While I am not fat, I am certainly not thin. It is safe to say that I represent the average American woman. There are days, however, when I wholeheartedly believe that I am physically comparable to Shamu. I feel like the world is ruthlessly analyzing my every flaw. During these instances, I force myself to realize the reality of my situation, the situation that I believe pertains to all women, regardless of size: that is, the unrealistic, harsh, and unfair expectations placed upon us to be thin. And the assertion that we are somehow less beautiful or unworthy of happiness if we fail to meet society’s harsh expectations.
Countless times a day we encounter messages that tell us we are not good enough. Every gossip magazine is plastered with headlines of just “How to Get that Bikini Body in 2 weeks!”, and “How [insert celebrity] Lost the Baby Weight!” The celebrities inside are either praised for their fit physique or slaughtered for, God forbid, not being a size 2. As a result of the constant pressures, we submit to extreme measures in order to achieve acceptance from our peers. We diet. We obsessively exercise. We invest money in quick fixes. We spend hours in front of the mirror, wishing desperately for our love-handles and our cellulite to just disappear. We learn to accept starvation and deprivation when we really should be learning to accept ourselves. We thrive on self-hate.
I would be a downright liar if I even suggested that I am unfathomed by society’s vicious cycle; I buy into this shit like it’s a Best Buy sale on black Friday. I am well accustomed to the hateful emotions than can be triggered by a fitting room. But I think it’s time that we, as a culture, learn to disregard what we have been force-fed into believing. You don’t have to be skinny to be beautiful. You don’t have to fight against your natural form. Beauty exists in diversity.
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