I am writing this letter to inform you that I was not offended by your movie, “I Feel Pretty.” 

In fact, I’ll take it one step further: I left your film and I felt pretty. 

I read an article the other day written by a fellow female movie goer who seemed morally and ethically offended by your film for several reasons:

1. It was too mystical; women shouldn’t have to be magically knocked unconscious to find themselves beautiful 
2. The movie portrayed your character, Renee, as a chubby bunny, when in reality you’re just a moderately curvy bunny
3. The movie did not show Renee’s acceptance of herself at the end of the movie without these magical powers

I don’t think at any point your movie implied that the only way to reach self-acceptance is through a traumatic head injury. I merely think it’s hard to unpack how beauty is a construct that has been formed over hundreds of years and impacts girls from the moment they are born, in an hour and fifty minute rom-com. And let’s be honest, I don’t want to sit through a movie that demonstrates, in real time, the journey women take towards self acceptance. That would be one sad, long-ass movie.

Further more, I was not offended when a bicycle seat accidentally collapsed beneath your character. I did not interpret that as, “She must be so fat that the bicycle seat cannot support her weight.” I thought, “Yes, bicycle seats are famously unreliable.” 

I will admit; I giggled at the scene where you walked into a clothing store and the woman who worked there condescendingly told you that they wouldn’t have your size in store. I thought, “Oh poor size 6 Amy Schumer, life must be so hard for her.” But as a woman of a shapely form, I could relate to going into a store and seeing size XS as far as the eye can see, and not being able to find my size. No matter what size you are, it is hurtful going into a space and not feeling represented or welcomed. 

Perhaps that is why so many people were offended by your film; everyone wanted to feel represented. That, however, is a tall task to ask of any movie. 

Amy, I think those who were offended by your film may have missed the point.

Correct me if I’m wrong Ams, but I think this film was trying to initiate the question: what if attitude really was everything? How would I live my life different if my outward appearance wasn’t of any concern?

If you’re wondering what I would do, I would: 

• Wear a two piece bathing suit confidently; regardless of how curvy or pale I am.
• Show off my legs more (I know it’s not possible, but if I could sustain a head injury and then mystically be able to remain curvy while also wearing shorts and dresses without my thighs rubbing together, I’d be super into that.)
• Participate. Participate in sports, participate in swimming with friends, participate in new exercise classes at the gym. I have definitely improved in this area, but for years I quite literally took myself out of the game in fear of looking foolish or not being able to keep up.

Your movie reminded me, in a very simple way, I don’t want the way I perceive my looks to hold me back from opportunities for fun, growth, or wellness.

The other potential reason I think some were offended by your film is that people are just really dang hard to please. There has been an outcry for more positive body-image messages in the media, however panties wad if the messenger is too fat, too thin, too blonde, or too popular.

I don’t know about everybody else, but I left the theatre feeling pretty good about myself. I walked out with a little more swagger, and a couple extra hair flips. And at no point since watching your film have I sought out a blow to the head in the pursuit of higher self-esteem. 

You started a conversation which is typically a hard and painful one to start, in a funny, light-hearted way, and I appreciate it. 

Kind regards, 

Ashley

I am not a camper. 

Yes, yes, I know. I live in BC! I should be adorned in head to toe North Face, traveling in a canoe towards a secluded island for camping adventures every weekend. 

But I’m not. 

Because I don’t like camping. 

You’re not going to change me. 

Stop trying to make me something I’m not. 

With that said, I do LOVE being outside. I merely have boundaries with the outdoors. I feel like boundaries are healthy and show how mature I am. 

Criteria for an “Ashley Outdoors Excursion”:

• No “packing” required. I do not have kids yet, therefore I do not want to be schlepping bags full of other peoples snacks and living supplies around. 
• No encounters with wild animals larger than maybe a raccoon. I want my interactions with animals in the outdoors to look like Snow White is going on a casual stroll, not like Leo in The Revenant 
• All potty incidents happen in an actual potty. 

I don’t feel like I’m asking for the world. 

If you’re reading this and thinking, “Now that’s the kinda gal I can get on board with,” then this is the list for you. 

