It’s astonishing to think that it took me 34 years to come to this realization. Like many of you, I grew up absorbing the cultural belief that a woman’s value is tied to her attractiveness, which is predominantly defined by her physical appearance. This persistent message, delivered in both overt and subtle ways, has been pervasive throughout my life. While it’s easy to dismiss a direct comment from a character in a show that declares “she’s not attractive because she’s not a size __,” the more insidious impact of never seeing a plus-size character with a narrative beyond her weight often goes unnoticed until much later.
As a child, I never saw anyone on screen who resembled me. If a character strayed from the ’90s standard of thinness, she was typically relegated to the role of the fat sidekick. In the media I consumed, discussions about disordered eating were rampant (for more insights, check out some of nutritionist Jamie Collins’s work, which highlights how diets can often be a form of disordered eating). Regardless of my actual size, I felt alienated from the images of women presented to me. Those characters mattered because they were deemed attractive by the men in the stories.
I live with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) and have a history of disordered eating, a legacy of the ’90s culture that led so many to develop unhealthy relationships with food. I could list reasons why I may never fit into the conventional mold of thinness, but that only serves to diminish my worth. I’ve reached a point where I refuse to justify my existence. My value is inherent.
And let’s be clear — I am desirable, too. No, not to everyone (is anyone truly desirable to all?). I may not fit into everyone’s ideal, but I certainly fit into someone’s, just as you do. Yet, media representation of diverse body types is sorely lacking.
A couple of years ago, as my eldest daughter began exploring the Babysitters’ Club series and rewatching Full House, I started to understand the absence of relatable characters who weren’t conventionally beautiful. In these stories, any character that didn’t fit the mold typically had narratives focused solely on their appearance — diets, rejection, or being teased, with an underlying message that life would improve if they conformed to societal beauty standards.
Recognizing how harshly society judges those who don’t fit this insane beauty ideal is important, but that’s not the main point here. Last year, I reached out to friends for recommendations of TV shows that offered body-positive messages or characters who embraced different body types. The options were shockingly limited. One show my kids enjoyed was Annedroids on Amazon Prime, which features a smart, funny character who doesn’t fit the small-bodied norm. Despite her charm, my daughters never choose her as the character they relate to while watching — a telling reflection of the messages they’ve absorbed about beauty.
In this age of Netflix binges, while others dive into sensational reality shows, I find myself revisiting older series like Mad Men and now Younger. I was drawn to Younger, which portrays a 40-year-old divorcee posing as a 26-year-old to re-enter the workforce and explore her sexuality. As someone who has experienced divorce, I resonate with the character’s journey of rediscovery and self-worth. The struggles of insecurity and self-image are universal, especially for women who have nurtured and given birth to children. Yet, the protagonist in Younger carries no visible body insecurities, fitting into an unrealistic standard of beauty, which is par for the course in television today.
Two minor characters in Younger do resemble my body type, but their presence is negligible. It wasn’t until recently that I recognized how skewed this representation is.
This isn’t an essay that concludes with a neat solution. I’m frustrated, and I’m grateful for the platform to express that frustration. As artists, writers, and individuals, we must do better — for our children and, crucially, for ourselves.
For further reading on topics related to body image and self-acceptance, check out this blog post. If you’re interested in learning about at-home insemination options, Make A Mom offers valuable information. Additionally, for those seeking resources on infertility, Mount Sinai provides excellent support.
In summary, the representation of plus-size women in the entertainment industry is limited and often negative, leading to harmful societal standards of beauty. It’s vital that we advocate for better representation for the sake of future generations and our own self-worth.