This is Kate Upton.
She’s the reason your boyfriend dislocated his wrist “playing hockey.”
And a tiny section of the internet thinks she’s fat. Not just fat but “well-marbled”, “lardy” and a “squishy brick” with “big fat floppy boobs.”
Chew on that for a second.
People think this teenage dream in her skintight jeans is fat.
It’s such a non-story. Idiot blogger makes idiotic comment and in turn, another idiot blogger (me) responds with righteous indignation.
It shouldn’t even be a blip on my radar, but it really got under my skin.
Because I have body image issues.
Because every single woman I know has body image issues.
Because the notion of my nieces conflating their appearance with their self-worth chills me to the bone.
Because the mere thought of having my daughter look in the mirror and pinch herself in disgust shreds me up inside.
In what fucking universe is Kate Upton considered remotely fat?
If this is the new standard for chubby:
I’m going to throw myself in front of a train…and wind up denting the front of it because oh dear God, I’m Jabba the Hutt’s chunkier counterpart.
I think one of the reasons this hit so close to home is that like Upton, I’m curvy.
Please don’t take that to mean I resemble Upton in any capacity.
I do not.
That would be proof of the existence of a benevolent god.
BUT I have breasts, hips, a reasonable enough facsimile of an ass and when I read things like this, it messes me up.
“Here is a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition cover model…and she’s not good enough. Hell, she’s a butterball. So, what the fuck does that say about you?”
I know it’s the opinion of a couple of assholes on the internet and it doesn’t really mean anything, but it does.
Because the internet is filled with 100 proof poison like this. Stuff that claws into your head and rattles around there, spitting venom and hissing in your ear.
Constantly fighting it is a grim, tedious battle.
“You’re not hungry. You’re bored. Learn the difference.” – No, asshole. I’m hungry. When I’m bored, I go online and watch music videos from the 90s.
“Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” – Wrong.
“What do you want, hipbones or pizza?” – Is that…is that really a question? Seriously? Are…are you a moron? Pizza. The answer is always pizza. Even when the question has nothing to do with food, the answer is pizza.
“You are not a dog. Do not reward yourself with food.” – And, statements like that make me want to murder you in the face.
I am exhausted.
Just bone tired of constantly battling this incessant tide of horseshit.
I wrote about this last year and since then, I have been actively working to fight a one-girl revolution against my own negative body image issues.
I’m not going to lie. It’s tough.
After all, I don’t go to the gym for my health. I go to the gym for the sole purpose of looking good.
As of today, I hate my body less but I certainly don’t love it any more.
But I’m gonna keep fighting.
I’m gonna keep eating deep-fried avocados (dudes, it was like someone was doing magic tricks in my mouth. Amazingly delicious), I’m gonna keep going to the gym and I am going to try my damndest to love the skin I’m in…and it’s probably going to be a much easier task if I make copious usage of this.
Oh, what? I’ve got the aesthetic tastes of a five-year-old. I think we’re all well-aware of that by now.