"If you are female, expressing hatred for your own body is not just acceptable, itâs practically de rigeur. Failure to indulge in the requisite amount of self-flagellation â my thighs! my skin! my face! â isnât just negligent, itâs unfeminine. Self-hatred is fundamental to how femininity is constructed, more fundamental than any of the more obvious external symbols (dress, make-up, shoes). What matters is not that you are beautiful, but you know your place in the beauty hierarchy (and since every woman ages, every womanâs place will eventually be somewhere at the bottom).
Young women are encouraged to bond over their dislike of excess body hair, surplus flesh and âunevenâ skin. They are meant to do so in a jovial way, egged on by perky adverts informing them what âreal womenâ do: worry about having underarms beautiful enough for a sleeveless top, celebrate curves with apologetic booty shakes and cackle ruefully over miserable Sex-and-the-City-style lunches of Ryvita and Dulcolax. Itâs a gendered ritual; men get football and booze, women get control pants and detoxes. We are supposed, of course, to be grateful. Hey, you donât have to be perfect! Just know youâre not perfect and act accordingly, with the appropriate levels of guilt and shame!
Fairy tale after fairy tale tells us that what matters is being beautiful âon the insideâ but what does that really mean? It means submission, obedience and the suppression of oneâs own desires. Donât be haughty and proud. Clean the hearth. Kiss the frog. Love the beast. Suck it up when youâre replaced by a younger model. Sure, you may look fine, but you mustnât feel fine. You mustnât be vain. You mustnât be angry. All fury and pain must be turned back on itself. That way youâll be a real princess: silent, fragile and never threatening to challenge the status quo."
â Victoria Smith, Almost Famous, real women and the normalisation of self-hate
