Beaty standard

When I was younger, there were two girls in my class who made mean comments—because I was super thin. They felt too fat. I know this because I saw them suck in their stomachs, looking insecure.

 

Over the years, I received subtle remarks from people who were jealous of my body type or appearance. And while it can feel good to be seen as some kind of standard, it also made me uncomfortable. I don’t like it when people resent or envy me.

 

I never asked for it. I never chose to be “the standard.”

But I also know: I looked like a model.

 

Someone close to me once said:

“You’re beautiful—most people who are beautiful are popular.”

 

I don’t remember the exact context in which it was said, but the comment stuck with me. It made me realize how people often connect beauty with expectations—with popularity, with social roles—rather than just seeing you for who you are.

 

Someone even told me on social media:

“You’re beautiful—you should be popular.”

 

That comment made me feel disconnected from my appearance.

 

So here’s the thing:

I want girls to feel beautiful and amazing—

not ugly, not “less than.”

 

Why do we let the media decide

who gets privileges and who doesn’t?

 

And if you are the standard—

maybe it’s time to share those privileges.

To stand up for others.

To not feel threatened if someone bigger gets attention.

To not become defensive if someone else gets recognition.

 

Because your value?

It shouldn’t depend on the dynamics society places you in.

Because those dynamics can change in a second.

 

And when that happens, you’ll crumble—

especially if the men around you

only care about appearance.

 

That’s why this is something we all need to reflect on.

How do you treat your body—and how do you treat others?

 

Honestly, I don’t have advice for everyone.

It’s not my place.

 

But I try to follow people with different body types.

And I never assume I understand what it’s like

to not be the beauty standard—

or to have a body you struggle with.

 

That’s more empathetic

than pretending I “get it.”

 

And something else I’ve realized:

If a man finds you attractive,

he won’t even notice your imperfections.

He’s too busy enjoying you—

intimately, emotionally, or just in general.

 

And the men who do make rude comments,

or compare you to other women?

They just have limited emotional intelligence.

That’s not your problem.

That’s their shortcoming.

This is the reason why #MeToo exists.

The most heartbreaking scene I watched in the show was when a man, while kissing a girl, asked for her consent. She didn’t appreciate it—in fact, she completely ridiculed him and said he shouldn’t make such a fuss.

—

And then they had sex.

I was sitting with that scene,

and I wondered—this could be seen by men who genuinely believe that women are like this.

Now I understand:

Men and women with low emotional intelligence will watch that and assume it’s real.

They won’t think: “This is just a movie.”

 

And that makes it hard for me to be angry about the bad experiences I’ve had with men—

when I see things like this being portrayed as normal, or even funny.

 

I wonder:

What is wrong with people?

With women? (Not all, but still.)

This is Hollywood.

This is exactly why the Red Pill community exists.

Why Andrew Tate exists.

Because this film depicts exactly what men are afraid to say out loud—

and then we tell them they are privileged, that they are loved by the system.

And then we wonder why men don’t express their emotions.

 

Would you do that,

if everyone saw you as privileged?

This is what it’s like

when people put you on a golden pedestal—

and then criticize you for not acting according to your assigned gender,

when they make assumptions about you that aren’t even true.