Here are three of my favourite local excursions that are unlikely to kill me: 

Quarry Rock

When I first visited Quarry Rock I was very mad. Why you ask? Because it was listed as an “easy hike” in an article entitled, “5 Easy Hikes for Lazy People in Vancouver.” I read that and thought, “Sweet. I’ll develop a lovely glint of sweat but not so much sweat that I smell bad.” So I went. I think I said, “Easy hike for lazy people my foot!” at least 5 times on the way up. It was a lot more “hike-y” than I thought it would be. However, with that said, after the initial surprise that I was hiking , I did really enjoy Quarry Rock. The view at the top is beautiful, you’ll sweat, you’ll get a great laugh at the girls who clearly read the same article as me and showed up in high heels, and you can reward all your hard work at the end with the best donuts you’ll ever have in your life. If that isn’t enough reason to hike, I don’t know what is.

Felt like an Olympic Athlete

Smiling but over-exerted.

Light House Park

I went to Light House Park a week or so after I went to Quarry Rock. It felt almost too easy after that. I just can’t be pleased. Located in West Vancouver, Light House Park has several scenic, easy trails, with lovely views. No donuts though.

Lower Falls

A beautiful (easy) trail tucked in Golden Ears Provincial Park. The whole trail is a little under 3km and follows along Gold Creek all the way to the falls. There are beautiful views of the mountains, a rocky beach about half way through that’s perfect for a refreshing sit-down, and at the end you’re rewarded with the beauty of the falls. Giddy and I like to climb around the side of the trail and sit on the rocks near the falls. For me it’s a climb. For the average person it’s probably just an elevated walk. 

So there it is, a simple guide on how I survive the wilderness. Happy Monday. And you’re welcome.

High School is not easy. Hormones, homework, and trying not to forget your gym strip… and it is not any easier for the students.

I should explain; I am an Education Assistant at a High School, which means I spend my day supporting students in their classes. I balance a fine line between being the “other” teacher in the class, and engaging enthusiastically in lessons to demonstrate the behaviour of the quintessential student.

Somedays I feel like I am participating in a strange social experiment to test how much I have grown up since High School.

This is my fourth year working at the school, and I have learned some things will never change:

• I am just as uncoordinated in P.E. as I was at 16.

• Math still makes me want to cry.

• I still consider it a compliment if one of the “cool kids” likes my outfit.

• I am still too social for my own good.

• Even when attempting to show restraint, I cannot help but squeal with delight when I hear the words, “school dance,” “Christmas Break,” “Summer Vacation,” and “School Spirit Week.”

• Even when attempting to show restraint, I cannot help but groan in true agony when I hear the words, “provincial exam,” “pop quiz,” and, “dodge ball.”*

*I am almost certain that dodgeball was invented by a sadistic substitute P.E. teacher who thought to himself, “I am not allowed to hit the kids, but what if I created a game where I got to sit back and watch as they hit each other… as hard as they can… in the face… with a big rubber ball?”*

Do not get me wrong; I have grown and matured since my years as a High School student:

• I own a car which means I no longer have to tolerate my former companions on public transit.

• I almost never forget my lunch.

• Even though I am still as uncoordinated in P.E. as I was as a teenager, I have now perfected my P.E. excuses. For example:
  • “Oh no, the student over there seems to be in distress! I should put down my ball hockey stick and rush to their aid!”
  • “I think it’s best I just line up the balls for dodge ball and then quickly get out of the way. I would hate for one team to have the unfair advantage of having a teacher on their side.”
  • “I can’t run today because it’s my time of the…” Okay, some excuses have remained the same.

• I truly enjoy learning! Especially when it is just for the joy of learning something new, and there are no homework assignments required of me.

I have also discovered teenagers are truly weird, wonderful, and hilarious creatures! They wear ridiculous clothing, come up with strange catch phrases that make no sense, and are fleshy little balls of emotions. They are brilliant beyond their years, incredibly talented, so funny I have cried with laughter in class more times than I can count, and are compassionate in sometimes unrecognizable ways (but it is there).

I loved my high school experience, so much so that on my last day of grade 12 I carried a video camera around with me and captured most of my day on film (I need to find that one of these days). Though my love for my high school ran deep as a teenager, I have learned a lot about myself now as an adult working in a high school.

I am reminded how easy it is to be judgemental of the next generation and how I should extend these kids the same grace I was afforded by certain adults in my life.

I give myself freedom to ask questions, admit I am wrong, and take joy in moments when I discover I was smarter than I thought I was.

I allow myself to break into song, tap dance through the hallways, and tell terribly punny jokes, because that is who I am, and whenever I am being the most “me,” I allow others the same liberty to be themselves.

I think that every adult should be required by law to return to high school for a month or two. It is a great reminder of how much you have grown, how much you have not changed at all, and what precious parts of yourself you have forgotten about that need to be resurrected.

