Mammoth Complex, Intro: Grade Eight
Mammoth Complex is a three-part essay series on my life in my body.
Content Warning: Eating disorder, body image, and fat phobic issues
Erica J., Age 12, Grade Eight
Grade Eight
In grade eight, I chose “liposuction and beautifying methods” for my public speaking topic. It began,
“Ladies and gentleman, judges, teachers, and fellow students—all around the world, women aren't satisfied with their appearances. They feel that their noses are too big, their bottoms jiggle when they walk, and their ears stick out too much. Every morning, thousands of women despair in front of the mirror because they don't believe that they are what society considers as ‘beautiful.’”
—Erica J. Schmidt, February 1998, age 12
As an anointed gifted child, I’d skipped grade two which meant all my peers were a year ahead in their pimples and cup sizes and menarches. My version of despairing in front of the mirror entailed coaxing my large and frizzy hair to cooperate, crying my way through rejected combinations of overalls, corduroy, and turtleneck sweaters, and leaving piles of discarded clothing on my bedroom floor. Though they hadn’t yet invented the thigh gap, I remember teetering on the toilet so I could scrutinize my thighs in the bathroom mirror over the sink, coaxing back the flesh of my legs to an acceptable size. (At the time, I trained vigorously on the swim team and carried a negligible amount of body fat.) With puberty came another dilemma—breasts. I felt like my boobs weren’t existent enough to justify wearing a bra, but my nipples did poke through my t-shirts. I felt certain that if people detected I wore a bra, they’d mock me for pretending that my tiny lumps bore any semblance to real tits. I would layer thick tank tops and undershirts to conceal my predicament. Probably undershirts had a double purpose to conceal embarrassing sweat stains. P.S., I also had braces.
When I finally made it to school, my hair yanked back in a scrunchie, two strategic curls barely covering my tear-stained face, I joined all the cool kids on the playground. In grade eight, socializing meant standing in a gigantic circle on the pavement next to the portable entrance. We listened to two to three pretty and popular girls—Laura, Jessica, and Alana—discuss three people named Isaac, Taylor, and Zac. They kept mentioning something called Hanson and I wondered if this was a TV show. But they knew so much about these dreamy dudes that they could have been cousins. It would take me months to figure out that Hanson was a famous boy band with a beloved hit song MMMMBop. As everyone discussed whether they thought Isaac or Taylor was the hottest (Zac was cute too, but only 11, so far too young) I stood silent and stunned on the pavement. My eyes were all puffy and swollen, my head sore from crying. It felt like I’d been through a war.
But on the stage of the Stewart School gym, I was bubbly, cheeky, sarcastic, as though delivering a stand-up comedy set.
“Alright, let's pretend that I am a person with incredibly low self-esteem. Not just a person who looks in the mirror and says, "Oh, I'm ugly," but a person who looks in the mirror and says, ‘OH, I'M UGLY,’ and does this wah, wah, sniff, sniff, kind of routine and gets totally out of control. This lady needs help.”
(Erica, age 12)
Let’s pretend.
End of Intro
Read more:
Mammoth Complex, Part One: Tiny and Adorable Mammoth Complex, Part Two: Liposuction 101 Mammoth Complex, Part Three: Bombshells
And feel free to share with your loved ones who might relate to having a Mammoth Complex or other calamities.
Erica J., Age 11. Since I tended to run away from the camera, I have few photos from the beautifully awkward stage that is grade eight. To give you a glimpse of my scrunchie prowess, this is grade seven, braces and hormones coming soon.
