Welcome to the "Bobbi" point of view on beauty. Who's Bobbi? She's a girl, or now woman (darn), who's father, in his secret wishes wanted her to be a boy (I guess the cat's out of the bag). But instead ended up with another beautiful, (I pleased his soul when I came into the world, so according to Plotinus, I have beauty), yet insecure girl who can't seem to please her own soul (darn), so in a first attempt to imbed strength, he gave me his name.
And though a girl, I gave him a son (no, I don't have a...you know, my mother could be reading this ok?) to play and watch sports with. I gave him someone to shoot hoops with, and later "one of the boys" to have a beer with.
But now instead of wearing sneakers, I wear heels. Instead of wearing my hair pulled back in ponytails so tight, I got headaches, I let it rest in front of my shoulders, and my forehead too (that's another story on beauty, and yes, mother, I know you have some input on the matter). Instead of taping my chest down, I might show a tease of my valleys, but never my peaks.
This was my transformation from Adonis to Venus. Or maybe I found a balance between the two. I work to look beautiful, but I play hard. I like my smooth skin, but love the battle scars on my knees, this dual perspective, this tomboy in me. This Bobbi and that Bobby.
Let's explore the gender based beauty standards of each and what happens when they cross the line.
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