My Guilty Secret (Or, The Real Truth About Women, Weight...and Envy)

(Not that I noticed)

Here's something many women feel and few women admit to: We look at women's bodies, perhaps even more than men do. And not (for the most part) because of latent lesbian tendencies. We are--and I know I can't speak for all women, but I also know I speak for many--very often if not nearly constantly checking. I wish I could remember when I first started asking whoever would answer me (be it girlfriends or boyfriends): "Is my ass as big as hers?" I really wanted to know. I wanted an honest assessment, so I could understand how I appeared in the world: Yes, your butt looks just like that (only more so).

What I don't know but wish I did: Do guys do the same vis-a-vis other men's bodies? But really, how can they--except perhaps at the beach, where everyone's lats and pecs are out for inspection? Our fashions are such that women's goodies are nearly always on display, breasts and behinds and waistlines cinched into the season's latest bodice or "skinny jeans." When was the last time you could discern a guy's junk when he was sporting office-wear?

In fact, while men's clothing has almost always been more concealing and forgiving of so-called figure flaws, it has become even more so in the last few years: as women's bikinis have shrunk and styles become more form-fitting, men's swimsuits and shorts have ballooned into gigantic baggies. You could hide a multitude of sins in there. As you could in any men's business suit: tush and belly handily concealed by a jacket that hides the evidence of last night's or week's or year's pig-outs (unless you're Chris Christie, in which case there's no hope).

The fact is--I'm sorry, there's no getting around this--whatever you may read about men becoming more self-conscious and more concerned about their beer-bellies, they still have a long way to go before they catch up to women's level of body-self-consciousness. And, because who else do we have to size ourselves up against, we scan the rest of womanhood for validation/confirmation/our place in the body-sphere. I once walked down the street in a ridiculously short skirt with my husband, and he later told me that women's heads swiveled more than men's ("is my butt as big as hers?"). And I recall, honestly, that the biggest diet I ever embarked on, The Diet that brought me close to Eating Disorders-Land, began when I worked at a women's fashion magazine (where the size of butts was always noted) and watched a co-worker lose 15 pounds and suddenly look stunning in stretch-pants.

Was I simply inspired by her example (hey, I could do that too!) or was I spurred by something less admirable (I want to look skinnier than her)? And, is this comparison-dance a naturally occurring phenomenon from cavewoman days, or a natural result of the disheartening fact that women are still often valued far more for their looks than for their abilities? Two questions I still find very hard to answer.

I wish that our butts were all beloved, by ourselves first and foremost. But I also do wonder how deep the urge to look, compare, and covet runs in human nature. Exhibit number one: this incredibly revealing shot of Sophia Loren and Jayne Mansfield. Two women of rare, almost otherworldly beauty...and one is just checking.

Are they bigger than mine?