Body love is driving to work in the morning and not judging the different-sized women that run past us on the sidewalk. It's going shopping and not eyeing up the woman next to us trying on clothes that we decide are too tight on her.
Freedom from our body loathing won't come from taking more confident selfies, giving Barbie a double chin or determining to love ourselves better by posting unflattering pictures on Instagram. These are all ways we focus more on ourselves and our obsessions, not less.
When we value beauty, not as something to be manufactured, but as something to be lived, then we are able to take it in, celebrate it and pass it on in a meaningful way.
I love my body. Despite constant messages piped into our brains telling us we're not supposed to, I f*cking love my body.
When William Shakespeare wrote "This above all, to thine own self be true" (Hamlet) he wasn't offering business advice and he would likely have been s...
I am not getting wrinkles. I'm gaining character in my face. Those laugh lines were meant to be there. So were the furrows between my eyebrows.
By using "weapons of mass perfection" in advertising, Matlins believes the mental health of children is at risk.
I should've stopped there. It could have been enough to admire the photograph, to rejoice in the photographer's ability to capture the joy and carefree art of two friends catching up after a year apart. It should have been.
I'm not going to say that social media was our demise (I myself enjoy Facebook too much to make such a brazen statement), but I do think that with the rise of these sites came the sudden commanding impulse to look awesome in photos. After all, we want our 500-plus friends to think we're beautiful.
There was a time when such indeterminacy and uncertainty was alluded to as seeing through a glass darkly. But that was a time when even the coinage of metaphors deferred to steeply-buttressed authorities who were engaged in a tyranny of thought that required determinacy and certainty to metaphysically secure and uphold its power over the collective mind.
In the same way we find disturbing - if not outright revolting - a robot or animation that is nearly humanlike but not quite there (the nightmare-inducing baby in Pixar's Tin Toy comes to mind - Google it, if you dare), our reaction to 'impossible' photography oscillates between unease and fascination.
In photography, timing is everything; the right location, the right light, the right subject; the artist then might rely on tools, like Photoshop, to transcend the imagination. How such tools reveal itself into a tangible embodiment that ordinarily takes dexterity and patience depends on how the creator decides who is serving whom.
How do you think he does it? Photo wizard Erik Johansson reveals the secrets behind his mind-bending images, which use retouching to blend real photos into imagined scenes. You'll never look at reality the same way again.
Fictionalized happy endings are the stuff of fairy tales. Sanitized, Photoshopped endings are the stuff of television and movies. They're nice, of course, but they don't have the lasting impact of real, imperfect stories that highlight perseverance and courage.
Unless you live in cave, these ubiquitous photographs of the famished female form will negatively affect most kids to some degree. The popular narrative that says otherwise is wrong, and is not supported by research.