Suspended Time

Embodied. Trapped. Bulimic. For what is a girl if not trimmed, cut and pressed? A golden coastline decorated with newspaper clippings of Queensland best artisanal cafes and fresh seafood displays have proven the lush environment of the “Instagramable” era. With torsos sculpted from the latest fat loss trends and a Marilyn Monroe lip to match – a wildly eye opening world for a self-conscious, plump girl.

Arriving in Australia’s cosmetically altered playground (scribbling down her daily eating habits) – a girl (perhaps a smidge overweight) had found herself in the middle of this body shaming town. Self-reflection seems to take up most of her time, constantly criticizing those mirror selfies from 2015 (size 8), cheek bones, a waist – oh and don’t forget the non-existent love handles that have now found a home attached to her hip. Wishing for time to suspend indefinitely at that age, that size, that figure.

Body objectification is infectious by nature – the wound, internalizing an observers perspective, begins to fester in the human mind, controlling our portion sizes, our lack of confidence and diseases the brain into thinking we are less-than-average to the common eye. In a stereotypical world, she would choose the ‘Instagram model’ body and choose the salad so she could be recruited into the sorority we call modern society of visual acceptability. The comfort of her bedroom, secluded from perfectionism seems the most appropriate place to gnaw away at her unsatisfactory features, bit by bit chewing the flesh to find nothing but poison and bile hidden underneath. One of the “Big Five” being neuroticism is a clear indication of anxiety, stress and guilt - without a healthy way to release these toxic gasses a disorder begins to form, cultivated by the neurosis of a lost, young woman. To find yourself stuck in a temperament of quicksand can rapidly worsen a condition of mental illness to, what can seem, a point of no return. Why me? How do I get out? Why can’t I stop? She asks herself questions a loved one would throw at her anyway, as if it’s her own doing – as if she has control. Back to bed she goes, swallowing all thoughts until the plate’s licked clean.

The subconscious of the female teen destroys her innocence with social-media-accepted body types ready to troll anyone who doesn’t have porcelain skin, the correct curves, a thigh gap. We develop a good punch and a sharp tongue to prevent our insecurities slipping through thickened skin developed over years. We’re taught by society that her worth is found in the idols of our culture – technology, status, sex. She becomes her best critic, constantly picking at the imperfections that make us human. Stuck in reverse, constantly editing out cellulite and slimming her curves. Edit, upload, acceptance, again .

To shift self-perception, expend her time less on face and body but more on her mind seemed impossible when exchanging pleasantries with her reflection wasn’t common bathroom time. Nevertheless, the selfie is still taken to keep up appearances. After all – what is a woman if not trimmed, cut and pressed?