It’s been two hours that I have been subconsciously shaming my body. Telling myself that I am not perfect, not presentable, not the best that I can be, maybe? I have understood that “men” in our society aren’t allowed to be insecure about these things, or women for that matter. They are supposed to get up there, feel guilty and work on their imperfect selves. But I have looked at the accumulated fat on my thighs three times now.
It’s been two and a half hours. I have gone back to the profile of that social media influencer twice now. The one I unfollowed, because she did not stand up for all types of bodies that exist, the one that had posted “a cow is skinnier than that” on her high school best friend’s prom photo and created huge drama? Yes. That one. Her follower count has steadily increased since then, but not her tolerance towards people who do not fit into an XS size cocktail dress. I have admired her collar bone a couple of times.