My first response when I saw this sexy anorexia costume was complete and utter outrage. As a recovered bulimic who still battles with body image issues, it's still hard to get a firm grip on accepting the reflection in the mirror and ignoring what I see on the cover of celebrity magazines. But then I shared the story with a friend who I assumed would be just as mad as I was - due to her own struggles with body image - and her response was, essentially, "Lighten up. Humor is a good response to serious issues. It gets people talking..."

Women have been erased from history for millennia. Countless courageous events led by women have gone unwritten or rewritten in the history books. Yet, in the age of feminism in modern times, we assume this doesn’t happen anymore, right?

Wrong.

According to CNN, the uber-Orthodox Jewish publication Di Tzeitung, a Hasidic newspaper based in Brooklyn, New York, whited out Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and Audrey Tomason, director of counterterrorism from the now iconic “Situation Room Photo” take while President Obama monitored the raid on bin Laden’s compound.

Just like that. Zip. Gone. The two women present no longer exist with a swipe of Photoshop.

Comfort over Beauty

In this new year of owning and embracing all of me, I must admit when it comes down to it, I’m going to choose comfort over beauty 99% of the time. I can look in my closet right now and see short skirts and high heel shoes I purchased in an attempt to look sexy, only to wear them once and never again. I cringe just looking at women in spiked heels and skinny jeans. Somehow I just can’t bring myself to compromise the free and satisfying feeling of loose clothing and flip-flops. 

Needless to say, and much to my husband’s dismay, my underwear drawer doesn’t hold many contents from the Victoria's Secret collection. I have spent a great many years searching for the perfect pair of panties, amidst the inner tug between wanting to feel comfortable and sexy.   

My daughter came home from school last week, sobbing, because one of the kids in her preschool called her a nerd. While I stroked her hair and wiped her tears, I flashed back 25 years to when I was fifteen. The head cheerleader, who was my secret friend, turned away from me at the lunch table. Standing there, holding my green plastic tray with my soggy hamburger, limp fries, and orange juice, I saw the apology in her cheerleader eyes when she said, “This is not the nerd table.”