What The Eff Is With Thigh Gaps?

Something weird is happening in my social media world. The women I know are becoming increasingly obsessed with posting images of this thing called a “thigh gap.” Smart, rational, eating-disorder free women. Women whose thighs you could barely slide a credit card through. These women are–in what seems a very sudden turn of events to me–holding up insect-like, far apart thighs as the paragon of female beauty.

Beauty fads come and go, and the media, for the foreseeable future, will sell women all manner of ridiculous aesthetic norms that define “beauty.” I mean, perms were a thing once. But at least perms are funny. I’m not sure we’ll ever look back and laugh at the time we thought being able to fit a basketball between our legs without bending them was an admirable trait.

Let me disclaimer this by saying I’m not trying to make light of eating disorders or any other kind of body dysmorphia, because I know some overly politically correct fucktards are going to want to have at it because criticising anything that might vaguely have to do with a serious issue has become a taboo. But I’m calling it now–the only way to break the cycles caused by beauty related mental illnesses is to change the reasons why people develop to believe such measures are necessary to validate themselves within our cultural and social landscape. To stop deifying women who have achieved unrealistic, comic book style bodies. To start celebrating bodies as they are.

So I’m calling fucking shenanigans on every otherwise mentally and physically healthy woman that thinks a “thigh gap” is covetable. It’s not. And it’s high time we started collectively rejecting emaciation as a sign of power. Because that’s all the quest for exterior beauty is really; a quest for power. Power over ourselves, power over society’s social hierarchies and power over those we interact with. Like being beautiful on the outside somehow makes us better.

Tangential thoughts on the nature of beauty and power aside, thigh gaps look fucking stupid, and whatever magazine editor decided to trick women into thinking being able to see the horizon through their legs is sexy is a bastard cunt and should be flayed. I cannot even begin to address the immensity of the ridiculousness of this completely inhuman molding of flesh and bone. What’s the thigh gap for, anyway? The only thing I’ve ever needed to get between my legs is a cock, and I can just spread them for that. Too easy.

Sure, I’ve complained in the summer when it’s sweaty and my thighs are rubbing together, chafing as I walk, but the alternative–a void where my fat should be–seems even more insane than having to vigorously talcum powder myself. Women are meant to have bits that rub together. We’re meant to have bits that you can poke and that jiggle long after you’re no longer poking them. To achieve anything other than what we are naturally is torture. I know–I went on a diet once.

Thigh gaps are for Victoria’s Secret and sick people. It’s time to take model bodies off their pedestals because they’re NOT REAL–how often do you see a woman with a body like that walking down the street? And what part of your tiny brain thinks that those models do anything other than eat kale and exercise all day? Perhaps more importantly, it’s also time to stop glorifying and celebrating illness. I mean the sicknesses such as anorexia and bulimia that women all over the world deal with, as well as the sickness of our privileged society–where even the smartest of us seek to rob ourselves of our riches just to shave an inch from our stupid thighs.