I compiled a list. Of things I can remember being said about my body. It’s not an exhaustive list, of course. (And originally I had done a handy coloured-coded key to go with it, but sadly I’ve not yet mastered colour formatting on this thing.)
You should be a model with a body like that.
If I were you, I wouldn’t wear baggy clothes like those.
You can’t talk. You’re skinny.
You’re “the skinny one”.
Why can’t you just eat more?
I’d fuck that.
Corrr – legs on that!
Oi oi, sexy!
Why didn’t you wear something tighter, to show off your body then?
You look very….fuckable.
Your body is ridiculous.
Your arse is amazing.
I like it when you wear tiny little gym shorts.
Pig tails are so fucking sexy. That little school girl look.
You’ve got nothing to worry about, you’re tiny.
Do you just not eat?
You look like a squirrel.
Slutty giraffe-esque housemate.
Legs on that.
You were the hot, angry new teacher.
Oh shut up, you’re skinny.
Look who’s got boobs now. Careful, the boys will be throwing things down your cleavage soon too!
Yeah, you look nice.
Well, you don’t have any problem attracting male attention, do you?
You look healthy*
*read “like you’ve put on weight”.
It upsets me that I know how many of those comments were made by family members, close friends or even intimate partners.
At what point do we become saturated with what we hear being said about us? About our bodies? I would like to add that at no point when any of these comments were made had I asked somebody to openly pass judgement about my body. I’m sure I’m not alone. These comment range from when I was about 13/14 to very recently. They served to teach me that my body is not my own. My body was for other people’s satisfaction, in one way or another. And more so that those comments were to be tolerated, like some sort of rent to pay for existing in a young female body.
I’m a machine, not a fucking ornament.