The irony of seeing stunning plus sized models that are supposed to make curvy women feel good about themselves is that they tend to look more like severely distorted, bad Photoshop jobs of once skinny haute couture models than anything else. Stunning faces in perfectly tailored clothing, juxtaposed by rolls of fat spilling over jeans or bra straps. It never fails to intrigue me the sheer mindfuckery identity and self-confidence can result in as a product of socialization.

Living in Los Scandalous, eating disorders become a commonplace and physical perfection becomes an obsession. The idea that that a modelesque body is unattainable no long exists because every other girl you see sauntering past Urth Cafe is just 5” short of the runway. It’s a perpetual cycle of self-doubt, working out, salad & La Mer products. In the three short years I’ve been in the city of angels, I can indubitably say that I’ve withered from a once confident athlete who didn’t give two shits about skinny bitches to a salad-devotee who balances yoga with weight training so my already ginormous calves can hopefully one day fit/look good in skinny jeans.

Undoubtedly, these thoughts are intensified by the fact that a) I go to one of the “best looking” schools as ranked by Playboy Magazine and b) I work in fashion/entertainment lifestyle, but there isn’t a day that passes where I don’t wonder just how “inevitable” this obsession really is. Does a balance exist? Is it possible for us to seek a healthy lifestyle solely for the sake of being healthy? How much of our happiness is truly predicated on being socially acceptable, or in this case, socially beautiful? After all, are we not social creatures? Doomed to depend on the social systems we inhabit for interaction and validation?