Feature Photo: Pink Sherbet Photography Photo: shoobydooby
If I were a fruit, I’d be a watermelon. Why? Blame my butt, according to a Turkish woman.
“Meagan, your popo like watermelons! Mine like apple,” said Nida, a professional dancer in Fire of Anatolia. We were standing backstage in our underwear, preparing to change costumes.
I had been dancing in Turkey with Fire of Anatolia for two months. I actually thought my butt was in great shape from hours of squeezing it in ballet class. At the very least, I saw myself as more of a pear than a watermelon.
It was time to put Nida in her place. I made her follow me to a mirror in our skin-colored booty shorts.
“See!” I proclaimed. “ Not watermelons! Maybe not apples…but not watermelons!” I wouldn’t normally do this in a bathroom, but my rear end’s reputation was on the line.
Photo: Pink Sherbet Photography
Then Nida peeled away my confidence. She pointed and laughed at my butt, which appeared to be twice the size of hers. I had never so closely compared cheeks with anyone, and now I knew why. It made me feel inadequate, inferior, and fat.
Back home, friends call me “the skinny one.” I take good care of my body, and I’m healthy, strong, and confident. However, standing at the mirror with Nida, I couldn’t deny it anymore: dancing in Turkey was damaging my body image.
I was warned about the importance of sticking to a “dancer’s diet” if I wanted to fit into the company’s costumes. I was supposed to watch what I ate, but more often I found myself watching what the other dancers ate. They were filling their plates at the buffet with mounds of pasta and baklava. Yet, these women strutted around with slender stomachs and nearly non-existent inner thighs. I figured they burned through all the calories in class. I relished in the idea that I too could indulge in a few desserts and still have a six-pack.
At first, the calories didn’t catch up with me, and my stomach toned up from Pilates. After a few weeks of dining at the buffet, however, I stepped onto the scale and the numbers taunted me. I had gained weight, and I knew I couldn’t chalk it all up to extra muscle. Some of the dancers had already pointed in horror at my miniature potbelly. I would have probably never noticed it, but dancers can detect every ounce.
I was aware of certain physical standards I had to adhere to as a dancer, but I didn’t realize just how important those standards are at the professional level. I don’t dance for the muscles; I dance because it gives me joy. I wanted to be moving to music, not counting every calorie.
When Nida gave me the nickname “watermelon popo,” I reached the peak of my insecurities. I felt like a forbidden fruit, and I realized my body image could mirror how a culture perceives my shape, for better or for worse.
Photo: Scott W Charters
Similarly, within minutes of arriving in Hong Kong, I felt like I was starring in a film titled Attack of the 50 Foot Woman. I’m just below six feet tall, but I felt like a Hong Kong skyscraper. I towered over the crowds of petite women in this megacity. I walked onto the subway for the first time to see that most of the passengers barely reached my armpits, making me feel freakishly tall. I had to duck in doorways, crouch through alleys, and sleep with both feet dangling over the edge of my bed.
Just when I started getting used to standing tall in the crowd, a visit to the market brought my confidence back down. I was merely browsing through a rack of floral-printed skirts, when the shop owner promptly snatched the item I was holding. She slammed it back on the rack.
“No big sizes!! No big sizes!!” she declared, frantically waving her arms around. It was as if she was banishing me from the shop for being too large. I’m only 148 pounds, a perfectly acceptable weight for my height. I told myself the owner didn’t really mean big, she meant tall, so I moved on to another stall to try on some t-shirts. Even the alleged XL shirts barely covered my belly button.
I thought back to the last time I went shopping abroad, which had a markedly different effect on my body image. In Rwanda, I felt as confident as ever, surrounded by other pear shapes just like me.
A month into my stay, I had fallen into a fashion funk of cargo-pants, sandals and t-shirts. I decided it was time to don my floral yellow sundress. Little did I know, my dress would drive the Rwandans wild.
Photo: configmanager
The maid, the cook, and the guard stopped in their tracks. “You look so smart,” they told me. As I walked towards to the local newspaper where I worked, a car slammed on the brakes, kicking up a cloud of red dust.
“I love your dress. It is very beautiful and it makes you look beautiful.” I stood there in astonishment, showered in dirt and compliments. I had a bounce in my step for the rest of the day.
While in Turkey the other dancers saw any extra ounce of fat as negative, our Rwandan cook Mary kept telling me to eat more because I needed some meat on my bones. For dinner, she often filled the plate with a parade of carbohydrates: spaghetti, potatoes and rice. A few pounds soon crept up around my waist.
At first, I freaked out, and began to devise a way to lose the weight. Mary, however, made a point of affectionately grabbing my little muffin top. It made me take a good look in the mirror, and I recognized that I had blown things out of proportion. Mary was right. My body looked great.
Travel changes perceptions about everything: life, love, freedom, and culture. That’s the best part of travel in my opinion: as I open myself up to other points of view, my point of view transforms. The same can go for body image while traveling. Different cultures have different ideas of what constitutes feminine beauty. I’m trying to learn how to appreciate the cultural norm while still managing to appreciate myself.
