Tales From A Los Angeles Grocery Store

Despite what you might think, there are a few things I won’t write about on the Internet.

Relationships – Because that could get messy.

My Day Job – Because I’m not stupid.

Sex – Because my brother reads this.

Crystal Meth – Because I don’t know anything about it.

But one subject I am about to break the Hollywood Hotdish silence about is body image.

To be honest, I’ve been avoiding it.

A woman living in Los Angeles complaining about body image is just so cliché. It’s just so over-emphasized. It’s just so Hollywood.

But as I was trying on dress after dress yesterday at Urban Outfitters, staring at myself in the mirror, and mentally swearing off sugar, carbs, and all food that can be described as “delicious,” I decided it was worth a mention.

Because I do think about it. A lot.

Too much, actually.

Now, I’m not the kind of girl who originally wanted to be a model and then – with a bat of my eyelashes and a toss of my hair – fell into acting.

In fact, I have a hard time liking those actors.

In spite of the fact that I’m probably (and hopefully) more talented than those actors, I wrestle with one dominant emotion every time I'm sitting in an audition surrounded by them.

Inadequacy.

A terrible, crippling feeling of poor self-worth.

Even though I know I’m better than that.

Even though I try and repeat what my dad always tells me:

You have a better personality than her!

It’s hard not to feel self conscious about yourself when you’re sitting next to a model.

I mean, who the hell cares about my personality?! She was on the cover of Vogue for God’s sake!

In a town that places so much emphasis on how you look (and what you drive, and what you wear) it’s hard to drown those thoughts out.

Yesterday, a friend of mine even refused to go to the store because he (HE) was in sweatpants.

REALLY?

This is a man who loves sports, who wears a baseball hat the majority of the time, who drinks beer - and not the fancy kind!

I was so shocked at this that I decided to do a little experiment. Could I go to the store in sweatpants?

When I stopped to think about it, I don’t think I ever had.

Now, I’m sure most of you are thinking: IT’S JUST THE STORE.

But in Los Angeles, going to the grocery store is an event. (Remember the red carpet?) I have seen women pushing carts in 6-inch heels, men picking out hamburger in Prada suits, and children begging for candy in dresses that cost more than my rent.

But I was determined to try this out.

I wore my sweatpants that sagged in the ass.

I wore that mustard-yellow t-shirt that has an obvious stain across the chest.

I didn’t brush my hair, I wore my glasses, and I didn’t even put on one bit of make-up.

I held my head high and waltzed into that store!

And even though the whole time I prayed I wouldn’t run into Steven Spielberg in the frozen food aisle, I did feel incredibly free.

I didn’t care about body image because I didn’t care AT ALL!

I picked out pears and smiled at strangers. I pushed up my glasses and read my coupons.

I got to the checkout and I was feeling good. I was feeling sexy and strong and beautiful!

And I looked at the cashier, held up my bottle of salad dressing, and said proudly:

Is this fat free?