Cherry Healey2013-05-20T11:38:24-04:00Cherry Healeyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/author/index.php?author=cherry-healeyCopyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc.HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Cherry HealeyGood old fashioned elbow grease.Lines at Resttag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.21106032012-11-11T19:00:00-05:002013-01-11T05:12:01-05:00Cherry Healeyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/cherry-healey/
First I had to ask what the France a 'line at rest' was?! She kindly explained that they were the lines that remain on your face even when your face is at rest. Makes sense. She then informed me that she had a fabulous botox doctor and offered me their number as casually as though we were swopping hairdresser recommendations. Five years ago that would not have happened and now I actually feel quite old fashioned for finding that strange.
The botox debate is a grey area and one that I've heard many times in the past few years. Simon Cowell seems to consider botox as a standard part of a beauty routine - and maybe he is right? Is botox very different from anti-aging face cream or makeup? Perhaps it's in the same category at brushing your teeth? Except with a deadly disease that can kill people in a hideous and painful way.
Even so, I can't say I'm not tempted. With botox now available at your local butchers, bakers, candlestick makers - in a moment of insecurity or whilst having a very-bad-face-day it's all too easy to cave and suddenly find yourself with a frown than won't turn upside down, or left or right or any way at all.
Since hitting 30, I have definitely noticed more 'lines at rest' - not helped by overly dramatic facial expressions that I've had since I was borneth from my mother. 'Wind tunnel face' is becoming an almost every-day sight. A few years ago, if a woman in the media had overdone it on Harley Street it would cause quite a stir, but now the perma-surprise face is fairly standard issue.
I do sometimes feel like I'm taking crazy pills - the debate around surgery sometimes misses the point that it so often doesn't look good. If botox and fillers and plumpers and marinades and basters (okay, not the last two) actually provided the user with a mysterious, age-defying effect then that would be one thing. But, so often, they don't. The skin is organic and changes and moves and shifts on our bones we grow older - and the surgery doesn't go with it - which results in a very strange, sometimes very scary look. I sometimes feel angry for these clever, interesting, wise women - they have been falsely sold a dream of eternal youth, only to be left with a look that completely and utterly distracts and takes away from their inner fabulousness. Can you imagine Samuel Becketts' face with botox? Maggie Smith? Judi Dench? The Queen? Are all our young women going to grow up watching their elders struggle to communicate vexation?
My main worry is that a surgically modified face will become so mainstream that young girls will grow up surrounded by older women who look permanently surprised, whose lips suddenly become thicker after 40 and whose boobs defy gravity - and feel they must also follow suit to fit in with the 'norm'.
I want to live in a world where #mygransays trends daily and where a woman's greatest desire is to be called wise and that she is a beautiful person rather than has a beautiful behind, and where her greatest fear is to be called a fool rather than fat.
I have visions of us respecting our elders like a tribe of Indians sitting round a camp fire (at a gastro pub), with the eldest sits at the head, imparting wisdom and smoking their electric pipe, whilst keen and respectful eyes look on through their thick rimmed Ray Ban glasses. It's going to happen people, just wait.
So, in the meantime, if I don't succumb to the siren call of Harley Street, what are my options? A facelift is out of the question (I believe our children will be taught about facelifts in history lessons and not be able to comprehend how we could do that to ourselves). I suppose I could stop eating or heating my house and spend £400 a pop on a pot of miracle cream made from the toenails of an ancient Tibetan goat herder? Maybe I could grow old gracefully and accept that lines are a sign of love, life, experience and with them comes wisdom? Heeeee. Hold on, haaaaa, hang on a minute, I just need to gather myself, oooo, that's a good one Chezza.
I suppose if I decide not to go down the botox route I'll either have to pray they invent something better or stop expressing emotion - I'll pitch that to my family and friends and see how that goes down.
(For posterity pictures of my wrinkles visit www.cherryhealey.com)]]>The First International Day of the Girl - 11 October 2012tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.19541732012-10-10T19:00:00-04:002012-12-10T05:12:02-05:00Cherry Healeyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/cherry-healey/International Day of the Girl. Wow. What could this mean? Do all girls get capes and spandex onesies? Do girls get to make up the rules for 24 hours? Is this a brilliant new initiative for boys to spend a whole day in a long flappy wig (that gets stuck in their lip gloss) and have to totter about in huge heels (smiling and without complaining)? No. This day has a very different and much more important agenda (although I still would like to see an International Heels Day).