I made the first step in Turkey. After Nida made her fruity comments about my backside, this is what I told her:
“You bet I have a watermelon butt: juicy and delicious.”
About the Author
More By This Author
- Confessions of an Overpacker (25 comments)
- How I Learned Turkish (9 comments)
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15 Comments... join the discussion!
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Really great story! Interesting how there is no standard for an acceptable body type. And I’m glad you’re finding appreciation for yours
Your story kind of reminds me how all of my Austrian students talk about fat people and obesity in the US, when I look around their class and see the same sizes and shapes I would see in a class back home. Hmm.
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Haha, loved this piece, Meagan! Part of the reason I love traveling is to gauge the different reactions from people (especially men) about my appearance. The red hair does wonders. Be proud of your tush!
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Wonderful article, Meagen! As a fellow world traveler and tall women, I can relate to all of your stories!
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I find it so interesting how different body shapes are thought of as attractive in different cultures. Both in Pakistan and in my Portuguese in-laws house the women are always trying to feed me! Even when I gain weight, they tell me I’ve lost weight and that I need to gain some more. Your line about the “parade of carbohydrates” is something I can totally relate to.
I really enjoyed the transparency and genuine tone of this piece. Looking forward to seeing more of your writing!
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Oh Meg, great job putting yourself out there!! Keep up the great work, I really enjoy reading your stories.
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Ha ha ha great piece. Interesting how much the standard of beauty changes from place to place.
I haven’t been anywhere yet where people would consider me “fat” (I’m average to slim-ish by Canadian standards) but I certainly felt out of place in Guatemala (though they love curves there.) I was so much taller! And when I went to look for a bra it was almost impossible to find something that fit my gringa bosom.
In Burkina Faso, guys usually overlooked me for larger girlfriends of mine. When I put on weight, suddenly I’d be getting more compliments! It was an interesting change.
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This is a great piece. So honest, and something most women can relate to, the idea that beauty standards are all terribly unstandard. I wonder if any men can relate?
Thanks for your candor!
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Thats funny too considering Australia actually beat out the US for fattest nation in the world.
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I loved this story Megan. I had a similar experience in Kenya when staying with a family in Katolo village and Mama Margaret took it as her mission to fatten me up like the pride of her other daughters.
Mountains of chapati bread, rice, potatoes, and any other white food I would usually avoid back home were forced upon me in second, third, and forth servings, along with Chai of course! But it was so lovely to greatly appreciate food in such a way that it would nourish you rather than it being something to be wary or suspicious of. And also to be grateful for having food in comparison to others who must go without.
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Your writing is juicy and delicious, too! Seriously, though, I really enjoyed this article. It’s amazing how other people’s perceptions can change our own. My husband used to live in Hawaii and he talked about how visiting Brazilian women with large butts and small breasts would strut the beach in teeny weeny bikinis, walking like they were the most beautiful thing on earth. The funny thing was, he said they were extremely sexy because of their attitude about themselves. I try to feel that way, too, (sexy & beautiful) but I think it takes a little practice!
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Loved this article!! I go through the same thing when I travel. I’m a big girl and about 5′6″ which is pretty average where I grew up. Most women in my hometown are between a 12 – 18 in US womens’ sizes. I notice that the reaction to my body is so drastically different depending on where I go. In France, I feel enormous but in Germany I feel pretty average. When I’m in Mexico, I tower over everyone and I can never find shoes that fit my size 10 feet but the men there LOVE the way I look. It’s so funny!
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I never even thought about that.. and I think about A LOT of stuff. I guess I just always thought about it on the positive side, average American girls are usually pretty good looking in the places I travel too… but then again, I’ve never been to Sweden. Ha!
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Thanks for your interesting and insightful piece, but it can’t help but make me sad. I recall sitting in a Health at Every Size class, led by a woman whose sister died of anorexia, and who had also battled an eating disorder herself.
I talked about this very subject – that wherever women go in the world, standards of beauty are different and based on cultural standards. And our self-esteem goes up and down depending on where we are. While to some extent, the same is true for men, very few men will not eat, overeat and throw up their food, or be force-fed in order to achieve the beauty norms of a culture.
Yes, self-acceptance is a huge part of dealing with this “reality.” But so is working to educate and change “reality,” just as we do in fighting racism, sexism, and classism.
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Such a great piece! After 27 years in the United States, 2 in Japan, and 1 in Ireland, my body image is completely destroyed.
I am 4′11″ and weigh around 95 pounds. I take an XS or a 0.
In the US, I’m child-size. I grew up thinking there was something wrong with me because my friends said there was.
In Japan, I was average height for the first time in my life… but I wore a LARGE in pants? What? Large? Me? Were they kidding? How much rice had I eaten, anyway? I was felt up regularly by young students, and their parents remarked on my curves.
In Ireland, I was back to being small, but it bothered me a lot less after being “average height” in Japan.
Now I’m living in Italy, and I feel a little scrawny. But my relatives assure me that I’m “just right.” Am I? It all depends on where you live, I suppose.
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