My Body Positivity Journey and the Belo #PandemicEffect Ad
Earlier this week the Belo Medical Group released an ad on the so-called #PandemicEffect. It showed a comparison and contrast of what one would look like at the start of, and during, the nationwide quarantine.
The video has since been taken down, thanks to online flak.
Filipino culture is rife with the unacceptance of flaws. Well-meaning titas greet us with expressions of “Ang taba mo na!” (You’ve gotten fat!)
In my own family, I never hear the end of it. But I digress.
There is an unattainable standard of perfection, thanks to the perpetuation of “sexy” and “good-looking” images in the media. Fair and flawless skin, a slender body, and straight hair were the benchmark of beauty. Never mind that Filipinas, in general, are naturally morena, and many of us have wavy hair.
For a very long time, I felt very insecure about my body, my hair — and my overall existence. Where did I fit among these svelte, straight-haired, doe-eyed creatures? I was plus-sized, frizzy-haired, and had oily skin. And I wore eyeglasses. Ano na?
Ashley Graham gave me hope.
Yes, she was plus-sized. But yes, she was sexy. And confident. She showed someone like me that I could be proud of who I was — no matter what shape and dress size I had.
I didn’t look like her — far from it — but I saw what I could become if I embraced all of who I was. Curves and all.
Other more impactful factors came into play, of course (I love therapy! Everyone should get it!). But Ashley Graham opened the doorway to loving myself and gaining confidence in my own skin. Despite its oiliness.
The Belo Group — a company that makes money off of fixing people’s imperfections — has gone too far in launching the #PandemicEffect campaign.
And they are doing it right at the age of body positivity — where every shape and size and body imperfection is embraced and even celebrated.
Ironically, their #PandemicEffect PR campaign includes endorsements from conventionally attractive artistas and influencers — most likely their brand ambassadors and clientele. Perhaps one can argue that it can be aspirational, sure — but I don’t want to spend thousands of pesos looking like them.
And sure, they’re talking about their struggles on the captions, but the images show them looking flawless and made-up, anyway.
Did Belo not bother reading the room, or did they unintentionally take a step backward?
Or maybe I’m in the wrong room. Maybe they aren’t there yet. Unless they don’t want to step out of it and continue to send their messages of what their standard of beauty is like.
More recently, friends and I have been sharing photos of ourselves in our little online community. What started as asaran on showing off abs and arms turned into an appreciation of each other — even myself.
I was genuinely surprised at how I didn’t think any less of myself while seeing abs and arms and nice shapely legs. Hell, I didn’t even compare myself to any of my friends. If anything, it was a big step in vulnerability: this is me. I know what I am, I know what I’m not, and both are okay.
I mean, sure, I miss how I looked pre-pandemic. But I like how I look now, even if it’s taking some getting used to. I still have to work on things, but that’s completely on me.
I still struggle sometimes. I don’t always say “YAAAAAS, KWEEN!” whenever I see myself in the mirror. I even had nightmares very recently of being rejected because of my looks — but it took introspection and a few good conversations to be reminded that I am beautiful, I am worthy of love, and that I am enough. Despite what my mind says. Despite what society dictates. Despite my oily and acne-worn skin, wide gilagid, excess body hair, and cellulite. Despite my size.
