Alright. I can’t believe I did this but…
I’ve been reading/watching a lot lately about women in the public eye who are implicitly arguing that they’re “brave” for being a few kilos heavier than the average fashion model. Like, not being thin automatically makes them flawed, and therefore “brave” for daring to live their lives in the public eye. What frustrates me about these women, is not that they’re way thinner than me (and thus sort of implying that if they think they’re some kind of fat yet successful miracle, then I must be a sea monster with no hope), but that despite their success, they still see weight as a major contributing factor to their value.
How sad. How sad, that after becoming admired trailblazers for women, they still feel the need to talk about their size, as if mentioning it is their responsibility to cancel out some kind of elephant in the room.
It shouldn’t even be an issue. When you are spectacularly intelligent and talented, your appearance and weight should not even be an issue. I know as a woman, it’s not easy to say that. As a woman, even if your appearance isn’t an issue to you, it is to everyone else. I get that. But, fuck everyone else. We need women in the entertainment industry willing to put their intelligence and talent ahead of their looks. It may not be easy, but if we want values to change, it’s necessary.
And how do we change those values? By being un-fucking-apologetic. By refusing to explain. If you find that you’re successful and a woman and not “conventionally” attractive, don’t give it a second freaking thought.
Your body is your history. It’s your battleground. It’s what makes you who you are, and you wouldn’t be as intelligent or as successful or as funny as you are without it.
I survived a childhood filled with abandonment and trauma. Then I survived mental health struggles and eating disorders. I had weight loss surgery and continue to question that decision. And in the end of all of that, this is me. This is my body. I have stretch marks. I have flabby skin. I have a belly. I have saggy boobs and I’m covered in freckles that made me cry when I was younger.
But I’m also a best-selling author. A famous writer. An admired and funny woman. I’m touring a live one-woman show this year. I’m attending writing festivals with my heroes. I’m writing and starring in my own TV show.
I don’t look the way I’m “supposed” to look, according to a select group of people. But I just don’t give a fuck. Because I’ve achieved more than I’ve ever dreamed of in spite of people assuming I wasn’t pretty or thin enough. I don’t even think about being pretty or thin enough — I just think about writing the best, funniest shit I can write. My body has nothing to do with that.