We Could Be Beautiful But We’re Fat

There is a hashtag that’s been making its way around twitter for the last few days and it goes as follows:


In my estimation, 99% of posts using this hashtag are accompanied with pictures like the following:

I want to punch them in the face

First thought: Barf.

Second thought: Is it possible to hate a non-sentient object?

Because the level of loathing I feel for the above hashtags and pictures is way beyond the normal bounds of merely disliking internet trends.

There was the duck face, twerking, and now there is #ThisCouldBeUsButImFat.

I am far from a feminist. I want to get married, have kids, and have my husband be the primary earner in the family (mostly because I don’t handle pressure well). I have no aspirations to be CEO or in charge of anything really. I just want to make money doing what I love. This post doesn’t come from a place of female empowerment and gender equality. It comes from a place of true confusion and disgust over the conflicting and degrading words of my gender.

Ladies. Is there any way at all we could take a moment and stop posting things that are self-insulting while in the same breath, we berate the male population/fashion industry/media for the images they expect us to live up to?

I’m not going to lie to you and say that there aren’t girls in this world who hold an unhealthy body weight. It’s true. I know this because I used to be overweight. I still struggle to stay healthy, especially when I’m not dancing consistently.

However, the idea that any girl is fat, or should be called fat, because she cannot mimic the above pictures with her significant other needs to die and die faster than a squirrel crossing the road at rush hour.

I didn’t make my boyfriends pick me up to kiss them not because I’m fat, but because that’s rude.

I didn’t pretend to be a bird with my boyfriends not because I’m fat, but because I’m afraid of heights.

I wasn’t lifted over my boyfriends’ shoulders not because I’m fat, but because the sack of potatoes look is not attractive on anyone.

The notion that a woman’s ideal weight can be determined by her ability to take certain types of pictures is similar to the notion that a skunk’s stench can be determined by how many koala bears keel over after sniffing.

In other words: it’s an inane idea that should crawl back to whatever hole it came out of.

I am not a feminist. But as a woman, I want to be evaluated based on my legitimate contributions to the world: Did what I write make a difference? Were my volunteer hours at the campus food pantry enough to help a family stay full? Am I an encouragement to others?

I do not want the world going through my instagram and devaluing my standard of living because, look at that, I can easily count the number of pictures I had posted with either boyfriend. Furthermore, none of those pictures looked anything like the ones posted above.

I’m no Jennifer Lawrence or Anna Kendrick, Natalie Portman or Scarlett Johansson. But I’m fortunate to have parents and friends and dance instructors and doctors who encouraged me to be healthy based on how I felt, not what a piece of equipment said or what a hashtag on twitter said.

I am more the the number on the scale. The number on the scale does not define my beauty. It does not define my career. It does not define my self-worth. And it does not define the parameters of past or future relationships and vice versa.

Repeat that to yourselves, ladies. Repeat it and please, forget that #ThisCouldBeUsButImFat ever existed.


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