When Your Arms Get More Attention Than Your Personality
It starts innocently enough. You’re standing there, mid-conversation, maybe making a point with a bit of passionate hand-flapping — and then it happens. The flap after the flap. The encore you didn’t ask for. The bingo wing.
We don’t talk about them enough, probably because they’ve been branded as shameful, like the armpit vagina — an uninvited guest who lingers like a bad smell, despite your best efforts to make her disappear. Not quite a fold, not quite a wrinkle, just that extra skin making sure you know gravity’s still in charge.
But let’s be honest — if you’ve ever waved goodbye and felt your arm performing a slow-mo jelly dance, you’re not alone. Welcome to the club.
I always assumed that with age came wisdom and toned arms. Like a physical reward for surviving your twenties. Instead, I hit 40 and got a pair of wings that could double as emergency flotation devices. Thanks, life. I’ve done the workouts. The planks. The tricep dips that feel more like punishment than fitness. I’ve hurled dumbbells around my bedroom while swearing at overly enthusiastic YouTube instructors: “Oh yeah, Susan, I’m sure this is a breeze when your idea of a treat is a rice cake and not four leftover Easter eggs you forgot to hide from yourself.”
But let me be clear — I don’t love my arms. This isn’t one of those “and then I learned to embrace the jiggle” stories. No. Mine are currently in solitary confinement. Long sleeves, batwing tops, strategically placed bags — I’ve got a full-on security team for my upper limbs.
The only exception? Holidays. On a sun lounger. Arms stretched above my head, perfectly still, preferably while wearing sunglasses the size of dinner plates and pretending I’m someone else entirely. That’s the only time they get fresh air, and even then, they know not to draw attention to themselves.
It’s not that I’m anti-body positivity. I love that movement for others. But for me? I just want to wear a sleeveless top without looking like I’m about to take off if there’s a strong breeze. Is that really too much to ask? And don’t even get me started on capped sleeves — my arch nemesis. The betrayal. They pretend to offer coverage, then highlight the exact bit you’re trying to hide. It’s like being stabbed in the bingo wing with a smile.
And that’s okay. We don’t all have to love every wobbly bit. Some days we make peace with our bodies. Other days, we call them names, Google “arm liposuction near me,” and keep moving. It’s called balance.
So, to the women who wear tank tops and sleeveless dresses with confidence — good for you. And to the ones like me, hiding their wings like state secrets — I see you. You’re not alone. Let’s keep doing our thing in a world that thinks we should be flawless. We’re not. We’re tired. And honestly? We’ve got better things to worry about than upper-arm turbulence.
At the end of the day, it’s just skin. We’re all carrying something, whether it’s wings, scars, or whatever else we think makes us stand out. But let’s be real — we’re far more than the bits we wish we could change. And if that means wearing sleeves or waving with a little more swagger, then so be it.
Love Lottie x
Thirty Something Plus VAT 