The first ever International Day of the Girl, successfully lobbied for by Plan UK, will happen on Thursday 11 October. Plan UK is a charity that works with the world's poorest children so they can move themselves from a life of poverty to a future with opportunity.
The aim of this day is to raise awareness to the fact that millions of girls around the world are denied the access to education. Plan UK are also encouraging people to take a minute to sign their petition to the UN Secretary General to make girls education a priority.
I had no idea that as many as one in three girls worldwide are denied an education due to poverty, discrimination and/or violence. This is why it's so important to support Plan UK's petition to put pressure on the UN to ensure that more girls are given the means to reach their potential.
So on 11 October 2012, the first ever International Day of the Girl, please blog and tweet about the petition - the more we show our support, the more we can help Plan UK change the future of so many girls so that they can choose their own future and be a force for change.]]>The Seduction of Magic Pillstag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.17717532012-08-13T19:00:00-04:002012-10-13T05:12:11-04:00Cherry Healeyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/cherry-healey/
I don't know a single human being who doesn't fast-track their way to relaxation, stimulation, inspiration or satisfaction: whether it's a glass of wine or a takeaway eaten on the hoof, these all solve a need, quickly. And, often, saving time and effort is a beautiful thing freeing more time for family, friends and Asos.
But whilst quick fixes may solve one problem they often bring with them another...which may require yet another substance or solution to deal with that problem...and so on, and so on. Which is great news for the people selling the solutions and not so great for us.
At university I experienced my first broken heart. I sat on the sofa in my PJs watching TV and eating cereal from the box. For a few comatosed moments whilst I shovelled sugary hoops into my pie hole I felt better. But, predictably, my quick fix had a consequence and I put on a hefty amount of weight. Once the mist of my broken heart had lifted I became desperate to lose the extra tyre that had appeared around my waist. Time for another quick fix.
I started going to the gym but progress was too slow. I tried the Atkins but it was both disgusting and, after two weeks of miraculous weight loss, I could no longer resist the urge to eat the world. I put on another half stone. Then, even heavier and even more desperate, I tried herbal slimming pills. In my head they were working, so I felt I could eat more. I didn't want to waste away now did I?! When this didn't work I decided it was time to go nuclear.
I'd heard of people taking laxatives and knew what the side effects were but I didn't care. They worked but only in that my stomach was in so much pain I felt too sick to eat. I knew it was time to stop when I was found by my flatmates at uni curled up on the floor of my room crying into a pillow. I told them I had period pains. As a lovely little parting gift from laxatives, I ended up putting on another half stone. At this point I was miserable. I knew that the only lasting, non-insane way to lose the weight was to eat sensibly and move more. After fighting with this pearl of wisdom for two years I gave in. And, slowly, it worked.
But whilst I have never taken anything as bonkers as laxatives since, I'm still occasionally seduced into believing the claims of a celeb diet or new wonder slimming pill. And with obesity being the nation's biggest health concern, it's all too easy for companies to make money from people who want, and need, changes fast. With the government warning that by 2025 over half of women and half of men will suffer from obesity, selling quick fixes will be like shooting fish in a barrel. If the promise on the bottle is sexy enough, someone will buy it.
However, research carried out by the University of Liverpool has shown that slimming pills do not provide long term results as they don't address the root causes of the weight gain. I've annoyingly put that in bold because I passionately believe that without dealing with the reason for overeating/not looking after your body, then any weight you fight to lose will just creep back on. And that cycle is a horrible, frustrating, time-wasting trap. When I think of the time I've wasted in this vicious cycle it makes me incredibly sad.
There's no doubt that I've not only wasted my time but also my money on miracle solutions. After researching the contents of multiple herbal slimming pills available on the high street it seems that the main weight-loss ingredients are caffeine and green tea. There is a dash of cayenne pepper and perhaps some ginseng but essentially the active ingredients read like a hot drinks menu. Which are much cheaper and more enjoyable than swallowing a pill the size of a cocktail sausage. But that isn't a message the UK's £2bn slimming aid industry is going to promote any time soon.
As someone who has tried all the super diets and most of the magic slimming pills, I can say with some certainty that they are only deeply disappointing and just take you further away from a healthy weight and an understanding of why you have negative food intake and what fuel your body really needs. However, whilst I might sing the praises of a sensible attitude to looking after your body, I also know that I'm weak to the promise of effort-free weight loss so I'll probably be the first in line the next time a 'miracle' cure comes along. Old habits die hard.
