So I posted this picture on Instagram. And this friend of mine from school immediately dropped me a text asking me why my face looked so quote, round, unquote.
First off, I don’t look round.
I’m pretty sure I have other dimensions.
If you think I’m fat, it’s your problem and you need to deal with it. What I do to my face, on the other hand, is my problem and mine alone. And maybe, my plastic surgeon’s, should I consult one someday (for those of y’all who are super curious, I’m getting my eyes and my nose, my jaw and my cheeks fixed. Heck no. I am getting nothing fixed.) My parents didn’t go through with all the trouble of procreation and crap just so I’d end up having to look appealing to every frigging person on the planet. You don’t like my face? Good. I don’t like yours, either. In fact, I like it that my face is so round. And that I’m apparently chunky. And that I don’t have the perfect set of abs.
I might kid around a lot about myself and my looks, but deep down, I think I’m – not ashamed to say it – perfectly fine. If my mirror is okay with it, I’m golden. Body shaming is stupid. It’s right up there with posting nude selfies just so random guys would leave a bunch of sleazy comments, and, and, and… Cherry flavored Coke (stupidest thing in history).
Calling a person fat or commenting about how they look like or how they dress doesn’t make you a better person. It makes you a snobdouche.
End of discussion.
Let’s talk about something else now, shall we? Tell me what y’all are reading right now. I’m reading Roald Dahl and I’ve managed to calm down remarkably well. But seriously…
Why does body shaming still exist anyway?