Anaïs Nin once said… not a goddamn thing about muffin tops or chicken wings, that’s for sure because you see there are more important discussions to be had, but are there really? I mean this feels pretty important and for those of you who don't know… muffin top (n.): a roll of fat visible above the top of a pair of women’s tight-fitting low-waisted pants. I have a very complicated relationship with my muffin top, some days I feel empowered by it, like it is evidence that I have control over my own body. That’s a lie. I hate it, I absolutely hate it, I hate the way it folds over my jeans, so bold and entitled. Like this your own fault boo, why did eat that many chicken wings?” Speaking of chicken wings… chicken wing (n.): a blob of fat in between the shoulder and elbow, the fat people equivalent of a “bicep”, most visible when one stretches their arm.
If you are like me (which I really, really, really hope you are) then without fail, like clockwork, every year, in January, when you set your goals for the year, you include “lose 20 pounds” or “go to the gym” or “take a one-hour walk everyday” to the list. And then, you either totally ignore it and then begin to develop #summerbody anxiety right around this time of the year or you act like you were high when you wrote it. Don't get me wrong, I’d love to be the girl who comforts you and says your folds and flabs don't define you and choosing not to work out or fit into the society’s ideal notion of beauty makes you courageous and noble but it does NOT. And I’m sorry but if you constantly worry about your weight or if looking in the mirror gives you anxiety, then get off your butt and do something about it. Trust me I have been that girl, the one that insists that there is something fundamentally wrong with the way we have been taught to approach our bodies as girls and I mean there is, but not in the way that it somehow comforts you and justifies your laziness. In the way that it is blatantly unfair for a girl to feel like someone else has the power to tell her how she should look.
It is true that there is something about the narrative and discourse around body image, especially on social media that has made healthy and attractive synonymous with skinny or Kim Kardashian and it definitely does not sit right with me. What is most important is the way you see yourself, the subjective picture or mental image you have of your own body, not your actual physical size. While, these two concepts may seem synonymous, they are very often extremely different. For starters, one’s actual size is not subjective, it is what the reading is on the scale. One’s body image, however, is a purely psychological phenomenon but make no mistake, it has very real, very physical consequences. It is very important that these thoughts are not overlooked because what starts in your head can easily manifest in the way you see yourself and ultimately, the way you choose to live your life.
In terms of social media, to be honest, I just feel cheated and ignored, I feel like the only body type that is talked about favourably is the “Kim Kardashian, Nicki Minaj, tiny waist, big butt, coke-bottle type body.” Honestly, it bothers me even more that no one points out the one clear fact that has literally walked out of our minds, climbed up on our shoulders and slapped us rosy on both cheeks… I mean, it is at least a little bit unhealthy to strive for a body type that is basically unattainable without the help of old Dr. Hollywood. And while we are it, let’s talk about how being healthy is slowly becoming high culture; just another thing people hold over each other’s heads. People seem to be jumping on the “healthy lifestyle” bandwagon the same way everyone you know has suddenly become a Stephen Curry or Lebron James fan? and frankly, I cannot be arsed.
I know, I know that it sounds bad and of course I want to be healthy, just not in the way I feel like it is being forced down my throat. I mean, enough with the waist trainers and diet pills and protein shakes, ok? It is hard enough finding a balance between social media; that somehow manages to convince you that the only life worth living is one in which you can fit into size 2 jeans and being in a Nigerian family where everyone worries about the size 2 cousin. Unfortunately, the warm, fuzzy, comforting, feeling you get after a good home cooked meal, fizzles off somewhere in between the first few bites and being too full to function and it pretty much turns into a seemingly unending cycle of guilt. You see, I was going to try to tie this all up in a nice big bow and tell you something witty and ambiguous but at the same time, mildly comforting and somewhat profound but I got nothing ok? I guess it is a little bit more difficult to give advice when you haven't totally figured it out for yourself.
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