Courtesy of reader Mike, here’s a page from a late 19th Century booklet named “Woman’s Own Book of Toilet Secrets”. The page describes the “dimensions of a perfect woman.”
I’d woo that.*
Here’s what it says, for those with Magoo eyes:
The dimensions of a perfect woman are: Five feet 5 inches in height, weight 128 pounds. Arms extended should measure from tip of middle finger to tip of middle finger just 5 feet 5 inches (the height). The length of her hand should be a tenth of that, her foot a seventh, the diameter of her chest a fifth. From her thighs to the ground she should measure just the same as from her thighs to the top of her head. The knee should come exactly midway between the thigh and the heel. The distance from the elbow to the middle finger should be the same as from the elbow to middle of the chest. From the top of the head to the chin should be just the length of the foot, and the same distance between the chin and the arm-pits. A woman of this height should measure 24 inches around the waist, 34 about the bust, if measured under the arms, and 43 if measured over them. The upper arm should measure 13 inches; the wrist 6 inches. The calf of the leg should measure 14½ inches; the thigh 25; the ankle 8.
FYI, her perfect dimensions are BMI 21.3 and waist-hip ratio (estimating based on chest measurement) 0.70 on the dot.
Sounds like the perfect woman of the early 21st Century, too. And she’s facially pretty, as well.
Now where else have I come across these ideal female measurements? Oh yeah.
Chateau Heartiste: reacquainting the world with turn of the (last) century truths.
Contrary to the delusional claims of feminists and their fellow travelers in the degenerate freak mafia, there has never been a time in history when women weren’t physically objectified, by either women themselves or by men. Objectification of the female form is the manifest nature of sexual selection. Shaking a fist at it and whining for it to change on feminist blogs is akin to forming an advocacy group for the reversal of the earth’s orbit. Except for some minor fluctuations at the margins, these timeless truths of human sexual preference are unchanging. Wailing for the ghost of Rubens won’t spare the resentful, rump-faced rejects from the unalterable truth that a fatopia, or a lawyercunttopia, or a manjawtopia, or a bigfatbeardedfeministtopia has never existed in modern human history, and likely hasn’t long before that. Fat, ugly, unfeminine, and/or older women were never in demand and never considered desirable by men or women with skin in the game.
The feminist, of course, will move the goalposts until her ego is sufficiently assuaged. When the evidence all around her belies her bromides, she will rhetorically assert:
Men liked plumper women in the past!
Nope. Playboy centerfolds in the 1950s fell within the ideal 17-23 BMI range and the 0.65-0.75 waist-hip ratios, just as Playboy centerfolds of today do. (Dec 1953 Playmate of the Month Marilyn Monroe had a 19.6 BMI; Nov 2009 Playmate of the Month Kelley Thompson has a BMI 18.6.)
Ok, then. Men liked plumper women in the distant past!
Nope. Pamphlets from the 19th Century depict desirable women having the same measurements as desirable women of today.
Ok, then. Men liked plumper women in the ancient past!
Nope. Fat “mother goddess” icons were not viewed as sex objects. And Rubens’ contemporaries painted slender babes, adding weight (heh) to the notion that Rubens was a fat fetishist outlier.
Ok, then. Men liked plumper women in the prehistoric past!
Nope. Figurines thousands of years old have been found of thin, young women with hourglass shapes wearing miniskirts.
Ok, then! Fuck you, misogynist pig!
Mmm, I taste your hot, bitter tears laden with saturated fats.
Beauty is objective. Beauty is measurable. Beauty abides universal standards. Beauty is an ironclad cosmic law that can’t be wished into irrelevance. Beauty is the golden ratio that holds illimitable dominion over all. Beauty
It is an inherent trait of the beheld. And it is immune to societal reengineering campaigns to reconstitute it for the benefit of those lacking its blessings.
but eternal torment and anguish until your last breath escapes the prison of your ugliness and lies.
*I can already see the female readers rushing to the mirror with tape measure in hand, to find out how close they conform to perfection. It’s ok, ladies. Your reaction is normal and healthy and reflects a subconscious understanding and acceptance of reality that will redound to your personal advantage. Don’t let some whiny, bloviating porky pig convince you otherwise.