As a young women, I have been victimized by the societal standards set on beauty. 

You have to be white. You have to be skinny, but not too skinny, and you also can’t be fat. If you’re too skinny, then you’re anorexic and no boy will ever like you, but if you’re fat, you need to go to the gym or else no boy will ever like you. If you’re heavier, you have to have curves, because no boy will ever like you if you don’t.

Whatever men think is attractive is the desired look, because beauty is centralized on the male gaze.

Ew.

No matter how many times we try to change this as a society by convincing ourselves that the new “look” is to branch out, be ourselves, self express rather than fit this twisted idea of what is conventionally “beautiful”, we don’t. We fall into the same rabbit hole of desiring unattainable beauty — wide hips, flat stomach, defined chest, all of the desirable things a woman should have from a man’s perspective. Not only does the judgment we face come from men, it comes from other women, too.

Girls are not supporting girls. 

I grew up as the “fat friend.” I was visibly bigger than every single one of the girls I hung out with throughout elementary school. No boy thought I was cute, only thinking I was funny, and I could never share clothes with my friends. I felt embarrassed when I didn’t fit into an extra small shirt at the mall. From ages 3-11, some of the most developmental, refining years of my life, I’d come home crying to my mom about how my ankles didn’t look like everyone else’s, how my thighs touched when I’d stand and sit, how my cheeks were awfully pinchable, and how I couldn’t run as fast or jump as high as all my friends could. 

Middle school me was determined to make up for all the tears I cried simply because I wasn’t “beautiful”. I’d go to school every single morning, convince myself I had no time to eat breakfast, and survive every single day on a singular piece of gum. 

My mom would pack lunches for me every single morning, always sure to leave a handwritten note in my lunch bag. You’re a beautiful girl, Shayd. Have a great day at school! I love you!

I’d threw all of my food away, though. I needed to be skinny, I needed to prove to all the kids from elementary school that I wasn’t the “fat friend”.

I was obsessed with what I always hated. I always ridiculed skinny girls for wanting to be more skinny, thinking they were greedy and thirsty for attention, but I’d really fallen victim to the beauty standards that consumed my life. I was exhausted, always in sports and not getting nearly enough nutrients for my level of activity. Life caught up to me, though, and I soon realized being starving was only making me miserable.

I wasn’t happy, but I felt beautiful. And I thought skinny meant beautiful. 

No matter what women do, we are never good enough. The beauty standards of today’s society have devoured the minds of young girls, middle aged women, and older women alike. Women I look up to and respect, such as my own mom, have been depleted by what we consider beauty. She tugs at her stomach and tries all these different products to smooth her smile lines. The same smile lines that raised me, taught me how to have fun, and told me I was beautiful. The woman who prepared me for my whole life stands in front of me, picking at the body with the power to bring another human into the world. 

Today’s beauty standards have made women hate themselves, and they’ve chewed us up and spat us out.