There is this ideal of women in our culture: a petite, gorgeous woman who is naturally beautiful, barely looks like she has make up yet glows like a ray of sunshine, but can drink beer and wings while talking about football with the guys. This picture pops up a lot on Instagram: a woman with a waist so small that an onion ring can fit around it, noshing on a fat slice of pizza or wings with the caption: “OMG I love food! I’m so bad!”
This image of a girl next door is one that I grapple with. I am a wing lover by and large and I have a really hard time coping this this distorted reality of how, we as a culture, look at a woman’s appearance and what they eat. There have been time in my life where I thought being this ultra-likable Instagram girl in a “I look like I didn’t try but I tried” outfit scarfing down wings and still being a waif, would get me what I wanted in life and relationships. I thought that playing into a trope of sexy contradictions would mystify that I could being so gorgeous but eat wings.
Why should there be a “gorgeous but eats wings”? It should be and.
We all know, intellectually, that what we see on social media and every other facet of media is not reality. But, I especially, sometimes lose track of reality and fantasize about being borderline frail with a basket full of wings and fries, hoping people will think…she’s so lucky to be so petite and can eat whatever she wants. I bet guys love that she’s so ladylike but “doesn’t care!”
I know these holograms of women probably work out all of the time, never eat anything besides avocados and chia power bowls, and took two bites of their wings and resisted eating the fries. Even imagining that kind of discipline makes my mind do advanced calculus to figure out how to balance working out, work, comedy, social life, a relationship, and resisting eating wings as often as I want. While looking like a hunky guy could just toss me over his shoulder and run a marathon.
In an ideal world, I could stop thinking about the hot Instagram girl I could be if I didn’t eat wings. In an ideal world, I wouldn’t compare myself to overly filtered images or absorb this love affair with hot girls who eat junk food.
Honestly, I don’t know a single woman who doesn’t have an idealized image of who they would like to be in their heads. It’s my greatest struggle to get out of my head and love the present and just eat wings. I want to truly not care, not just pretend like it.