Do you struggle with your hair? I always have. I look at other women who have consistently beautiful hair, especially those with long, shiny locks, and I stave off waves of jealousy. I frequent one […]
You may have already seen this amazing audio piece by Jeff Cohen, who interviewed his two daughters aged 3 (Eva) and 5 (Sadie), about what seems to be a right of passage for little kids: the irrevocable decision to cut their own hair. Click here or on the picture to hear the story:
I think this is Women Well Loved-worthy because:
by Katina Hubbard
Ashley Judd had a bad face day. If that’s even possible…
So the media did it’s usual thing and went nuts jabbing, jeering, and judging her, including alleged “obvious” plastic surgery and how her husband’s probably looking for a new wife because she’s become “fat.” The American media turned a slightly puffy face into a failed person and a failed marriage. So Ashley Judd did the uncanny, she told the media how it made her feel.
With all due respect, considering how horrible media blow-ups can be, this one is a cakewalk compared to egregious treatment other celebrities (with actual plastic surgery and verified wandering spouses) deal with. But I do feel slightly bad for Lindsay Lohan and think Ashley is right in using this incident as an indicator that we’re all suffering, every day, from a toxic atmosphere of body consciousness.
by Katina Hubbard
We know what it feels like to be loved by our parents, friends, and/or significant others. But what does it feel like to be loved from the inside out?
I grew up as a “pretty” girl. I was skinny, with a nice complexion, and had fortunate genetic makeup from 16 generations of white men fathering children with Native-American and African-American women.
And I remember feeling beautiful. I danced in public without fear of judgment. I ran around the beach in a swimsuit without noticing my bare skin. I crouched by the creek to find frogs without wondering if I was normal. I felt beautiful because I had no definition of what beautiful was. I was just me.
This is how we all start out, every one of us. We come out of the womb exactly perfect. All unique, but generally accepted as cute, adorable, and lovable. Then at some point, someone clues us into what “beautiful” is. Whether it’s at age 4 when someone points at our belly hanging over our tutu, or at age 3 when we compare ourselves to our Barbie dolls, or when we’re even younger and we intuitively hear the silent thoughts of others comparing us to a standard definition of “beauty.”