"I can't go to Chipotle," a friend texted to me. "Too many calories and grams of fat."
I've written articles before that have touched on weight, self-esteem and things of that nature, but this topic is a little different: Instagram models.
Lo and behold.
These women–according to my Twitter feed that involves old high school classmates, friends, and celebrities–are the new standard of perfection. I mean look at them! Who wouldn't want to have a flat stomach (with defined abs, might I add), thick thighs (so guys can grab on to something, of course) and last but definitely not least, the "Oh. My. God. Becky. Look at her butt, it is so big" rump.
Although I don't follow any of these fitness/narcissistic fitness "models," I do my fair share of stalking and from what I can see, their day goes as follows:
1.) Wake up, drink a protein shake.
2.) Eat egg whites, work out for an hour.
3.) Take selfies showing off the prime assets, then work out again.
4.) Salad time!
5.) Work out AGAIN. Probably squats.
6.) Another protein shake, more salad, probably some almonds in there, weight-lifting, then probably fall asleep while on the treadmill cool down.
That's just a rough idea, obviously, but am I the only one who thinks this is a sorry excuse for a life? And a potential self-esteem crisis for young women?
Hear me out. According to Statista, there are over 400 million Instagram users in September 2015. Jen Selter has 7.2 million, Katy Hearn has 1 million. And who knows how many Kim K has now?
And according to Heart of Leadership, a mentorship program for girls and women, 53% of American girls age thirteen are “unhappy with their bodies.” But guess what? This number rises to 78% by the time these girls reach seventeen. Yikes. BIG yikes.
I have only about 630 Instagram followers. I would say about half of those followers are young girls not even in high school yet. No, seriously, I'm not joking. I don't know how they find me or "know" me, but they're the constant ones showing me Instagram love. Shoutout to my friend's little sister, Vanessa. You're the cutest ten-year-old around!
But in all seriousness, does anyone see where I'm going with this? The Instagram game is at its prime with the array of selfies posted by the Kardashian clan, and let's not forget–those damn Instagram workout crazy people.
We are idealizing these women who are depriving themselves of a normal life just because they want a fat ass, or because they think these bodies are starting to become the norm.
Um, attention, please! Bodies are not built like this. It's humanly impossible to have a size 2 waist, double DD breasts, thighs that look killer in a bikini and let's not forget the luscious, bootyful bottom. You're lucky if you have one of these. I have like a quarter of one.
I'm not intending to degrade these women, because I am all about female empowerment and loving yourself, which is why I am here. I am not and will never be one of those people that will wake up early to work out and deprive myself of a donut just because I want my ass to look good in a pair of jeans, because guess what?! It already does!
Why are we always striving for perfection and never just self satisfaction and acceptance? For example, take my friend who declined to get Chipotle with me because of all the fat, sugar, and who knows what else? This girl is gorgeous! Just gorgeous, OK? I understand that every girl has her insecurities, but c'mon–at what cost!?
I'm not saying you need to constantly fill your body up with sugar and bread so you'll get diabetes and die at 50, but I think there is such a pressure with either wanting to eat and do what you want, or trying and look like Jen Selter by the time homecoming comes around.
It's not like I haven't been there, because I most definitely have. I joined Weight Watchers because I wanted hot guys to hook up with me. And they did, OK? But that's not the point.
The point is, I got tired of being seventeen and having to keep track of how many pretzels I ate, or having to think of an alternate dessert instead of having chocolate ice cream.
After these gruesome months of vigorous exercise and food deprivation/depression, I gained a cool body, I suppose. But I wasn't really happy. I wasn't able to eat my favorite foods, do things without having to exercise first and all that jazz.
I realized that was what made me happy. Being about twenty pounds more than most of my slender friends, but I got to eat Oreo's and Chili's. Cool.
I'm still healthy. I still eat watermelon, apples, go to the gym; but I also can pig out while watching Netflix, and I don't worry about how that's going to make my stomach look in a bathing suit. I'm just not. And if you are, that's great; do your thing! I am in no way telling you to stop working out, preventing all those diseases, and trying to live to be 100.
Do what makes you happy, dammit. And for Pete's sake, take a look in the mirror and love who you are, you sexy thang!
