During the Covid-19 pandemic and associated lockdown, I’ve had a lot of time to think. Gone are the friendship politics, disgustingly cold cross-country runs and questionable uniforms of secondary school and looming on the horizon is the big fat Zoom call that is university in 2020. Without education to occupy me, the mental space I’ve had for other thoughts and pursuits has been huge. You know, I’m not sure I’ve had time to properly think and reflect for the past 7 years of my school career – any other thoughts always got promptly squashed beneath some school deadline or the troubling dilemma of working out how I was going to obtain a frog costume in time for the school show (a true and stressful story).
With this slightly terrifying expanse of time before me (do I like it? Scientists are still investigating), I’ve felt like all I can seem to do is think. I’ve tried not to ignore my feelings – turns out I would recommend healthy coping mechanisms – and I’ve attempted to have a little look at the man in the mirror. I’m about to enter a very turbulent world where it seems that actual buffoons in suits run countries (I think we all know who I’m talking about). It feels sometimes like we are living our own dystopian future – people turn against each other, hacking away at the foundations of each other’s identities, their race, sexuality, gender. I’ve been thinking a lot about my femininity particularly. I am in the gap between moments, I am living between time periods – progressive views of femininity grind up against antiquated ones around me in my everyday life.
Though much progress has been made, it seems like the female body is still up for public comment and debate. Diet culture tells us to be thinner, smaller, to take up less space. It trains us to want this too. it builds up our ideas of the ‘after’ picture of a weight loss transformation, as if it’s a mirage in the desert. We are told that with ‘after’ on our side, we will be accepted, wanted, happy. The bodies in our media become homogenous and society lauds them with airtime. We applaud those who lose weight. We praise one body type but censor all others. It’s part of negotiating a place for yourself in this world – you lose a few pounds and you trade them for praise. I willingly exchange my self-esteem, my self-worth and my physical health just for a chance at slimming down, at taking up less space. No price is too high.
And so, in the same way that diet culture tells us to be smaller and take up less physical space, it sends the message that we should take up less space in other ways too. We should take up less space in the board room and other situations of power. We should make our voices quieter. Those private school boys, with their white skin and summer homes in St. Tropez, they are brought up to be sure that they are deserving of their place in the world, whilst we are taught to endlessly question ours.
But then we go further and enforce these narrow standards on ourselves. We attack ourselves for our own perceived physical inadequacies. We question whether we even belong in these situations of power, endlessly questioning whether we offended someone or said the right thing. The space that I occupy in the world decreases, squashed and made smaller by my own hand. We are aiming for the ‘after’, the smaller, quieter version of ourselves, that will supposedly make us happy.
Indeed, advertising, which floods our lives in endless pop-ups and billboards, almost entirely relies on this principle, of making us feel like we need a product, that we don’t already have the happiness this product will give us, that our lives are wanting without it. These adverts tell us that we’ll be happier if we buy this product, that we’ll be more beautiful, more intelligent, that we too can sit precariously on the edge of a bath and shave our legs while looking like a goddess. It assumes that we need to buy something else to feel complete. It assumes we were not whole to begin with. It assumes that we are not enough as we are.
This sense of not being enough, it pervades our consciousness. Even as I’m writing this, I’m thinking about what I should eat for dinner and how that will impact my weight. I hate that. I hate that sometimes I look in the mirror and I cannot see the good. But I am slowly learning that this part of myself, this part full of self-loathing, it does not belong to me. Because we were not born hating ourselves; it is something we have learned. This self-hatred was put there by a world that wants me to lose weight and pipe down because it fits the patriarchal narrative of what a woman should be. Small. Quiet. It has trained me to hate anything I see in myself that is different from that narrative. We have become agents of our own subordination.
So, I’m removing myself from this narrative. Or trying to at least. The world has told us that there is only one acceptable way to be a woman, but that is so far from the truth. Your body, however it looks, is beautiful because it is yours. Dare to rebel, dare to love the parts of yourself that the world tells you to hate. Because you are whole. And you certainly don’t need a romantic partner, a fancy job or the porpoise-like skin of a model from a shaving advert to make you that way.


