A Note on Body Image

My name is Hayley Hoover, and my body is freaking awesome.

I've been doing this for almost five years. By now, my skin is thick enough that rude, ignorant youtube comments pretty much explode on impact when they hit my rock-hard self-esteem of steel. It doesn't even begin to sting anymore when I read something like "ur fat," because I know for a fact that I am not. And even if I were, I've reached a level of confidence at this point in my life that I no longer feel the desire to match anyone else's standards. My clothes fit comfortably, I can hike up a hill without losing my breath, my skin sits taut and smooth over my muscles, and I feel good. Sure, there are days when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror and cringe a little bit, but that's because I'm a girl and we have self-doubt wired into our brains at birth already, without any contributions from stupid boys who have probably never been within a foot of a boob. What I mean to say is, if you want to hurt my feelings, tell me I'm a bad writer, or an incurably mean person, or say something cruel to somebody I love. But if your goal is to bring me down, don't even bother with "Failed boob to body ratio." My body is hot, my brain is hotter, and my shape has zero effect on who I am as a person.

I had a friend in middle school who wore nothing but big sweatshirts every single day, because she was built like a Playboy bunny and had a movie star face, and boys would tease her by assuming she was promiscuous. She was beautiful, but if she wore anything remotely form-fitting, she was tortured as much as the girls with acne or extra pounds. If even the girls our society deems perfect can't escape ridicule from idiots, why should you allow rude remarks to get in your way?

My mother always tells me that some boy on the schoolbus once called her hairy, and somehow that one little comment stuck with her for years... so long that, in high school, when that same guy asked her out, she took heaps of pleasure in declining his offer. You don't know her, but my mom is smokin'. And part of what makes her so gorgeous is the fact that she understands how little it matters to be perfect-looking, and the fact that, while she's out being this stunning role-model, that kid from the schoolbus is probably raising more little jerk boys who will never be as awesome as she is.

Girls, I know you've heard it said before, but listen. I'm not a model. I'm not old and wise. I'm just a healthy, happy twenty-year-old girl who spends too much time on the internet, and I have no reason to lie to you. You kick ass. You're awesome. You don't have a perfect body, but thank God, because life sucks just as much for people who do. There are parts of you that are majorly pretty, and it's up to you to decide who deserves to comment on them. If someone makes you feel ugly, forget them. Criticism like "ugly" happens even to the people you think are beautiful, so it can't be all that valid. If someone makes you feel uncomfortable, deal with it or ignore them. You are hot, but you are also a hell of a lot more than that.

I'm not writing this blog post just to brag about my level of comfort with my self-image, because I was thirteen once, and there are few things less inspiring than hearing how happy everyone else is when you despise the way you look. I also don't want to be Tyra Banks and scream and cry and preach all day, because it's not exactly reassuring to watch a millionaire model talk about how hard it is to be a size six. What I do hope I can accomplish, though, is to tell each and every girl out there who reads this that guys who make comments on your appearance are complete and utter morons. You are not worthless for having cellulite; the comments of those who mention it are what's worthless.



Chipotle burritos this year: 29
Subscribers: 35,857
Nail color: Plain, for once. Riding this whole "I'm natural and beautiful" wave as long as possible. Also lazy.