The best you’ve ever had – a metaphor

You’re eyes were closed, teeth biting your lips and feet curled up. Everyone remembers their best. Sometimes your best is your first, it can also be your worst and sometimes the only words to describe it would be interesting or different.

Almost on the other side of the equator, I can’t stop thinking about my best. Like Amy Winehouse and crystal meth, I can’t keep my mind away from it.

From what I was wearing, how it all started and the feeling of doing it in public, the memories run wild in my head more so than barely pubescent girls for pastey, hygiene-challenged and homeless-looking Rob Pattinson.

I’m even daydreaming about it. But what can one do? You can’t force the next time and you definitely can’t guarantee it’s going to be equally as good.

Obviously, I’m talking about my first … food coma.

But seriously, no matter what the event, relationship or experience was; the best memory is always hard to get over.

As a society was are obsessed with leaving an impression, leaving a legacy – having some momentous occasion that sticks to us like Peter Helliar does Rove McManus (how annoying).

Our Prime Minister is a prime example. K Rudd will go down as the “Sorry” PM – selfless and caring, he has been willing to apologise on behalf of his and previous governments for the treatment of the Stolen Generation and forgotten Australians

But as important as symbolism is and even though it may be a defining moment, you need to realise it and get over it. There’s more to be done instead of globetrotting, grovelling and getting your name in the good books of other world leaders.

I digress.

Whether it’s a one hit wonder until you finally realise you’re not a Barbie girl in a Barbie world, or if your 15 minutes are up and your child walks out of the garage as your home-made space ship falls down – exciting moments in life are hard to come by and even harder to forget (almost as hard as finding attractive people at this resort).

Until the next adrenalin-pumping heart-racing event takes place, we’re left in a limbo world of ‘remember when’.

It’s a bit like a double-edged sword (or sex toy) – power/pleasure on one hand and pain at the other. Memorable events in life are great at the time, but can keep you distracted and looking into the past. Nicole Kidman’s face is suffering this exact condition…

Take… I don’t know… sex for example. When it comes to sex in the 21^st century, I’d like to quote my friend Albert Einstein, who once said “Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.”

So since there are no guarantees in life and the next time we put ourselves out there, open to an experience – it could disappoint. However, it could also be better than our best.

Imagine that.

Returning to the present…

Sex can be explained like fashion. There are different fits and styles and saying someone is “ok” is like saying they’re “full-figured” – polite but clearly not praise.

And once you find that perfect outfit for you that accentuates your assets and hides the imperfections, it’s very hard to convince yourself to try on something new. But think about it this way, you don’t want to be Judith Lucy, stuck in a time warp and think big hair and jokes about vaginas are still in vogue.

It takes confidence and trial & error. Yes, you could be labelled as a slut. But look how far that’s gotten Sandra Sully? Of course, I’m only talking about her high-rating wardrobe. The only other thing higher is the support she receives … from her bra.

So like what lip-syncing does for Britney Spears, having your best experience to remember is a safety blanket and comfort zone that’s important. And for guys, sometimes it’s all we think about (in addition to food).

How can we get over it? Button up you shirt, straighten your tie, zip up your pants and go out there and face the big bad world. Or if you’re lucky – just do the opposite.

Beauty is only 9 months and a caesarean scar deep

After a pinch of controversy, a dash of blame-game ping-pong and a large teaspoon of media attention, the government-appointed teen advisory group finally submitted a Voluntary Industry Code of Conduct to Youth Minister Kate Ellis last week concerning the increase of body dissatisfaction levels amongst Australia’s youth.

But it’s not the kids I’m worried about. It’s mums.

Whilst standing at my bus stop trying not to tweet about the state of our public transport system, I noticed that the magazine advertising on the walls of the newsagency behind me were celebrating one thing: how one celebrity mum, who has more money than she does a sense of reality, got her body back.

My mum doesn’t have Nicole Richie’s maternity inspired breasts. My mum doesn’t have Angelina’s lips. She doesn’t have Elle’s legs and she definitely doesn’t have Heidi Klum’s stomach. But guess what? She’s a bloody great mum.

