it.

We’re tired of the media telling us what to wear, how much to weigh, and what’s “beautiful.”

But, here’s the thing—I don’t think women need to be removed from the media.

I don’t think taking “skinny and “beautiful” out is the solution, either.

No matter what the world tries to shove down your throat, your power remains in your own hands.

You don’t have to buy into it, you don’t have to get defensive and say, “real women don’t look like that.”

And guess what? That woman humping Robin Thicke’s leg in the blurred lines video made a free choice to be there. So don’t worry about her. Maybe she’s a single mom, paying her rent and maybe she doesn’t feel demoralized or objectified.

No one is forcing women to pose half naked in commercials, music videos or advertising. Women are making the free choice to be there.

I believe on some level, women are objectifying women by making the choice to participate in advertising that portrays women as ornamental props that lack depth.

Women could say no. We could choose not to be partake in being props for the media, but we are.

Therefore pointing a finger at the media isn’t the solution, it is an easy way to play the victim and throw energy away.

You have a choice, every second of each day how you experience something.

We can see a woman in a lipstick ad with a mermaid wasit and botox lips and compare ourselves, feel inadequate or we can choose to salute that woman in her soul dressing and be confident enough to know it takes away nothing from our own beautiful existence. Nothing.

I think the solution is seeing it all, and not letting it affect us so.

Knowing that at the end of the day that beautiful isn’t measured by the size of our hips, or our faces—it’s measured by the insurmountable whopping beauty of our souls.

That’s the sweet spot. Being shown whatever, and knowing it doesn’t take away from our brilliance.

I think we need to be stronger.

Know it’s all just wrapping paper, and our souls are the juiciest best bits.

What about our daughters, though? What about their thirsty little minds?

When I have a child I will take a permanent marker to her mirror, and write in bold letters: I am beautiful. I am worthy. I am smart. I am loved. Hammer in those affirmations hard.

My only suggestion is to drill as many beliefs into our children about what true beauty encompasses.

Praise them for their talents, tell them less they look pretty when they dress us, and more when they rock out in their own soul expressions.

Raise an army of empowered girls with resilient security and beliefs on their own worth.

But as a grown woman, I think we have an accountability to brave this world with more backbone.

Throw the medias Kool-Aid in its face, try and sell them our own completely unique Kool-Aid right back.

I am going to stop telling women in my life how beautiful they look when they are polished. Fuck polished. I want crazy morning hair. I want to see your nude lips, unpainted eyes and naked cheeks. I don’t want to see your face in any other capacity than how you are when you open your eyes each morning. We can paint our faces, sometimes, sure—but everyday?

I want to see you wear joy. I want to see you wear confidence. I want to see you wear your worth so proudly you won’t falter because you have bags under your eyes from staying up late working, painting or breast feeding. I want to see those little baby hairs that rebel against you each morning without you fighting them with a straightening iron. I want to see you in all your glorious youness. I want to see you wear what you love—when you light up speaking to me of something that you get with your whole soul. Yes, that’s when I think you’re truly beautiful.

Nothing looks as beautiful as joy feels. Nothing.

Find what makes your spirit shout in furious joy–and do that.

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Editor: Renée Picard

Photo: courtesy of the author