Help, the skinny models are back!

Let's get out
Help, the skinny models are back!

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No sooner have we made ourselves comfortable in our corono cocoon than skinny models pop up on our screens again. What do they want from us?

Now we had finally made ourselves comfortable in the home office – in the comfort of the refrigerator with good-natured stretching jogging pants, gently trickling nail polish and a rapidly dwindling will for self-optimization. And found that life can be really comfortable if you leave out the scourges of women: bras and heels, clunkers and contact lenses, figure-hugging blouses, "skinny jeans" …. For months we have felt free like the men who would not squeeze into anything uncomfortable under any circumstances just to look appealing. Lord, let go!

But recently old hardships have crept into our corona cocoon at home: all of a sudden, emaciated models pop up again in the advertisements on Instagram and Co., with legs that could easily pass as sticks. We hadn't seen it since “Body Positivity” broke out: “Women, love your body as it is!” Was the announcement for years, and we rubbed our eyes in front of posters on which average women presented spacious underwear. Even Barbie took part in self-acceptance and added a few grams.

In the pandemic of all things, where we women are finally enjoying physical comfort, we now seem to be moving towards the inevitable backlash. The hungry eyes of emaciated pantyhose and lingerie models make our gaze wander twice critically over our own wobbly lockdown body.

What shoud that!?

Would you kindly point out that we should slowly pull ourselves out of the fridge when it comes to clearing the fridge, because a "bikini summer" is coming up soon? Or do the dangerously thin women come to us in the name of "diversity", the trend towards diversity that wants to give migrant, queer, old and handicapped people the visibility they have been denied for a long time – and now also anorexic women?

I think more: they want to remind us where our place is. Gladly in the kitchen, but please not at the dining table, we just get fat and unsightly. Or even at the head of a conference table, we're just disturbing. We should be hungry again, because whoever counts calories has no head for a career. And that's already reserved for men. I don't play along anymore. Because I’m just experiencing firsthand how good a man is: sweatpants and such. Hooded sweater in XL, a bit of a belly. And always a stack of frozen pizzas in the freezer.