Educated girls get cellulite

Educated girls tie their hair back in glossy ponytails. They drink tea and eat tofu. They have older boyfriends and read French literature. They are into Asian culture and frozen yoghurt. And they have cellulite.

Let’s face it, a large part of education revolves around sitting on your bum all day long. I’m not saying cellulite is the price every girl has to pay for her education. There are many opportunities to get moving and do your circulation a favour. However, for some, the damage definitely seems to be done.

Of course, all sorts of factors come into play before someone gets cellulite. Emotional drama, stress, smoking and food habits all play a role. But studying seems to deliver the final blow. BAM! Gotcha! And it’s always the innocent, goody-goodies who like staying in, who end up getting the worst of it.

Perhaps I should be slightly more specific and narrow down the kind of female student I’m talking about. She’s the one who is willing to sacrifice a lot for her studies or her social life. The kind who pulls all-nighters and uses caffeine and sugar to sustain her. She’s might be mentally unstable or going through a rough period in her life.  She might be filling up on alcohol and getting very little sleep. Of course, you could argue that what I’m sketching here is the portrait of a typical female student…

 In any case, she’s not really taking care of herself and she doesn’t seem to care just yet.

How does some of this relate to a university education? Well, studying is fun, but after a few hours, you need some distraction. Said distraction easily comes in the form of a twix bar or a sticky chocolate brownie. After all, chocolate is a girl’s best friend (How could Marylin be so wrong?). Soon, sitting and eating become your two main activities, which makes you more likely to rely on sugar highs. After soothing whatever it was that was screaming for pleasure (your sexual frustration, boredom, fatigue or moodiness), you feel fit to continue.

It’s an interesting paradox: highly intelligent women who stand up for themselves, who guiltily indulge in their childish tastes (for hot chocolate with marshmallows). Will these students grow up to be the kind of women who own a massive sterile kitchen stocked with organic produce only? Who knows?

Final note: girls, I criticize you not. Life is for living, not for pointless preservation. However, a bit of care and moderation can’t hurt.

Shouldn't we embrace pointlessness?

Shouldn’t we embrace pointlessness? Work : the grown-up’s Santa Claus

 

Warning: this text contains a large number of double ss’s. Possibly toxic, depending on the dosage. Read with caution.

Many people have a problem with feeling aimless or without purpose. Pointlessness makes us feel vulnerable, as a huge void opens up, revealing what the world looks like without self-imposed obligations and activities. In this uneventful, quiet world, everything moves slowly.

Before continuing, let me make it clear that I’m speaking from a rich Westerner’s point of view, who has many possibilities in life and whose endless options often put him in ‘freeze-mode.’

However, there is no reason not to take the man of luxury seriously. He might even give us a more real picture of humanity than the man of necessity, weathered and worn by circumstances which keep him from delving deeper into his thoughts and feelings.

Returning to these self-imposed obligations and activities – usually referred to as work- one can observe a funny paradox. We complain about it daily, but we can’t live without it. It gets worse: we need it.

It gives our lives meaning, in the same way structuring time into seconds, minutes, days and years give our lives meaning. And this meaning, ultimately, seems to be something everyone is madly striving for. So much so, that when someone gets the feeling their life might be without this purpose, the world becomes a dark, sorry place and matters must be resolved at once.

However, I suggest doing an experiment. Two, actually.

The first one is to sit somewhere where you have a perspective on life in motion; a café, for instance. It’s quite simple: just watch people going about their daily practices. Observe their gait and their expression. What do they radiate? Determination? Hapiness? Stability? Routine? Boredom? Think about what drives them and to what extent their world-view and mental health relies on kidding themselves day after day. Is work is the grown-up’s Santa Claus?

The second one: try to embrace pointlessness. Do nothing for a while. Abandon your routine for a longer period. And try to see the world in its aimlessness, if that’s what you see in it. Above all, try to see the world separated from the view you have imposed on it, in as far as that’s possible. And then try and see if you can stand it.

