Ugh.

I recently overheard a conversation about boob size. Well, by overheard, I mean read, and by conversation, I mean Facebook status plus its comments.

It basically went like this:

Girl 1: Women get their confidence from their boob size.
Girl 2: I completely agree!!! :)!!!!!
Girl 3: It's because of the men. All men like big breasts.

Um ....... okay.

I, for one, get my confidence from my intelligence and snappy wit. And if I were to rest my opinion of myself on various parts of my body, this would just be sad. I have tiny boobs. My legs are long but nothing to write home about, and my ass is not something I like to flaunt too much. I have nowhere near washboard abs, and my arms have little if any tone to them. The only features I can really be "proud" of are my lips and my eyes; I will not have to worry about Botox later in life, and I have blue cat-like eyes. And yet, I manage to leave my house every day without feeling like I have to boost these physical areas. Sure, I work out and I love running; but it isn't my main focus.

As I've said before, I loathe generalizations. Why? Because more often than not, it doesn't apply in such a grand scale. "All men like big breasts." Ha. If I took a poll of my guy friends, I can almost guarantee you that this will not be the consensus. In fact, most of them would say, "More than a handful (or depending on the couth-ness rating, a "mouthful" might apply here instead) is just a waste." Now, this is not to say that there aren't men out there who get turned on by big breasts. The porn industry would not be where it is today if this were not so. It's like saying that all men want a woman who looks like Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie (*gasp* They are in the same sentence!!! Certainly there will be a brawl!). Sure, both are beautiful women, and most men will attest to this. But I know of some guys that are kind of meh towards both.

It's starting to look like all the phobias women have with their bodies are perpetuated by themselves. This isn't a novel idea, of course, but it's becoming very apparent to me, as of late. We have all of this media coverage, various beauty products, the latest styles, fad diets, etc., that just manage to keep us thinking that we're somewhere below par. That is the main reason I changed my major from marketing. The more I studied the concepts, the more I disagreed with basically convincing people that their lives weren't what they could be without such-and-such product. Blech. And while they don't just focus on women, it does seem that many companies do target them.

But then it gets this idea in our heads that we need to get the newest look from the runways (which, to me, always look horrendous - if you can muster the strength, just look at an Elle magazine fashion spread. Can I just say, "YUCK.") or try the anti-aging cream at age 28.

And from what I have heard, which is not to say it's entirely representative, many guys just sit there, scratching their heads. "You looked fine before this. What did you do this for? Me? I liked you the way you were." It's why I hate those commercials about the woman using this cream that shed 10 years off or whatever, and her husband said that he was more attracted to her now. Thanks, advertising assholes.

So here's an idea. How about getting your confidence from something other than your boobs? Your eyes? Your hair? If you died, do you want somebody to say, "She had really amazingly large breasts" or "She had an amazingly large heart?"

I'll take the latter, thanks.

Huh. I'm still kind of stunned.

You know, I love being surprised. Not in a horror movie, piss-in-you-pants way, but in that pleasant manner in which you cock your head and think, "Huh."

I've been receiving "Elle" for about four months now, and I'm not sure why. I've racked my brain, trying to figure out who can hate me so much as to subject me to the monthly doses of body loathing and expendable-income envy. Being a journalist, though, I do the courteous thing and give the lady mag an obligatory read-through, but inevitably, I'm irritated by the frivolous content, violated by the eye-raping layout design (it reminds me of photo collages I created in middle school), and am thus moved to throw the entire thing into a giant bonfire of vanities.

When I saw the new issue on my counter, I had half a mind just to toss it into the recycling bin, but I convinced myself to at least give it a fighting chance. I nearly stopped at the beginning, as I was accosted by horrendous fashion spreads, sporting the fugliest outfits inspired by bikers and metal bands, and stupid-huge bills attached to pieces (I mean, seriously, nearly $5000 for what is essentially a sparkly tube dress?!) Amazingly, I trudged through the drivel and found myself blinking in astonishment at what lay beyond. Huh.

I was treated to some insightful reviews and now have a list of movies that I simply need to see, including "Away We Go" and "The Apple," books that are must-reads, and TV shows that I will avoid like the leprosy. Ell also reminded me of my quest for the perfect red lipstick and gave me a little history lesson, as well. Did you know that the first wax-based tube lipstick came out in 1870? And that Elizabeth Arden gave out red lipstick for women participating in the suffrage marches of the 1910s?

But most of all, I was impressed with the quality of the interviews. Karen Schoener's coverage of Atlantic Records' Julie Greenwald perfectly summed up the attitude required to save the flailing music industry, and I love the imagery of a powerful, yet nurturing woman (who has pics of her kids on her walls, instead of celebs) who has guys like P. Diddy calling her the "coolest white Jewish chick in history." Oh, you stay classy, Diddy.

The article on street-lit author Miasha was eye-opening and shows that there is a weird segregation between business and African Americans. It's almost like the bigwigs forget that the black community exists until something sells well, like when the popular Zane came onto the scene. And then the cultural critics jump over themselves, blaming the literary outlet as a reason for an entire race's "situation." Now, the glamorization of drug and gang culture is another topic entirely - one that I'm not going to tackle right now because it would make this waaaay too long - but I will admit that reading Miasha's perspective on this makes me appreciate (not like, mind you) "ghetto fiction."

I'm not too ridiculously into Gwen Stefani, this issue's cover girl, but the story on her had me liking the down-to-earth vibe she was giving off. The fact that someone so beautiful couldn't believe a guy was into her is very reassuring, even if she did steal Gavin Rossdale from what could have been wedded bliss with me. I've moved on, of course, and I have forgiven.

Now, the women-in-music section got me a little annoyed, but that's only becase the editors included Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga*, but not Beth Ditto, who I've come to adore, or Chrissy Hynde. To their credit, though, they did have Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Joan Jett and Kid Sister. But my ultimate girl-crush, Jennifer Hudson, had me saying, "Squeeee!" I am just in awe of her faith and could literally stare at the featured photo shoot for hours. Gorgeous woman, inside and out, and her interview just made me love her all the more.

I skipped the last ten pages or so of oddly posed models and a Q&A with Bret Michaels (um, no, thanks), but the whole experience left me scratching my head. WTF just happened? Was I really just intellectually stimulated by "Elle?" Huh.

Now, is it too much to expect a similar follow-up? A sequel of quality, if you will? Yeah, I'm not banking on it.

* The part where she says that American Idol was "all about the art" when setting up for her recent appearance, I nearly screamed. I just don't get the fascination with this woman, and I really wish people would just stop giving her a platform. Ick.