I’m never going to have a big ass. Or even one that will look half-way decent in jeans.
No amount of squats, dance classes, hamstring curls -- or any exercise video that promises to sculpt your behind to look like Beyoncé’s -- can help me. Believe me, I’ve tried everything. And when I was in my best shape, playing more than one sport, I still didn’t have an onion booty.
Why won’t any exercises work? Because I’ve been doomed genetically with an apple-shape. My shoulders and ribcage are broad for my five-foot, seven-inch frame. I have big boobs (36-D). Looking at me from the back, my body is an inverted triangle: heavy up top; a short waist that is thick, straight and doesn’t curve inward; hips that blend and disappear into said thick torso, and suddenly ending in a pair of skinny legs.
This baby got it all in the front, and nothing in the back
When I gain or lose weight -- even just five pounds -- it appears or disappears from my stomach area quickly. I don’t gain weight or fat in my thighs or butt -- I just don’t.
But my apple-shaped body seemed to benefit me in some ways, especially when playing sports.
Gals like myself have more upper-body strength than the average woman. I can lift heavier weights, do more push-ups and move around furniture easier than most women my size. This advantage became apparent when I started taking kenpo in my early twenties -- a martial art that requires a lot of sparring, karate-inspired blocks and boxing.
Just one well-timed, straight-right punch from me always made the other person stunned, see stars, and fall down. My sensei even had me spar with men -- and they said they were surprised at how hard I could hit.
But you know what scares me more than a fist fight today? Going shopping for a fucking pair of jeans.
I didn’t start feeling insecure about my butt until the past few years. Today, I find myself apologizing for it, whereas I never used to even think about it.
What piqued this is when two boyfriends, in the last two years, have asked me to get augment my behind. As in surgically alter it.
The first time it happened was post-coitus with an ex. Lying in bed, all vulnerable and in Rubenesque glory, he pulled me close to him. He said I was the perfect woman –- except that I didn’t have a big butt. And this is supposedly what he said to his good friend, about me.
He then asked me if I had considered getting “injections.” Injections? What kind of injections?
Butt injections. And he explained the procedure to me. And then went on about implants.
Of course, my head fucking exploded and a fight ensued.
He simply could not understand why my feelings were so hurt. I was suddenly learning -– after six months of dating –- that my less-than-rotund-derriere was a deal breaker for him, and that he had the audacity to say this to my face.
If he required that a woman have a big posterior to find her attractive, fine. That’s his choice and there’s nothing wrong with having that sexual preference. I just couldn’t understand why he simply just did not stop pursuing me after seeing what mine looked like (when it wasn’t hiding under a flouncy skirt or my jacket).
The second time it happened was with my current boyfriend.” It started with him asking why I don’t “work that butt” when going to the gym. And it’s still ongoing. Snide comments about my “little butt,” how I’m not his “type” and that his “dream woman” is “a girl with a big ass.”
For women, there’s always something wrong with us and our bodies, depending on what’s en vogue, and some kind of drastic “cure” for the “problem.” Think corsets, foot binding, Botox.
Our boobs are too big or too small. We’re never thin enough. Our skin is too dark or not tanned enough. Hair isn’t straight enough or the “right” texture. Eyes are not big enough. Lips too thin. Too tall. Smile lines that must be eradicated. Arms are too flabby. Teeth not white enough.
No matter what your ethnicity is or where you live, there is someone or some notion out there in this world that is trying to convince or reaffirm to you that there is something about you, which you cannot control, even, that is not enough.
And being a mixed-race girl who already had to struggle with mainstream standards of Western beauty, now I’m being told my butt is not enough? When will it stop? When will I ever be enough for someone?
While I do think it’s great that the body type of pear-shaped women is being celebrated, I can’t help but wonder if this obsession with the size of a woman’s ass had cultivated a new standard of beauty and new expectations by men –- and therefore a new body-image issue for women. Especially women like me.
I’d like to say that I have triumphed over this emotionally and mentally, but I have not.
I now constantly compare myself to other women in a way that I never have before. I’m envious and feel inferior when a woman that has a big ass walks by me. If only I could look that great in jeans! I refuse to wear pants or jeans outside of the house, no matter how cold it might be.
Doggy-style is one of my favorite sexual positions, but now, I find that I don’t want to bend over in front of my boyfriend, no matter how good it feels –- because I fear that he is looking at my butt and is not turned on, wishing it was someone else’s he was grabbing and looking at.
Every time my boyfriend places his hand on my butt in a playful way, like when I’m walking up the stairs, I cringe. I now hate it when he opens the door for me to a restaurant, and insists I enter first and that he walk behind me. I don’t want him to walk or stand behind me, ever.
I try to find solace in the fact that at the age of 35, I don’t have cellulite. I don’t have saddlebags and will probably never have them. When I wear shorts and go for a jog, I get catcalled at by 21-year-olds. But all I can think about is my butt, and how it’s just not enough.