I can say I tried to, enjoyed it for a while, but failed to keep up with it, thereby joining the majority of the workaholic population. However, the experience was a valuable one and I think a lot can be said for stopping to feel like everything has to ‘head somewhere.’

In the end, pointlessness might not deserve the negative connotation it gets. Either that or I’ve had too many coffees.

 

Acts like a child - dresses like a woman or: dresses like a child - acts like a woman?

 

 

I still haven’t quite figured out the preferable option. A few days earlier, when I found myself trying to analyze women from a male perspective (as one does), I couldn’t quite work out which was the more desirable: to act like a child but dress like a woman or to act like a woman but dress like a child.

Acting like a child may, in many cases, be seen as a desirable trait. It means the woman in question doesn’t take herself too seriously and has a sense of humour. The contrast this could possibly form with an impeccable, very feminine and mature style could be very alluring indeed.

However, what is there to say about the woman who dresses like a child, but has that unpardonable brisk, businesslike and often world-weary quality of a woman who knows more of the world? Dressing like a child (pink skinny jeans, glittery heels, pony-tails) is bound to get you some attention, that’s for sure. Being taken seriously, however, is the harder part.

What makes a woman want to revisit her childhood in her clothing style? Why do men often find this so appealing? And why is there such a need to demarcate different periods in our lives by different clothing?

Difficult questions on a Tuesday morning…

 

Skinny people and the café

Skinny people and the café .

 

Skinny people!
The hollow-cheeked, wide-eyed, pale-faced opposite of today's waddling, bloated majority.

Now I’m not talking about your regular sour-faced, humourless, soy-latte and skinny blueberry muffin ordering dieter. I’m talking about that rare species: the naturally slim person!

 

I say species, because look at them. They really do seem to be a different breed.

The majority of them are extremely sensitive, endowed with antennae permanently receptive to the most minute stimuli.

Being prone to over thinking things and not getting enough sleep, the majority of them seems to be hooked on caffeine. Eager to burn off the little fat that clings on to those finely built bones, caffeine conveniently speeds up their metabolism.

 

Poetic as they are, they appreciate the smaller things in life and like to cultivate their alternative image. If the words hipster, budding artist, tortured soul or misanthrope all spring into your mind at once upon beholding said specimen, they have done their job correctly.

Although the slim tend to keep to themselves, they are a very narcissistic breed. They adore projecting an air of difference and superiority onto others. Unlike their sturdier, louder peers, they tend to do this in a most peculiar manner: they gather in silence. Instead of retreating into some obscure room in the family manor, as inevitably happened in former times, the 21^st Century provides skinnies with an irresistible alternative: the café.

As if following the Pied Piper’s hypnotic call, inaudible to most normal people, they seek shelter from the busy world inside any café claiming to provide wifi.There, they proceed to do what they thrive at: being unsocial. After settling at a table full of screen-starers or even better, by the window, the laptop is produced and Mr or Mrs Slim has disconnected him or herself from the rest of the world for a good hour or two. Perhaps a glance at what slim, hip neighbour on the left is doing (downloading indie music, writing a philosophy paper) or another order (flat white) temporarily brings them in touch with their surroundings, but these things are beside the point. The main goal of the gathering, of course, is projecting one’s own coolness. And reassuring yourself of the fact that the others are of your kind.

Sitting in a café is like temporarily being part of a family; skinny modern man’s alternative to loud, primitive clans. But luckily, the concept of family has adapted itself to its modern interpretation and has become refreshingly versatile: café families last as long as you remain inside the café. Come back next time and the atmosphere, although comfortingly anonymous enough, is decidedly different. Of course, you have the regulars, but new additions are constantly being made. All adopting the unspoken rule of being busy and isolated.

Permanently single as they are, a Café is the perfect marriage for sensitive skinnies: no explanations required and no strings attached.