So what’s with this new fascination of yummy mummies?

The University student inside of me would say that it’s a sign of our post-modern times where nothing is black and white and the 19^th century strict rule against, and indeed the fear of, the sexualised woman has now entered the mainstream.

However, I also believe our fascination with looking unrealistically beautiful stems back to the growth of the supermodel. I of course don’t meant literal growth, because that’s one thing models don’t do (in addition to eating and staying sober).

Society’s obsession with Naomi Campbell (throwing phones or otherwise), Linda Evangelista (who famously said she wouldn’t get out of bed for less than $10,000 a day, or breakfast), Claudia Schiffer, Christy Thirlington and Cindy Crawford is now coming back to bit us on our size 14 muffin-topping bums.

We started to idolise them so much that we began to question why we, free from cash; stylists; trainers and personal chefs, were unable to emulate their airbrushed plasticity.

Then, we put the pressure on.

So while you decide whether to wear a skirt or pants to work and face the public eye just like Ashlee Simpson decides which nose to go with next, former Supermodels like Cindy Crawford are cracking under the pressure.

Crawford told Britain’s Hello! magazine why she quit modelling.

“I don’t want to stand next to a 20-year-old on the runway, even if people say you can still do it. It is like, ‘Why would I do that to myself?’ It would just make me depressed,” she said.

In something completely unrelated, Cindy then appeared on the April cover of US Allure magazine, wearing nothing but moisturising cream.

Crawford did however say something sensible, “I appreciate my body for other things — like I was able to give birth to two kids”.

She has a point. Women need to appreciate their bodies – especially mums. A mum can never forget that she has just brought life into this world. But the 16 percent of women who give birth in Australia and suffer from post-natal depression probably don’t need to see that image of Cindy.

But some say this unachievable fantasy is needed. If Madonna is allowed to keep thinking she can act, surely we can dream that we too can have foreheads that look like candle wax.

The problem is these goals are not presented as fantasy, rather it is an apparent reality.

On the cover of magazines or in the headlines of current affairs television, journalists are offering “top tips” and presenting “success stories” of how “ordinary mums” and glamorous designer-clad celebrities have lost all their pregnancy weight.

Just take one look at any women’s lifestyle magazine’s media kit and within seconds you’ll see how their target audience is real women who care about their inner beauty and want to lead healthy lifestyles. And showing women how Beyonce went weeks with nothing but lemons is precisely the key to inspiration…

But my endless rants, the efforts of ambassadors such as Sarah Murdoch and Mia Freedman will never be enough. It’s a cultural problem.

Sex has striped off its corset and shimmied its way from the private to the public sphere.

Churn your minds over the following and you will understand what I mean: the success of the annual Sexpo, Courtney Cox’s new show CougarTown, the 21st century term MILF and the age-old segment in men’s magazines that offer the girl next door to feature on their covers and calendars.

The terms cougar and MILF do to feminism what contraception does to the church.

And don’t think you can stop it. Sexualised and idealised images of women in pornography are not stopping any time soon. In California alone it is a $12 billion industry employing 12,000 people. That’s almost the capacity of Rod Laver arena.

Though there is hope.

Sarah Murdoch recently appeared on the cover of Women’s Weekly, and to her request, was not airbrushed.

That’s a great example and all, but here’s what the editor had to say.

“I can’t possibly commit to that, I’m a realist,” Helen McCabe told AAP.

“There are real business imperatives why magazines have gone this way. It’s a very competitive industry and I’m – at this stage – just taking a little baby step and seeing how this goes for now,” she continued.

Of course, because what was I thinking? The last time I saw a full-figured not airbrushed woman in any hardback publication was in my art textbook in high school. It was Titan’s Venus of Urbino and that was from the 1500s!

Essentially it’s a fear of the unknown and we don’t want to challenge an industry that’s been rolling on for so long.

So my mum probably won’t be on the cover of Vogue any time soon. All she’ll be on the cover of is our family photo album. Circulation of five and a readership of something around the low 20s. But no amounting of campaigning, pitches, follow-up calls or industry pressure can change that …