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CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL: HOME DELIVERY
is a free inspirational e-mail service
from Mark Victor Hansen and Jack Canfield,
co-authors of the New York Times best-
selling CHICKEN SOUP FOR THE SOUL series.
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The Plaster Shell
Intense feelings of embarrassment and absurdity filled my
entire body. This would not help the fact that I was
slathered in baby oil, clad in a T-shirt and lying in my
basement, in fifty pounds of plaster. I stared down at the
warm plaster that embraced my midsection and slowly
crept up towards my chest and tried to remember why I
had chosen to make a plaster cast of my entire body. For
a moment, I simply concluded that I was an utter fool, but
I soon remembered my motives, and while the plaster
dried, I certainly had the time to think about it.
The insecurities of my freshman year in college combined
with my poor body image made me feel like an oaf. Here I
was surrounded by all these lithe, long girls who wore the
latest fashions really well. Was there some mold that was
churning out these girls? And, where in the world did I
come from?
That was the beginning of the question that lead me to
my plaster ensconcement. It all began 506 years ago,
when my forebears were thrown out of Spain. They
migrated to Eastern Europe and developed the stocky,
bosomy shape consigned to overstuffed chairs. Though
my tall, slender parents seemed to have defeated this
pernicious (certainly in my eyes) shape, it continued
lurking in the depths of the family gene pool, and flung
itself into existence again with the arrival of their first-born
child - me. It gifted me with wide hips, a nonexistent
waistline, powerful shoulders, and ample breasts. Very
reminiscent of a long line of intimidating German
matriarchs.
Built to survive harsh winters and to breed children, I
certainly wasn't near anything I say in fashion magazines -
or like any of my new college peers. I loathed my shape
and cursed my past. Though I was always an
independent person who disregarded the edicts of
popularity and fashion, I could not ignore our culture's
concepts of beauty. The rancor I had for my body made
my freshman year of college really hard. Clothing seemed
to be made for those generic stick figures I sat next to in
class. That was when Dorothy, my slightly eccentric art
teacher, and mentor, originated the idea of body casting.
Consequently, on a lovely May morning, I found myself
sitting in a dank basement encased in plaster. I lost all
sensation in my legs at approximately the same time that
the plaster hardened. After an additional uncomfortable
twenty minutes, I slipped out of my plaster shell. At first, I
was rather depressed by the sight of the powder-white
and headless torso lying on an old towel. It looked more
like a sea creature stranded by the tide than a human
shape. My eyes squinted, trying not to take in the entire
picture of my shape, which was even more exaggerated
by the plaster. I thought about how I would never be
graceful or delicate, how two-piece swimsuits were
absolutely out of the question, and how I would never be
conventionally beautiful, or fashionably thin.
As I stared at the empty outer shell of myself, a great
realization hit me - I realized that I had been completely
wrong about my body image. For the past nineteen years
I had believed that my linebacker-like shape would
discourage others from noticing my additional attributes.
How would they ever see my love of science and books,
my creativity, or my offbeat sense of humor?
All this time I wanted to be fashionably svelte, but that
would not make me a better person. I recognized that
confidence was much more important to others than a
dainty appearance, and that if I had confidence, they
would notice my talents. More important, I realized that I
did not actually want to be thin and bikini-clad. I was quite
content using my powerful build to lug around
sixty-pound scenery pieces, and I liked my one-piece
practical bathing suits. My physical appearance had
shaped my personality in a largely positive way. It
contributed to my dislike of conformity. It gave me my
somewhat self-deprecating sense of humor. And it gave
me that strong will that I cherish so much. The
misconception I was holding all these years, along with the
exaggerated body cast that lay there on my basement
floor was suddenly so hilarious to me. I laughed for five
straight minutes.
The body cast currently resides in Dorothy's attic, under
a large blanket. I never actually used it in any art piece; I
felt like it served its purpose. The process of body casting
had been far more important than the product.
Since that day three years ago, I have not resented my
ancestral build. I have also discovered that being
comfortable in my body has given me increased
confidence and assertiveness, something many girls, and
women lack. Perhaps they should all be given the
opportunity to make their own body casts? When the
shell of the body is separate from the person it is obvious
that it is severely lacking. Without the wisdom, sense of
humor and heart it really has no shape at all.
Miriam Goldstein
from Chicken Soup for the College Soul
by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen,
Kimberly Kirberger and Dan Clark.
Copyright 1999 Canfield and Hansen.
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