Heather Creekmore - Compared to Who?: A Proven Path to Improve Your Body Image

Beauty does not make you happy. A size two does not solve your insecurity. The prettiestclothes and the shiniest hair in the nation is not the combination you need to stopbeing consumed with how you look. In fact, just the opposite may be true.

Thigh dimples. Belly pooch. Saggy breasts. Stretch marks.

I love to see them.

No. Not on my own body. Yikes! Of course not. That would be silly.

I mean, I have them. We all do. Okay, most of us over the age of nineteen bear atleast one of these signs of fallen humanity. There are a few fortunate ones out there.But gravity will find them, too. Eventually. It always wins.

There is one place where cellulite, love handles, and flab look fantastic. Thatson the body of a celebrity.

The better she appears on screen, the more so-called imperfections I want to see.

Click here to see her ugly beach photos.

Click here to see the unedited photo.

Click here to see what she really looked like after she gave birth.

Click here to see her without her makeup.

Sure. Why not? Tabloids and gossip sites happily give us what we wantblown-up photosof celebrity flaws circled in red ink like missed answers on a test.

Did you ever wonder why we like to see them? Why were happy to look at another womansso-called body defects?

I have a theory.

I think its because cellulite, deflated bosoms, and other flaws on the allegedlyflawless affirm the average womans existence. Or, mine at least.

That is, they seem to. I expected clicking on those average photos would help myproblemmake me feel better.

Now my perspective has changed.

During my formative years, our culture decided to set apart certain female specimensas emblems of beauty. This league of women stood out above all the rest. (Literally,not only were they taller than the average girl, but they also had long legs andminimal body fat, allowing them to appear to tower over us all.) These ladies werentjust models, but supermodels.

Oh how wonderful it would be to look like that! So the teenage me thought. Itsbeen a few decades, so Id be hard-pressed to name too many of them now, but onename Ill never forget is Cindy Crawford. I admired Cindy because, in an era whereit seemed like being blonde meant being beautiful, she had brown hair.

And so did I. (Until I figured out how to color it, at least.) She also had a mole.That little brown dot on her face didnt seem to bother her a bit. Yet I had a moleabout the same size on my wrist that I obsessed over. Cindy gave me hope. Maybe,someday, my mole could symbolize hotness, too. If only I could find a way to lookmore like Cindy Crawford...

Fast-forward a few decades to last month. I sat at my computer scrolling throughFacebook when an intriguing photo of my former idol floated by. The picture showedwhat looked like an unretouched image of Cindy wearing black lingerie, a boa, anda magician-caliber top hata recent magazine cover that never made it to the editingdepartment. In it, the supermodel appeared with belly flab, cellulite, and stretchmarks. Her untoned thighs looked as dimply as mine. Were they touching in the middle?Her stomach bore the marks of pregnancies and age. I guess my stomach is okay ifthats how Cindys looks! Fabulous!

Cindy Crawfords cellulite made my day.

I watched as the photo received an abundance of social media attention. (I blog aboutbody image. This wasnt lame. I prefer to call it research.) More viral than theswine flu, millions shared the imperfect cover photo and applauded Cindy.