I’m undertaking a 1000-day reinvention project, blogging here daily to track my progress. In Monday Musings, I write freely and wanderingly about some topic that’s on my mind.
In The Anti-Cosmetic Surgery Essay Every Woman Should Read, substacker Father_Karine shares feminist ideas about a woman’s relationship to her body:
In the 1970s, feminist philosopher Sandra Bartky coined the term “feminine narcissism” to describe the process whereby women are encouraged, both directly and covertly, to become so excessively preoccupied with their appearance that it leads to a pervasive self-alienation, a sense of shame, and a greater awareness of one’s own “deficient” body. This “inferiorization” is not inherent, but rather is a product of societal pressures, particularly the beauty-industrial complex which glorifies the female body while simultaneously depreciating it, forcing women into a state of perpetual self-scrutiny and control. She writes:
“Knowing that she is to be subjected to the cold appraisal of the male connoisseur and that her life prospects may depend on how she is seen, a woman learns to appraise herself first. The sexual objectification of women produces a duality in feminine consciousness. The gaze of the Other is internalized so that I myself become at once seer and seen, appraiser and the thing appraised.”1
The woman so becomes a prisoner of the Panopticon. Because the “gaze” is everywhere all at once, the woman learns to constantly self-monitor and police her own body for any perceived “flaw,” resulting in an intense self-objectification of, and alienation from, her physical being.
While I have never been extremely concerned with my body and its size or shape I am, like every woman, pretty regularly thinking about it, judging it, finding it wrong in some way. Yes, it often feels deficient to me.
I am fortunate that my basic metabolism, hunger levels, and body shape leaves me not too far from what some might consider the ideal female body. I could definitely stand to be ten or twenty pounds lighter, have bigger boobs, and a smaller waist. But I’ve never struggled with obesity and I don’t have any glaring flaws (though teenage Anne though her big thighs were the ugliest thing ever, and she spent way more time than she should have bemoaning them).
What a big waste of my mental energy — to worry about my body size and shape, to fixate on losing weight through various means (low calorie diets, intermittent fasting, medication), to divert my energy, time, and attention from things that really matter to this thing that ultimately doesn’t.
When I began dating Ray almost six months ago, I had lost some weight and was edging towards the lower end of my normal range. I had gone off of hormone replacement — estrogen tends to make women heavier — and that helped. I also had gotten back into an intermittent fasting routine where I ate one large and one small meal a day, between about 11 am and 3 pm. Lunch was my big meal and then I’d eat a snackish thing before my eating window closed.
It felt good to be slimmer. My post-menopausal soft belly began to disappear. I felt more comfortable in my clothes. I boosted my confidence as I returned to the online dating milieu after two years away. Slimness is highly prized by many men, to the point where they won’t even agree to meet you if your full-body pic hasn’t passed their strict tests.
Then the comfort of a happy relationship and more important starting to eat dinner again had its way with me and my body, even as I started a new workout routine, motivated by Ray’s regular cycling routine (designed to help him stay in shape for skiing, not simply as a healthy habit).
Naturally enough now that I’m a little bigger and softer I’m thinking, “Something must be done! This is not acceptable!”
But at this stage of my life I want to let go of diet culture, a fixation on being slimmer, and dissatisfaction with parts of my body that don’t meet the ideal.
I enjoy eating dinner every night with Ray, whether I cook it or he cooks it or we go out.
You might ask, “but what about your health?!?”
Many people who are devoted to the cult of slim bodies couch their concerns in terms of health. And it is true that the heavier you are for your height the more likely you are to have metabolic issues that represent real risks.
Yet I suspect much of the discourse and pressure around body size and shape does not have to do with health primarily. Health is just a convenient excuse for people to promote and excuse their biases around body shape and size.
Yesterday it was 13 degrees Fahrenheit outside when I dressed to walk Bo. I put on the long underwear bottoms I use for skiing and pulled some jeans on over them. i have a couple pair of jeans that are big enough for this. On top, I wore a cotton turtleneck and a roomy fleece that I bought for less than $5 at Goodwill. I slipped on some snow boots (it was a little icy out) and my long puffy down jacket.
You’d think I might feel fat and gross with all these layers on but instead I felt cozy and very much myself. For some reason, when I have long underwear on under my layers I feel better about myself not worse even though I look bigger that way.
I think that’s because having long underwear on under pants makes me feel like I’m ready to go skiing. When I’m all dressed up in my ski gear I look anything but slim. My ski pants are pretty gigantic, and insulated, and my ski jacket is bulky and relaxed. Yet garbed for skiing is when I feel best about my body: not because I’m hiding it but because I’m ready to use it for something adventurous, exhililarating, and active.
This is the feeling I want to channel about my body, the feeling of its strength and power and possibility.
In 2026 I want to do things that cultivate my love and appreciation and gratitude for my body: lots of skiing, some working out with the aim of keeping myself psychologically and physically healthy, and plenty of physical connection with Ray.
I’m not going to put pressure on myself to restart an intermittent fasting routine, lose my soft belly, or get into smaller clothes.
I reject the form of feminine narcissism that sees my body as deficient, alienates me from its wonder, and directs my attention to my self as object.