The glossy social media universe is telling us we are living in the golden age of female confidence. Why then do some of us itch to say: body positivity, my a**!
Jayati Bose; (right) Neelakshi Singh, designer and body-positive content creator and model
Here are a few things I have recently been told by dear Instagram to re-up my body-is-wonderland game: telling my curves, rolls and cellulite to let it all hang out; owning my feminism by twerking in underwear; buying corsets and shapewear as a shortcut to the voluptuary babe in me; agreeing that this season’s crop top trend flatters all body shapes and sizes; waving an ironic third finger to a critical eye.
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Sometimes, these declarations of self-love are a gloriously straightforward statement of marketing intent, but this escalating trend points to a bigger issue. Body positivity is not just about a confident body image, but all its adjacencies too.
First, it is focused solely on appearance. Second, while being positive is proven to improve your mental health, after a lifetime of wanting to be different, suddenly falling in love with what you see in the mirror isn’t simple.
This creates tension between “love your body no matter what” hashtags and the realities of what it is like to actually love it. This could be leading to a type of “toxic body positivity in which thin or overweight people are compelled to feel guilt for not loving their bodies” observes Hvovi Bhagwagar, Mumbai-based psychologist and psychotherapist. “In reality, enforcing toxic positivity on people is endangering them from actually feeling their natural emotions,” she adds.
Hvovi Bhagwagar, psychologist and psychotherapist
While the movement might be helping us celebrate all bodies, the slippery embrace of body positivity is also fashioning unrealistic expectations by using it as a panacea for all physical insecurities. “This loving your body, 24/7, feels more performative than radical.” At her practice, Bhagwagar deals with a significant percentage of younger clients, starting as early as 13 years, and is yet to meet someone who has felt reassured by the contemporary version of “let it all hang out”. “They are already dealing with trauma related to self-esteem and body perception, and seeing a plus-size person in a bikini triggers unhealthy thoughts on weight and appearance,” she tells us.
The last pair of jeans I bought were size 32; and for a fashion journalist, that is as tolerable as it gets. It’s a result of tedious exercising, saying no to eating after 7 pm, and regular appointments with the gynac to keep my fibroid-induced moods and weight in check. My weight has been my private business, all sticky conversations around it conducted in front of my mirror, as I sometimes rejoice at the sight of the clavicle. But most times, I wince at my curve range. Lately though, when I see myself in the mirror, my eyes linger longer around the bulgy bits. This is a new, un-loving mental space to be in.
“I was out shopping for a one-piece swimsuit this summer and couldn’t find anything in my size. I called up a few brands; they said it would take a week to custom-make one. Is the plus-size fashion industry equipped to dress us the way we want, and when we want?” asks Jayati Bose, 41, an independent creative consultant with a focus on textiles. Bose is mother to 10-year-old Noyonika, and shares an anecdote from an earlier shopping trip with her. “Because of the restrictions during the lockdown two years ago, Noyonika had put on a bit of weight. When I took her shopping, the clothes available for an eight-year-old didn’t fit her. She came home depressed.” This, for Bose, mirrored her own mental space. “How many Indian brands are hospitable to a wearer larger than size XXL, which according to some estimates is 69 per cent of all Indian women shoppers? For most big-sized women, shopping is a triggering experience. They end up hating their bodies even more.”
Bose says she had a “skinny” frame before and after pregnancy, and it was when she quit her job as a celebrity stylist to take care of a personal matter that she spiralled into depression and put on the kilos. While Bose is all for female expression through nudity, she asks, “but yeh kuch jyada nahin ho raha hai?”
Neelakshi Singh is funny, smart and feminist to the core. The Mumbai resident is part-time lecturer at a fashion college, and founder-designer at Label Carpe Diem, a made-to-measure clothing brand where everything from the length of your sleeves to the neckline is calibrated to your body and preference. “Fat people can also be fashionable,” she assures. She wears size 18 and refers to herself as “fat”, a term she uses with love as a “neutral” physical descriptor.
But Singh is better known as a body-positive content creator and model. And she is frustrated with today’s version of body positivity. This sounds ironic, until she explains her reasons. “Body positivity was to encourage women like me to celebrate ourselves. But brands and bloggers interpreted it in marketable ways. Some thought it meant hyping your body up by pulling your leggings down to flaunt your tiger stripes. The term has also been co-opted by all bodies.”
Singh is only 31, but she has already grappled with various attitudes to “how can I make peace with my body?” Each time she brokers peace with her physical self, her resolve is tested when brands or fashion show organisers approach her. “I need the money,” she says of the modelling jobs. The fear of being cancelled makes sure that stylists press for Singh to carry her own clothes on shoots. “Every brand is chasing diversity, so I end up being placed beside a tall, skinny model. I am a proxy for a ‘real’ person. It helps the brand’s image but wounds my self-esteem,” she confides. “During fashion show preps, stylists form two rows; one for the models, another for ‘real’ people. A model once came up to me and said, ‘So this is what a real person looks like?’ The phrase [real woman] is not only patronising to us but it’s also tacitly insulting to thin women, who are apparently ‘not-real’.”
Singh’s struggles with eating disorders began when she was in class eight. “I was bulimic, and enrolled in rehab and therapy sessions as puking and purging was the only way I knew how to punish myself for eating.” She thought she had filed this experience down to a teaching moment until she was recently reminded of her struggle. “I was getting my nails done at a fancy salon in Juhu when a mother-daughter pair sat next to me. The mother took a look at me and started extolling the virtues of bulimia. [Speaking from her own experience] she said it takes four minutes for sugar to enter the bloodstream, so she clocks herself every time she eats dessert so she can throw up within the time window.”
Singh clarifies that she isn’t painting a tragic picture. All she wants to do is stress that there is no celebration anymore in body positivity.
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