04 March 2013
For The Love Of Thunder Thighs
People seem to complain a lot about their legs. This isn’t something I’ve ever understood. I quite like my legs. It’s funny, because skinny people complain that they have chicken legs while heavier people complain they have tree trunk legs, and you never hear of anyone being happy if they have something in between either. I suppose this is like most things; the blonde wants to be brunette; the brunette wants to be blonde. But I, for one, proudly subscribe to the label of “thunder thighs.” I’ve always had big legs, whether I was thin or plus-size. Call it a character trait, I suppose. And I’ve found that the legs I find most beautiful on other women happen to fit into the same category.
It all falls into the love of curvaceousness I suppose. Bigger legs are somehow more womanly; more feminine. You look at legs that are stick-like and, they may be nice. They may genuinely be beautiful; but you may also be able to picture them on a boy. I love femininity. I really do. This doesn’t mean I love sci-fi or dark ale any less, but I also love womanhood and girly-ness, and with that, comes loving fat legs. I know some people don’t approve of the word “fat,” but the types of legs I’m referring to are comprised primarily of fat, so I don’t see the problem in using the word.
I found this piece of art, and I fell in love. It reminded me of the types of legs you would’ve seen on a pin-up girl from the 1950’s or on a burlesque girl today. The flower detailing adds to the perception that this is beautiful. Thunder-thighs, tree-trunk legs, whatever comment meant to be derogatory…I find lovely. I don’t conceive those comments derogatory at all to be honest. I’m sorry if you do, but I just don’t think you should. Thick legs = femininity and femininity = beauty, or a type of beauty that I perceive anyway.
I know my legs chafe when I walk, and I know this is really uncomfortable and momentarily makes me annoyed at my legs from time to time, and makes me spend far more money on Spanx than I'd like to, but ultimately, I’d rather be “piernona” as we’d say in Spanish than have the legs of the twelve year old boys I see playing soccer in the park. I’d rather have legs like the beautiful ones in this painting.