Member-only story
I Will Not Help You Hate Your Body
Saying what you hate about your own body doesn’t just hurt you
“Ugh, I’m so fat.”
The words come to you easily, an oddly comforting refrain. You grasp at your belly, screw your face up at the sight of dimpled buttocks, long for toned arms and thinner cheeks. You bemoan any fat that has visibly gathered on your body: the downy fat between your thighs, the softening of your belly. After a lifetime of training, drills, and rehearsals of moments like these, you know your lines and have found your character.
I sit in the dressing room foyer, watching you watch yourself. A triple mirror reflects your body from every angle, but only sometimes catches my size-26 frame from the bench behind you. Your body is brightly lit, foregrounded, exposed on every side, imperfect in its thinness. Your body and all its flaws are lit in triplicate, and you are stuck in a trance of disdain. Mine lurks in the shadow yours casts, the breadth of my skin unexamined and quietly nightmarish. I am unworthy of note until you notice me.
Your eyes catch fire, a spark of recognition when you remember the body behind you. The body you brought along on this shopping trip for reinforcement and moral support. The body with whom you pleaded “I just really need you there,” never finishing the remainder of…
