Me and my friends always joke that we could write a whole book just comprised of the ridiculous insults that we hurl at our own bodies. One of my girlfriends recently insisted that the tops of her arms look like “dorsal fins,” which egged on another member of the group to describe her face as “a skull with yellow Play-Doh draped over it,” which prompted me to share my fear that my stomach is “deformed” for being wider than my hips. After going on one of these collective rants, we always resort to giggling, praising each other’s hotness, and being pissed at the culture that leads us to believe there’s always something wrong with us. And while it’s bullshit that women ever have to feel apologetic for existing and having bodies, there’s one piece of body-bashing that always dumbfounds me more than the others. Ladies, can we please stop being ashamed of our feet?
[…] They help you walk. They help you run. They help you stand for hours in those sexy, painful shoes. They want you to live your life. If they grew ears, they’d be furious to hear all the nonsensical shade you’ve been throwing their way. And if they grew ears, they still wouldn’t be ugly. They’re feet. They have toes and corns and blisters and broken nails and calluses and weird bones, and they’re freaking adorable.