Photo of Christina Hendricks from

Yesterday, I posted briefly about my disgust over the post-Golden Globes judgment of actress Christina Hendricks’ body and criticisms of the “big girl’s” decision to wear a “big dress.”  Following these negative articles, feminist bloggers have had a field day wondering 1.) how on earth can Christina Hendricks be considered “big”?  and 2.) why everyone keeps talking about this woman’s body instead of her talent. I’m sure Hendricks will get over the gossip, but this ridiculous “fat girl” drivel is so anti-women it makes me want to scream.

Ever since Mad Men’s debut, the actress responsible for giving us the incandescent Joan Holloway has been the subject of plenty “you go, girl!” feedback for daring to opt out of Hollywood’s bobblehead parade. Her responses have been good-natured, if somewhat reserved. “I’ve always had boobs and hips, even when I was 115 pounds,” she has said.

In our society, it seems more difficult to be a young woman growing up with pronounced hips and breasts than it is to grow into the kind of boyish figure that I inherited. One of my very dearest friends shares the same va-va-voom elements of Christina Hendricks’ dynamite figure, and though she is naturally quite thin, she has struggled to come to terms with the more attention-grabbing qualities of her body. I, on the other hand, have always been envious of my friend’s tiny waist and, as she delicately puts it, the “tits and ass” she is slowly learning to appreciate. While I have coveted, she on the other hand has starved, purged, and obsessed over creating a tiny body to distract from her figure’s more womanly features.

Timeless, curvy beauty

I’ve heard similar complaints from curvy girlfriends who have told me their stories of high school teasing, inappropriate comments from family members, and the limited fashion choices available for their body types. Even I have admitted, on more than one occasion, that I wouldn’t trade my prepubescent A-cup for their DDs. So much baggage, so much hassle, so many unsolicited stares.

Then again, when I see one of my hourglass friends looking all bombshell in a sheath dress with cleavage I can’t help but think to myself: now that is a woman, and I feel a little like an imposter.