It’s easy to become obsessed with the Barbie Doll figure. We seem to forget that the measurements of Barbie are proven not to be physically possible. It’s amazing that we subject children to these images. One estimate measured the crucial statistics as 36-18-33. This is the measurement of an anorexic or bulimic teenager, whichever one you choose, with breast implants.

In middle school, I was the “flat” one. All the boys flocked to the girls that hit puberity faster than the others. These girls were my friends that wore push-up bras with their size A-cup bra and a tight little tank tops. On the other hand, my breasts were little bumps behind a training bra. It was then in seventh grade where I learned what exactly boys were interested in when it comes to girls. All the girls desired larger breasts to attract the boys’ attention. That’s when I realized I belonged to the subculture of small-breasted women. A subculture is a group that a person belongs to whether by choice or not. By my physical appearance, I felt generalized into the group of small-breasted woman.

During high school the breast issue didn’t fade with maturity, it only grew. My girlfriends still competed among themselves to look the best. The amount of money they spent on clothes was ridiculous. I will never forget sitting at the lunch table while the girls discuss the calories in every bite they ate. To be honest, it just made me sick. Eventually I moved to the boy’s table for the reminder of the school year. I started noticing a distinction in my personality in comparison with other girls. I didn’t count the calories. I was comfortable enough to get into a cheerleading uniform and cheer in front of crowds. I accepted my body for what it was.

Two girls graduated a year before me got implants. I remember my best friend saying, “You will never believe it, but Roxanne and Ashley got breast implants.” She was right; I couldn’t believe what came to my ears. These two girls were beautiful without huge breasts. She also informed me that it was a “buy one, get one” deal. Breasts have become a marketing product.

My senior year was when the unimaginable began to happen. The little girls who I played Barbie with were slowly turning into Barbie figures. A total of three girls got implants and one got a breast reduction. Emotionally, I could not help but get angry. I was angry, because they were so unhappy with their natural bodies. They are and were beautiful, so why were they so insecure?

Senior year was coming the end; we were all grown-up and ready to explore the world of college. Maybe my friends weren’t as mature and accepting of themselves as I thought. Two of my close friends received nose jobs as a graduation gift. Well, nothing says, I love you like a nose job from Mom and Dad. Is this my generation or what?

I no longer belonged in the normal group of small-breasted women, but something deeper. I am proud of my body. The more surgery my friends received the more accepting of myself I became. I understand the media and men have created this generation of teenage surgery.

I feel almost secluded as if I should be getting something fixed, remove, and implanted. I look at my friends and see their insecurities through their surgery. But the question is, are they happy now? I feel like a stronger person because I am happy with the body that I have. I may not be perfect, but that is who I am. No silicon, just me a white proud small-breasted eighteen-year-old who is happy enough to keep cheerleading in college. Hopefully at sixty, I will feel the same way.

- Amanda LaConte, Freelance Writer