Lovely Bones

"I love this" a man says to my friend in SL a few weeks ago. He reaches out and touches her jutting collarbone.

It's a line all New York women know. Despite what the magazines will have you believe ('perfect at any size' or 'he loves your curves'), the Manhattan man likes his woman to look like -if not, be- a model. Upon moving here, he's been subconsciously re-educated regarding female beauty. After all, models are everywhere in this town. They're glamorous, and skinny as hell.

Working in the fashion industry, it's inevitable that I have model friends. I lived with a model friend of mine for about a year, and never saw her eat more than a rice cake or sugar-free popsicle. She honestly never had a full meal. Another of my friends just recently scored an editorial in British Vogue. She talks wistfully about what it will be like to no longer be hungry. She often says, "I'm going to move back to Paris and have babies and get fat!" She's on caffeine pills most of the time.

Being skinny in New York is a status symbol. It means you're rich enough to work hard on your body and strong enough to withstand the siren song of carbohydrates. There’s a superiority that comes with rocking leather leggings and being a foot taller than everyone else, and men have become big believers. It’s almost as if, the thinner the woman on his arm, the more powerful he is.

It’s obvious the beauty bar has been raised. I was chatting to a guy last week who has a crush on my friend. I said, “Oh yeah, she’s super gorgeous!” He replied, “Well, I wouldn’t call her gorgeous… but she’s definitely cute.” Ouch. Saturday night, I was sitting with another male friend of mine at Lavo, and we were checking out the crowd. Every woman he selected was almost otherworldly in her beauty and thinness. It’s almost as if, if you don’t have perfectly chiseled cheekbones and a visible six pack, you’re un-dateable.

It’s a phenomenon that women are not comfortable acknowledging. After all, these days ‘size acceptance’ is a common phrase, referring to our more zaftig sisters. The magazines and women’s literature will have you believe that he loves your curves and doesn’t even know what cellulite is. The truth of the Manhattan man is harder to swallow. He knew what cellulite was in college… and he’s developed very clear ideas about what constitutes femininity in the years since moving here. He likes the space between a woman’s thighs. He prefers a six pack to hips. He takes yoga to watch the ‘yoga butts’. And breasts? They confound the Manhattan man.

Our modelized island creates a specific breed of body dysmorphia – especially when compared to high school friends, settled in suburbia. I was just going through Facebook with an old friend of mine a few weeks ago, and even the thinnest girls in high school had put on at least a good 30 lbs (and I’m from a very thin state). Then I realized, I’ve lost weight since high school. I am close to the thinnest I’ve ever been as an adult – but it still doesn’t feel like enough. I am perpetually chasing 'those last 5 pounds’.

As long as I live in Manhattan and work in fashion, I will believe that perfection is obtainable.

After all, it's sitting just one table over.

*scorpio*