Call it what you will:
Visible belly line
The center of the universe (this one is my own term)
Whatever it is you call it, this space located just below our belly buttons and just above the divine feminine certainly gets a lot of hate, doesn’t it?
This maligned body part goes through quite the wringer on a day-to-day basis via multiple forms of sadism.
We push and pull and squish to lessen its appearance through contraptions and camera angles, phone filters and underpants styles galore.
We break a sweat wrestling with shapewear, rearranging our bodies into something totally unnatural—hello completely featureless Barbie crotch—and massively uncomfortable—when your intestines are now neighbors with your lungs there might be a problem.
We suck in, we hold in, we squeeze in to try and eliminate any and all appearance of the fact that we do, in reality, have shape, curve, and fat.
We look for drapes, pleats, ruching, and ruffles to camouflage our midsection into oblivion. Nothing too tight! Nothing too shiny! Nothing too eye-catching!
Because somehow putting lots of fabric over a space we want to hide will decrease its appearance…said no one ever.
We decided fatness in one area is a terrible curse (stomach!), while fatness in others in a blessing (booty!).
I’m no scientist, but last I checked we don’t get to decide where we have fatness or thinness.
We get our fatness and thinness and curves and stomachs and thighs from generations of fierce and strong ancestors who made our very existence possible.
Arguably, the most famous female representation in sculpture in the world, the Venus of Willendorf, has a full-on FUPA. She ain’t even wearing pants.
Dali, Rubens, Botero, Gauguin, Etty, Manet, Botticelli and Renoir painted FUPAs with ease and joy.
And basically every incarnation of a goddess sports a FUPA loud and proud.
And I’m no art historian either, but I think these guys know a thing or two about bodies.
So why, oh why, does the FUPA get treated so bad?
The FUPA deserves some respect, and it’s about damn time, wouldn’t you say?
First off, it’s totally useful.
It provides a soft, warm and comforting spot for people and pets of all shapes and sizes to rest their heads. Sure, you might hear a gurgle or two, but down pillows have nothing on the squish of a FUPA. I’ve had a stranger lay down and fall asleep on my FUPA in the subway in New York City on the way back from a Lady Gaga concert (true story). No complaints.
Next, it’s a bit of a bad ass.
It protects the stuff inside which is fairly integral to living, such as, oh I don’t know, our internal organs. You know, all those pesky pieces helping us to eat, breathe, digest and exist. Plus, with the inevitable zombie apocalypse (or Godzilla, ALIENS, or whatever else the year throws at us), we probably need that extra padding, right?
And of course, it jiggles and wiggles!
Although this may not immediately appear to be a positive, rest assured it’s a super-power! When mama needs some new shoes, she’s gotta shake, shimmy, and flaunt all that goodness. And by mama, I mean me. It could also certainly be you. A good deal of my dance career relies on the reverb of my FUPA. And if I’m getting paid for it, it can’t be all bad, right?
Round is an amazingly good shape.
Think about how lovely roundness is. Doughnuts are round. Booties are round. Peanut butter cups are round. The moon is round. The sun is round. Pizza is round. We’re talking delicious things, universal things, fantastic things, beloved things. I think I’ve made my case.
It’s the center of the universe.
Hear me out. Although the acronym for FUPA may be translated a few different ways, all variations include the fact that it’s the space right above what could reasonably be considered the source of all human life in the world. The source of the divine, the miraculous and the deliciousness of the universe. I know it’s true. You know it’s true. How are you going to disrespect stardust and magic by not appropriately framing it? You know better.
I know we could collectively come up with endless reasons why the FUPA deserves better than it’s been getting. And if we’re being candid, couldn’t we apply some of this reasoning to quite a few other body parts which might not get the love and affection they deserve as well?
Let your FUPA flag fly this summer. Let it breathe, let it live, let it flop free in complete glory.
In the words of Hunter S. Thompson: “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow! What a Ride!”