and her lament about how today’s women synthesize themselves by cosmetic surgery and destroy their natural individuality and beauty. She’s intelligent and writes well, and sounds like a sound human being. There are 391 comments following her article.
Why Kate Hudson’s (Alleged) Breast Implants Have Me Heartbroken
Kate Hudson has gotten implants. Allegedly. This news headed straight to my heart from the lips of Wendy Williams who got it from some gossip rag. My coffee was getting cold while I, heartbroken, sadly gazed at the before and after pictures of Kate Hudson on the screen. The before: an amazingly fit, gorgeous, and yes, small-breasted young woman in a to-die-for red bikini; in the other, a blond starlet sipping a latte. The cup size was undeniably different. (And no, we’re not speaking of the latte.)
Was there a chance it was merely a hardworking push-up bra? I find myself practically praying over Kate’s boobs. Pathetic, I know. (It signals a lack of employment on my part, getting sucked in like this by media gossip.) But unlike Sandra’s divorce drama—which shook me up and had me wanting some very, very bad things to happen to Jesse James, but in a way I’d feel if it happened to a really good friend of mine, not ME—this one feels personal.
My issue here isn’t with Kate. If big boobs make her happier, then more power to her. The issue here, this fixing something perfect to something else perfect, is so much a sign of our times, and one that truly saddens me. The availability and ease of transforming our bodies is completely losing our identities and uniqueness. No one ages anymore, no one has imperfections of any kind anymore, all smiles are flawless and no one past 35 can express displeasure. Madonna no longer looks like Madonna: what started as a sexy, well shaped, and somewhat hairy Italian girl has ended as a cool Nordic blonde. It’s not that she doesn’t look great, she does. But she is starting to sort of melt away into the stew of the famous women over-fifty-high-cheek-boned blondes-who-cannot-frown.
Generally, I’m all for self-improvement. If you don’t know something, do look it up. Do learn another language, do travel, do open your heart and mind to new experiences. And by all means, pluck your mono-brow, dye your mouse-brown hair and work out to firm your body; after all, if fashion changes to celebrate hairy plump women you can go right back. But please, before permanently removing or adding a part to you to fit societal graphs of pulchritude, consider that that change will be permanent. If, a hundred years ago, you were unhappy with your nose—tough luck. You could hide your flaws, accentuate your strengths, and sometimes, more often than not, realize your flaws were your strengths and were precisely what made you unique and beautiful. That’s how, for example, we got the incomparable portrait of a large nosed Madame X, proudly displaying a profile that makes ME want a big nose.
Personally, I believe that every woman in the world is beautiful. Sometimes the distribution of her attributes is not immediately apparent; sometimes it’s a little uneven, but if she knew how to celebrate the things she was given, whether it’s a beautiful pair of eyes or legs, or intellect, or a sense of humor- she could see how uniquely beautiful she was. Lest you feel like interjecting, “oh please, easy for you to say, Miss Former Supermodel … ” for your information, I have saddlebags and cellulite, and no matter how hard I work out, that is my body shape and I’m stuck with it. I look horrendous in short shorts and any pant or trouser that is tight in the thigh. But, for the body type of a saddlebag/cellulite, I think I look really great. I have a small waist (which seems to come with my specific body type) and so I take every opportunity to show that off. In my opinion, I’m one hot example of a saddlebag/cellulite woman over forty. If I went and lipo-ed my thighs to the size of Gisele’s, I still wouldn’t look anything like her, and instead, I’d start looking like everyone else. I would be a poor example of a woman with skinny thighs. That is my trouble with Kate. I used to use her as an example of the perfect beauty with a small chest. Now, with her new boobs, she just looks like any California blond actress. Instead of enhancing, she has diminished herself.
Wouldn’t Audrey Hepburn, Jane Birkin, Twiggy, Charlotte Rampling, and Jean Harlow have lost their special brand of elegant, feline sexiness if they were tipping over under the weight of great ol’ mammaries? Compare any one of these natural beauties to someone like Heidi Montag, and it’s like comparing a Hastens Swedish handmade mattress to a cheap plastic pool float.
So why? Why do we all want to look the same? It can’t all be about being attractive to the opposite sex. There are men who prefer the full breast; there are men who prefer the well-shaped leg or the round behind. There are all sorts of tastes out there, for all sorts of women. And the way to get their attention is by being different, by standing out. Once you start to blend in, you are no longer special.