A feature for Roundtable Journal released Oct 24th 2018.
- Words by Words Isabel Webb
- Photography Jenna Foxton
- Makeup James Duprey
- Models Ahila Jagerajan, Natalie Ambersley, Sophie Mayanne, Michelle Elman
Learning to love the skin you’re in is a common bump on the road to coming-of-age. For many of us, our skin is our home: it holds us together, carefully telling the stories of our lives with each wrinkle and curve. But for some, the journey to self-love within the skin they’re in is paved with a few more obstacles than for others.
Sophie, Michelle, Ahila and Natalie are four women who have created communities that challenge the perceptions of their skin, from scars and psoriasis to weight and vitiligo. In their respective ways, each woman has used social media as a tool for empathy, conversation and, above all, empowerment. They have added their voices to the rising chorus of the body positivity movement – one that is more inclusive, accessible and diverse. Not only have they learnt to love the skin they’re in, they have helped others do the same.
I was first diagnosed with psoriasis when I was 22 but I didn’t think it was a very big deal. Two years later, I was diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis. That was quite devastating because the arthritis started in my knees, so I found it difficult to walk for a while. The arthritis sorted itself out, but when I had children, the psoriasis became more prevalent on my skin and started to come onto my face, because of stress and tiredness. When it came onto my face, I couldn’t hide it. I had always thought of myself as confident. To realise that I had been subconsciously hiding it for years really got to me because I recognised that I wasn’t living my life the way I wanted to. Having a toddler and a six-year-old daughter was especially conflicting. I wanted them to be confident and know that beauty has a broad definition, yet I was covering up my skin condition. I tried medical treatment and it helped but only at the expense of my quality of life. I’d rather have psoriasis on my skin and feel like myself mentally than have clear skin and not be functioning as a healthy adult. All the discussion in medicine is about how to get rid of the psoriasis but a lot of body positive people on Instagram are trying to embrace the journey and say, actually, you don’t have to get rid of it to be happy. Seeing other people on Instagram wearing a T-shirt on a hot day, exposing their arms – that made me realise that I should be pushing the boundaries for myself. One day, I wore a long sleeve shirt and I rolled it up to three-quarters. I saw my daughter notice that and I posted about it on social media because it meant the world to me. Now people tag me in their pictures saying, “Because of what you did, I decided to wear the skirt I haven’t worn in five years” or something. To hear that the way I live my life helps others… it’s very humbling and quite overwhelming.
@naturallyhealpsoriasis
I first developed vitiligo when I was two. It started as a tiny white spot on the back of my hand. Being mixed race, it was quite obvious on my skin, but because it wasn’t hurting me or causing me any discomfort, my parents didn’t worry too much about it. Over the following three years, it spread quite rapidly, covering my face, arms and legs. My skin was 70% white by the age of five. I went to hospital for treatment – trying different creams, tablets and anything new that was being trialled within dermatology. Vitiligo is incurable but my parents hoped that one day I would go back to my natural skin colour someday. I come from a very diverse community, so growing up I wasn’t aware that I was ‘different’. Of course, that changed during my teenage years. I became very paranoid and lost a lot of my confidence. I wore makeup to try and cover the vitiligo on my face; I also tried to hide it with fake tan. My skin pretty much controlled who I was and how I projected myself. I avoided anything that would mean showing my skin like swimming and beach holidays. When I was 30, I went back to treatment. After not having treatment for twenty years, this was a massive step for me. I had to go to hospital twice a week for twelve months but I repigmented quite quickly: my face and legs went back to my natural skin colour. During that transition, I started to think about whether I was wiping away aspects of my identity by undergoing treatment. I started to question my desire to erase my skin condition, as well as the story it had created for me. Was I doing the right thing? In 2014, I started getting TV requests to talk about my story – that was a reawakening for me. It felt like I’d taken a huge weight off my shoulders just by admitting I was a woman with vitiligo. Before my thirties, I was such a closed book. If someone asked about my skin, I’d get uncomfortable, anxious and defensive. I just didn’t want to talk about it, and I felt like I was constantly being judged. Now, I’m a lot more understanding of people’s curiosity because I’m at peace with myself. When I hear from people who appreciate my story, it makes me realise the benefit of being open. Now, I see that I’m healthy, why did I put so much pressure on myself to look a certain way? If someone doesn’t accept who I am, it’s their problem, not mine.
@being_just_us
I run Behind The Scars, a photo project that documents people with scars, but I don't actually have any notable scars myself – which a lot of people find ironic. Several people have quizzed me as to why I create the work I do when I’m not personally affected. My answer is simply that you don't have to personally be affected to create honest documentation – a photographer's job is to respectfully tell the stories that would otherwise go untold. I can't comment on how I would feel if I had scars myself – whilst I appreciate the beauty in other people's scars, I haven't experienced first-hand the emotional trauma that is often associated with them. For some, mental scarring is a larger challenge than the physical. I am generally at peace with my own body. Yes I am fat but I'm okay with that. I don't hate my body – hate consumes so much time and energy. In the last few years, I’ve learnt to truly appreciate my body. I haven't always been kind to it but it’s always been kind to me. It hasn't failed me and it allows me to do so many things. I didn’t suddenly wake up one day thinking, “Oh, I love myself now". I didn’t have an epiphany; it’s a process. Having experienced being morbidly obese, as well as thin, I can appreciate my body at both ends of the spectrum and I know that I am me whatever my size. Now, I confidently explore fashion and I’ve just started wearing makeup again – but only the sort of makeup I enjoy wearing. I view it all as a form of self-expression. I have quite a complex personality and I try to reflect it through my choice of makeup, jewellery, clothes, tattoos. It's still my skin – whatever shape or mark it holds.
@sophiemayanne
I got my first scar shortly after I turned one and I’ve grown my collection since. I’ve had a brain tumour, a punctured intestine, an obstructed bowel, a cyst on my brain, and a condition called Hydrocephalus. Until I was seven, I didn’t really think anything of them. I definitely didn’t notice the differences between my body and everyone else’s until a few years after when I wore a bikini for the first time. People pointed, stared, and whispered. I thought the solution was to hide my scars and not talk about them, because then I wouldn’t be different. When I went back into hospital at 19, I realised that I could either be alive with these scars or not be alive at all. They’re beautiful because they’re mine, and they saved my life. I wore a bikini for the first time in over 10 years and I posted a photo online, which was the start of my campaign. But #ScarredNotScared was never about me, it was about using my story to open up a conversation. Campaigns about scars are always aimed at people with scars but people with scars aren’t the problem – I lived with my scars for 10 years without really noticing them. When I started #ScarredNotScared, I wanted to create a broader conversation that included people without scars. In some ways, I don’t think the body positivity movement could have happened without Instagram. For the majority of my life, the media decided who was beautiful and who deserved a voice. On social media, everyone gets a voice. When I started the campaign, someone commented that they were going to wear a bikini for the first time because I had – that was when I really saw the power of representation. My book Am I Ugly? follows my life through fifteen surgeries, my journey with body image and how I eventually came to terms with my scars. Ultimately, I’ve realised that the less we’re thinking about our bodies, the more we’re living our lives. That, to me, is the core of body positivity. Your appearance should never be the reason to sit on the sidelines of your own life.
@scarrednotscared
