GET ON YOUR RUNWAY
Everybody Hates Their Body Except Heidi Klum
Your legs are not tree trunks
Put any woman in front of me and I can tell you what she hates about her body. It’s not rocket science. It’s society's limited view of beauty. I hate the word beauty when it comes to the female body. It’s as unforgiving as a mean girl and a douchey guy.
Whenever I want to set a guy friend up with a girlfriend, he asks, “What does she look like?’
It doesn’t matter what he looks like. He could be a troll living under a bridge with a hairy coconut instead of a head and rotting carrots instead of a ballsack — but still, if she’s not hot, he says, “She’s not my type.”
No wonder we women hate ourselves. It’s embarrassing having to go out in public not looking like a Victoria’s Secret model. It’s like having toilet paper hanging off of your mascara.
Those of us afflicted with not looking like Heidi Klum are constantly worried about getting mugged and disrobed on buses. What will the other bus riders think when they see we are not imbued with naturally globular orbs and thighs lacking in gap?
Well, that’s unfortunate, one rider might say, I was going to stalk that woman when I saw her dressed. Now that I see she eats breakfast, I am too good for her.
Everybody hates their body except Victoria’s Secret models but they’re starving to death. I heard they’re so hangry you can only talk to them when they’re asleep or they will murder you.
Someone like me, who wasn’t born with 48" legs made that fact up, but it sounds true, so let’s go with it.
To expand on my lie — if you are invited to go dancing with a Victoria’s Secret model, don’t put cocoa butter or citrus in your hair or body. They will mistake you for food and eat you. I’m not talking about the sexy kind of gobble gobble either.
You’ll taste so delicious to them, after years of unsalted carrots and diet mineral water, you’ll be forced to listen to them say, “myam myam myam myam” as you’re being cannibalized.
But seriously women, can we stop hating our bodies now?
Women with skinny arms, who rock sleeveless dresses and can twist their arms into pretzels, loathe their noodly-shaped appendages.
I’ve learned to live with them, said one gorgeous slim-armed woman. But I wish they were fatter. I rub steroids and bacon fat on them nightly. A girl can dream.
Another woman I know, who describes her arms as Popeye-esque, dreams of being Olive Oyl.
Although her fierce arms can carry a groom or bride over the threshold and lift a Miata off of a reindeer, she wants svelter limbs. She told me, I’d give up all my strength to appear too weak to lift a bean sprout.
Women with thick legs call them tree trunks. Women with skinny legs call them toothpicks. Women with tummies call them guts. Women with flat chests say they don’t look feminine.
Most women hate their bodies, except for Heidi Klum. She loves hers. What does she know that we don’t? Sure, she’s gotten rich from that sexy Barbie figure, but that’s not all of it. She’s using what she’s got.
What do you have that you’re not rocking? What about yourself is Heidi Klumesque? I don’t mean your legs or your stomach or your breasts. I mean your French Haikus, your Carlinesque jokes, or your ability to make TikToks even though you’re eighty years old.
You may not be strolling down the runway donned in wings, stuffing Victoria’s Secret boobs cash into your coffers, but you got something you’ve been hiding from the world. Don’t ya? I say, disrobe and show the world your thong. Push up your padded brain and get on the catwalk.
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