I do not know if I am ready to be a mother yet.

Which is fine, because I am not currently “with child.”

Due to my profession, I have spent a lot of time with kids, and not just a few kids, hundreds of kids; dare I say thousands!

I have learned a few things about children:

1. I like kids. A lot of them are fairly cute, they say funny things, and they usually laugh at my jokes.
2. Kids are little and easy to pick up, which makes me feel like a giant, and I enjoy feeling like a giant. It is the same reason I enjoy tiny utensils.
3. They are really loud, but I am okay with loud volumes because it means I am not the loudest person in the room.
4. When I am with children it is socially acceptable to colour, sing Disney songs, and announce when I have to leave the room to go potty.
5. Kids are sticky… all the time. I don’t know why. What do these parents feed their children that makes them so damn sticky? And how do they manage to get said substance on their foreheads? I’m always a little hesitant to go near small children for this reason.
6. Kids have no filter, and will ask you if you have a baby in your tummy with no shame. And the answer is no, no I don’t have a baby in my tummy, yes I did have a particularly large lunch today, and yes I will be throwing out this shirt.
7. Kids are unpredictable. I am constantly hearing little stories from parents about the time their “precious little cherub” decided to paint their nursery with their own poop. Those same moms seem to love following those stories with, “So, how many kids do you think you’ll have?” To which I respond, “Siamese fighting fish.”
8. Kids are expensive. They require extravagant themed birthday parties with three tiered cakes, adult friends who drink alcohol, and goody bags filled to the brim with organic, fair trade, gluten free gummy bears.
9. Kids are ridiculous. No, you can’t jump on the trampoline during the snowstorm while eating Kraft dinner. Why? You want to know why? Because it’s ridiculous, and so are you.

I look forward to the day I have my own children, but I also have an irrational (albeit totally rational to me) fear of childbirth. I have spent far too much time with mothers who love to share their magical, miracle childbirth stories, which leave me dry heaving and hyperventilating into a paper bag.

Bloody Nipples, Tearing, and Developing Strong Feelings in Favor of Adoption

I do not know what’s better: knowing too much about childbirth, or knowing too little.

I’ll happily read books about child rearing, but I am not touching a birthing book until I absolutely have to. I figure that once I have children I won’t have time to read a lot of parenting books, because I’ll be too busy actually parenting. I feel like having some parenting techniques under my belt is wise, but having knowledge about bloody nursing nipples, and tearing is just fear mongering.

*Side bar: It’s kind of ridiculous to me that people have to take classes and read books before they are allowed to drive a car, but anyone, and I do mean anyone, can just have a baby. There should be a class or something every person has to take before they are allowed to pop out a kid. I don’t know who would be in charge of enforcing such things, but I’m pretty sure I’d rock at it.

I have always liked the idea of having kids; I have just never been fond of the idea of having kids (if you know what I mean). I fear pain, hate hospitals, and I have never envied the “pregnant lady glow.” I am not dumb; I know its just sweat from overexertion and sleep deprivation. More recently I have began to warm up to the idea, but mainly because of my own fondness for my husband and how adorable our Half-rican babies will be, not because I am any less frightened that these little miracles won’t (to quote The Mindy Project), “steal my youth and beauty and keep it for their own damn selves.”

Men in Labor and Other Unnatural Things

Have you seen those videos where men endure simulated labor pains in an effort to “understand” what a woman goes through during childbirth? It is both horrifying and fascinating. I do not feel like the men who partake in these experiments are doing it with pure motives though. They say it is in an effort to “understand” what women go through, but I feel like they secretly want to experience it to prove that it is “no big deal.” They walk in all confident saying crap like, “Start me on the highest level, I can handle it,” as if they’re about to play a video game. Whether you have seen it or not, I probably do not have to tell you how things went. The men cry, moan, scream, and convulse… During the first five minutes.

There is something disheartening about watching six-foot-tall, 200lb men quivering in pain from simulated labor pains… and they don’t even need to push anything out!

Sitting on a Throne of Lies

My solution? I have decided to lie to myself, and surround myself with equally convincing liars. I want to hear from the mothers who sneezed, and whoop there’s a baby! The mothers that got to the hospital and hardly had time to get the maternity band off of their pants before they welcomed their darling munchkin into the world… those are the stories I want! If you were in labor for 72 hours, and can no longer laugh or sneeze without peeing your pants, talk to another newly married woman, because I am not your girl.