Everything's Trash, But It's Okay

by Phoebe Robinson

Only with the people and things you love can you be truly, and sometimes brutally, honest.

Every day, I struggle not only with rewiring my brain to not equate self-worth with how my body looks but also with not letting men and clothing companies define my own gaze.

Anyway, as I was saying, women are conditioned to waste hours, days, weeks, months (although, truth be told, it’s most likely years) doubting, undermining, and ultimately hating parts, if not all, of themselves based solely on “problems” with their bodies that can be solved by buying products from an industry that invented these problems in the first place. How fucking convenient. And when all is said and done, what is the prize for this self-torture? Fitting neatly within society’s destructive narrative about the female body. Hmm, I don’t know about you, but this endeavor seems like my checking account after I pay rent aka it’s empty as hell.

So, feminism, I say this to you: You’re one of the things I love the most in the world, which is why I expect the most, because I know you have the potential to be everything you should be. Give me something to root for. Give me and all women of color, queer women, trans women, lower-class women, something to root for. Most importantly, give us love, because while you’ve been hard on us, the love has been in very short supply. Give us the love we deserve and we’ll root for you forever.

Women have to stop apologizing for things they don’t need to apologize for.