]]>It's the Pitstag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2012:/theblog//3.17506632012-08-07T19:00:00-04:002012-10-07T05:12:03-04:00Cherry Healeyhttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/cherry-healey/
You'd think that in 2012 we are liberated enough to discuss body hair without going red. And that actually growing a little bit wouldn't be a big issue. Wrong. It is a massive, gigantic issue and you have to have great big boobs of steel to do it.
I've engaged in lady maintenance since I was 11. I've waxed, shaved or slathered on toxic-smelling hair removal cream without giving it a moment's thought. When I was teen someone commented on my hairy arms and I've waxed them ever since. In my twenties a boyfriend suggested I deal with my lady garden and so, feeling deeply apologetic, I complied. I just thought it was as much part of being a woman as periods and pretending to like pink. But this all changed when I met a group of wonderful women called Those Pesky Dames. Themselves fans of mother nature's work, they challenged me to grow all of my body hair. After wiping the sweat from my forehead I reasoned with myself: how hard can it be, reeeeally?
Week one: a doddle. I love my new two minute shower routine and am familiar with the slightly spikey legs. I gleefully enjoy extra time with family, friends or doing something constructive like watching repeats of Family Guy.
Week two: as above but I avoid silk PJ's as my legs are starting to catch on the fabric. Nice.
Week three: my underarms start to become visibly hairy. I realise I have gradually switched to long sleeves and I make myself return to vest-tops.
Week four: everything changes. All areas of growth are starting to bother me. I stare longingly at my lonely razor. If I wasn't accountable to a group of feisty girls it'd all be off before you could say Julia Roberts. I brave the bus in a small top and receive my first double take from a female passenger. I can tell she is trying to get another glimpse but I'm too chicken to raise my arm again. I fall into passengers laps for the next fifteen minutes rather than reaching up to the handrail.
Week five: another shift. My armpits have become soft and they are definitely a statement. I talk myself into being proud of this but my courage comes and goes depending on who I am talking to. I wear shirts to meetings. I am suddenly very aware of how not-brave I am. In other downstairs areas I am starting to feel quite womanly and sexy. It is now less five o'clock shadow and more ferral. I decide that it might even be a keeper. The legs, well, I still really hate the legs but I am interested to note that my arms really aren't that hairy. Thank you to the guy who made me paranoid - I have been waxing for 15 years unnecessarily.
I remain strong for week six, seven and eight but at week nine, the legs have gotta go. Before I attack my legs with a razor I stand in front of the mirror and realise that smoothness is a critical part of my definition of 'woman'. I realise how crazy it is that something I am born with, that mother nature deemed important enough not to phase-out, can be something I find so unpleasant. I've been bombarded with razor avertisements telling me that I can only release my inner goddess once I am smooth. I've never seen a female on television, in a film or in a magazine that has body hair - unless she is a witch.
So, contrary to all the images I've absorbed, can I retrain my brain to find my natural state sexy? And am I bothered by the hair itself or other people's opinions of me? Can I be brave enough to stand alone in a world telling me that to be a 'woman' is to be smoother than a toddler?
At one stage of the challenge I did wonder whether I was being paranoid. Do people really give two monkeys about the state of my legs? So I spent the day asking people. And turns out, most of us really mind. 'Be gone she-beast!' was the general vibe I got when I asked members of the public what they thought of my new furry pits. When asked 'would you rather break both your legs or sleep with/be a girl with hairy legs?' I was pretty amazed to hear how happy people were to take a stint in a wheelchair.
I know that, before doing this experiment, I would have been the same. If I'd seen a girl at the bus stop with hairy legs I would have questioned her hygiene. But, having allowed my body to return to its natural hairy state, I can say with some confidence that being hairy does not make you smelly or dirty. In fact, it's very purpose is to aid in keeping you clean. Much like your eyelashes stop dust getting into your eyes, your pubic hair is very good at protecting your vital area.
I am so thankful to the women before us who fought for our rights. We can now drive, own a property, have a job and vote, but I think we've still got a way to go. Perhaps it's not the most important battle we face but I think it's an interesting indication of where feminism hasn't fully permeated.
There's no doubt that choosing for ourselves whether we do or do not have body hair is something that we can all do, and whilst it's not quite the same as setting fire to our underwear, it still takes a huge amount of courage. We've gone a long way up the mountain but we're not there yet. And whilst things are better, we're not at the top yet. I'd really love to see the view in my lifetime.]]>