New mother Suki Waterhouse has been busy. Not just feeding, burping and changing diapers, but photographing herself in a pair of gigantic gray pants that Bridget Jones would be proud of.
The 32-year-old singer and actress posted a photo of herself in those panties and messy cardigan on Instagram, declaring that “the fourth trimester was humiliating.” (So humiliating that four million social media followers have to watch it).
“I’m proud of everything my body has achieved,” says Suki, best known for the hit Amazon Prime TV series Daisy Jones & The Six – and for dating actor Robert Pattinson, the father of her newborn.
Postpartum posts are all the rage these days, now that ‘being real’ is the new ‘being glam’
‘A refreshingly genuine’ post, applauds Vogue magazine; ‘Thank you!’ keep her followers flowing.
Postpartum posts are very popular these days. Celebrities once shared photos of themselves sipping Aperol during a free hotel getaway, for which they were #grateful and #blessed.
But now that ‘being real’ is the new ‘being glam’, more rawness is needed. That’s why anyone in the Instagram universe who’s recently had a baby is eager to start sharing photos within minutes of cutting the cord.
Before Waterhouse, we had actress Lindsey Lohan, 37, who flashed her big gray postpartum pants a month after the birth of her first child in July last year, saying: ‘I’m so proud of what this body has been able to achieve during these months of pregnancy . pregnancy.’ And singer Jessie J, 36, in matching Calvin Klein panties, writing: “just a little over six weeks of postpartum self-love.”
Pop star Katy Perry posed in a breast pump device just a week after welcoming Daisy Dove, her daughter with fiancé Orlando Bloom; while fellow singer Cassie Ventura donned breast cloth patches (which offered her “a little self-care between feedings and pumping”) five weeks after the birth of her second daughter Sunny.
Before Waterhouse, we had actress Lindsey Lohan, 37, showing off her big gray postpartum pants and singer Jessie J, 36, in matching Calvin Klein panties
Both women looked annoyingly beautiful despite the accessories. At least Australian ballroom star Sharna Burgess showed a hint of a C-section scar, but as a dancer, very little else betrayed the fact that it had been less than a month since she gave birth.
Kate Ferdinand, in a sports bra and big pants, ten days after giving birth to daughter Shae – her second child with former footballer husband Rio – wrote: ‘This is what a real body looks like after birth.’ The message: ‘Love yourselves, moms! We keep it real – and you should too!’
I know they mean well. I know they’re aiming for solidarity: a digital hug from we’re all in this together for every new mother who presses inches of fat on her belly and cries.
Kate Ferdinand, in sports bra and large pants ten days after the birth of daughter Shae, and singer Cassie Ventura with breast sheet patches
But the problem for hormonal postpartum moms like me is that these “raw” photos are often far removed from our own reality.
Waterhouse’s belly looks like mine after a decent bowl of spaghetti carbonara.
Come on, Suki! If we want to keep it real, where are the leaky (and possibly lopsided) boobs? Where are the cracked and bleeding nipples?
Why not wear a top with baby sick splatters? Where are the bright red stretch marks, the huge muffin tops that appear over your Primark joggers, the pillow-sized sanitary towels?
Why don’t you look like you washed your hair with lard? Why isn’t your stomach as wrinkled as the skin of day-old gravy?
Four months ago I had my fourth baby at the age of 42. These days, the image in my full-length mirror bears very little resemblance to the glowing sweethearts on Instagram who look pretty perfect—or indeed, my former self.
During a recent hotel stay, I scrambled out of the bath in front of a mirrored door and almost screamed; For a millisecond I thought a large, shaky intruder had entered the bathroom.
With every baby I’ve had, my old body took a hit. After number one it softened a bit. After breastfeeding number two it felt like someone was running a rolling pin over my breast.
Post number three, it felt like my entire body had been flattened and expanded with a steamroller. This time I’m booking appearances at science fiction conventions as Jabba the Hutt – no costume required. After getting dressed for lunch recently, I put on my biggest, brightest, and dangiest pair of earrings, in what I suddenly realized was an attempt to distract from everything that had changed from the neck down.
I thought of a quote by Victoria Wood about the uselessness of such distractions: “It’s like putting a pom-pom hat on St Paul’s.”
The most interesting change this time was my ribcage, which seems to have swollen a few inches, as if my lungs have been stolen and replaced with Brian Blessed’s.
This ‘rib flare’ is appropriate for a growing baby and apparently can be permanent.
Other mothers I know talk about their own physical transformations: hair that is permanently brittle; nipples ‘like corks’; breasts so long that they could be ‘tied in a bow’ for neatness’ sake. With a certain gallows humor, we acknowledge that while it’s important to be fit and healthy, those pre-partum bodies aren’t coming back.
In his poem Afternoons, Philip Larkin observes mothers looking after their young children in the playground. “Their beauty has grown thicker,” he writes sadly, as if the changing form that often goes hand in hand with motherhood is a tragedy.
What a (misogynistic) bastard! The disappearance of our ‘old’ bodies is not a tragedy – it is simply life. It’s the way female bodies have changed and adapted since the dawn of humanity.
The healthy thing to do is not to try to ‘celebrate’ your new body in the company of thousands of Instagram followers, to ’embrace’ your stretch marks or to fall in love with your flabby body, but to just get over it – and remember that our bodies are not repositories of our identity or works of art to be admired, but are in fact often extremely functional machines to be used.
Of course, over the past six years I have had moments of mourning my ‘old’ body. Before pregnancy I had a waspish waist that could almost be cupped with both hands. One of my favorite looks was a men’s shirt with a thin belt; Nowadays, an outfit like that would make me look like a poorly made-up package.
But every moment of melancholy I quickly destroy with defiance. So you have a few stretch marks? Are your feet one size larger (does it happen)? You’ve produced four human beings – get over it!
What really annoys me about all these postpartum posers with fat pants is that while on the surface they claim to be all about female empowerment, in reality they are – like the Kim Kardashians of the world – the boring obsession with women’s bodies maintain.
Suki et al. may think they rise above the influencers who post pictures of their flat bellies a few days after birth, but in fact they fall into the same trap: focusing on the body when their focus should actually be on the baby.
It is symptomatic of the narcissistic obsession with bodies that is especially rampant on social media, now under the acceptable brand of ‘body positivity’.
‘My posting a softly lit photo of myself in my underwear isn’t vanity – oh no, no: it’s body positivity, see? I celebrate what the female body can do!’
What young women and young mothers should strive for is not body positivity but body neutrality, a healthy realism that yes, your body has taken a beating, but eventually—with a little exercise and a limited diet—you will be fit. and one day strong again. Not your old self, but a different one.
But for now, new mothers would be advised to put down the phone, stop taking selfies in the mirror and enjoy their baby’s company – and not the annoying navel-gazing of Instagram.