Confidence, Nekked and National TV: Gruesome Threesome
Sunday, May 20, 2007
S and I were watching this programme on the telly Wednesday night, just a moving background to the monotonous DIY work we were doing at that moment. The programme was called 'How To Look Good Naked' and involved a nervy, newish mum, not really comfy with her body shape and as such, not very confident. How the gay presenter got over her fears and ultimately, made her enough confident within herself that she sashayed down the catwalk in her pink matching bra and pants.
Now, as an Indian watching the show, there were many, many points during this that I gasped and squirmed. At the end of the programme, I was left with this question: how is parading semi-naked in front of millions a fitting test of confidence? I am not saying it takes immense guts to do so but why the hell is that even a requisite to ooze confidence? This is where the show left me flummoxed. Seemed to me, it was a drastic way to prove that someone is the epitome of confidence.
I had always thought that I was a fairly confident soul, capable of speaking my mind and generally able to get me from one day to another without greatly injuring myself. But no way on earth would I ever do any of that the woman did on the show last night. For starters, she had to see herself in the mirror, clad only in her undergarments (do you see a recurring theme here?) - why the heck would I do that on national TV? Confidence or not, is unnecessary. WHY would I parade my bloated, saggy self to the whole of Great Britain to choke over their dinner?
Before you go on the 'Ohmigosh, she's a prude', let me stop you right there. I ain't no prude but I firmly draw the line at going through the following things - shivering like a leaf in my undies, having a bloke (gay or not) poke and prod me in various places to show me what I've got, baring my 'bedroom secrets' to the whole world and its wife and to top it all, have the bloke helpfully slot some boob uplightment device inside my bra. No, no, no, N-O!
Forgive me for being so boring / naive, if I was suffering from some serious body issues post baby (who am I kidding? that's a permanent state of mind where I am concerned!) I'd rather work on it by doing something - anything - else. Join the gym (which the woman did, after the bloke chose some hip track suits), sign up for some mummy-toddler club, get a personal shopper to help buy clothes that fit you, rope in your mates to give you some quality, non-mumsy time.... anything other than having to pose about in the buff. Drastic, methinks.
I went through some crippling bouts of depression, post-baby (and the MIL visit!) that wasn't helped by the fact that I didn't have any decent friend or family around me to prop me up. So I slowly confined myself to the four walls of our house, wearing some absolute eye-sores and generally feeling sorry for myself. Had I been home, surrounded by friends and family (which this woman no doubt was), I would have been dragged willy-nilly out into the Big Bad World and made to face it. I don't know why this woman's friends and family were standing around, wringing their hands, in a rather helpless fashion. What the hell was the hubby doing anyways? Why wasn't he wooing the daylights of his wife till she felt sexy again?
If you think ranting about a bit of an undie show is a bit much, even for me, the best was yet to come. The once shaky now yummy mummy posed in the buff ('the shots will be extremely tasteful') prior to walking down the ramp wearing nothing but her undergarments. And her mum and mate in the audience went 'ooh! she is soo confident!'
Good grief!
I felt like banging my head at this point. We talk about women's lib, suffragette and Girl Power and then say parading about half-naked on national telly epitomises confidence. Maybe I am a prude, after all. A prude tightly holding on to her clothes.
Posted by DesiGirl 3:39 pm
You've been Stateside too long, pal, if you are liking most things Brit! ;)