COLUMN: Average girls need body positivity too
In recent years, curvy body types have become overwhelmingly glorified, hypersexualized and ultimately, the hashtag-goals physique of Western entertainment. Nicki Minaj’s “Anaconda don’t want none unless you got buns, hun,” the “thick thighs save lives” mantra and the body-positive phenomenon that celebrates women of all shapes and sizes have arguably reshaped our cultural body standards for the better.
When I was 16, at around the height of this “big beautiful women” trend (popularized by Drake), I felt out of place with society’s newfound curve obsession. As a relatively skinny, size 3 jean size Asian American girl, my body was spectacularly average: I had no visible thigh gap, B-cup breasts and appeared to be “moderately proportional,” in the words of my wise mother.
I’m not complaining about that, although often, the body positivity movement feels like it has no room for average girls, who are pressured to have nothing to complain about.
When a close male friend I checked out my legging-clad butt one day after class and casually remarked that I had a “flat ass,” I felt shame heat up my cheeks.
I wiped away his comment into the recesses of my self-conscious thoughts, only to be tagged in a photo on Facebook a few weeks later that triggered an onslaught of insecurity from that point onwards.
In the image, I was skipping away from the camera with a fellow friend; what appeared to be a candid moment captured in time led to a chain of insensitively playful comments about my “flat ass” among a circle of my predominantly male friends.
To this day, I hold no grudge about this embarrassing chain of comments. The photo was even deleted after I privately messaged a friend.In retrospect, I even appreciated them for this. But for 16-year-old Terry, it was an emotional trigger of self-consciousness that resonated in my mind and continues to — even two years later.
I started researching glute workouts online, even athletic tips and tricks to shrink my waist and enhance my nonexistent curves. I obsessively followed fitness “booty builders” on Instagram, imitating their workout habits and meal plans to figure out the fastest way to bulk my butt.
I was stuck in an obsessively compulsive workout habit, one I couldn’t break myself out of until my first semester of college this year. I deadlifted and squatted three times a week, and I decisively exhausted my glutes, quads and hamstring muscles in order to rebuild them for a more prominent butt.
And although my obsession with weightlifting was negatively perceived as masculine, especially by those in my family, the fact that I could squat a rack my weight or heavier created an internal sense of empowerment that catapulted my self-esteem past society’s subconscious body standards.
As I molded my body through physical exercise, I realized that, ultimately, the only perception of my body that mattered was my own. It was an ironic realization, after almost two years of physical dedication to prove a point that mattered to no one but myself.
The body positive movement, although it unintentionally tends to glorify either the curvy or skinny sides of the spectrum, should be portrayed as a personal movement that neither favors nor ignores any of the very diverse range of female body types. The movement should teach women that the best and healthiest bodies arise from self-acceptance, a state that we will all come to in our own unique ways.
It shouldn’t just be feel-good moment that boots a women’s esteem, but a work in progress movement, where she continually strives to strengthen herself. For me, that state came about when I worked to become physically strong, and as a result, I built myself mentally in the process.
Terry Nguyen is a freshman majoring in journalism and political science. Her column “Fémmoirs” runs every other Monday.