(The screen is just you, too close to the camera. You lean back.)
Okay, hi. This is a Public Service Announcement for, apparently, everyone who is currently gearing up for… well, any season, really.
I am here to tell you, officially: You don’t have to have the body.
You know the one. The body. The one that’s “ready.” The one that’s “snatched.” The one that requires you to a) wake up at 5 AM, b) drink something that tastes like grass, and c) enjoy… burpees.
It’s an awful lot of work for a body that you’re just, let’s be honest, renting.
And my PSA is this: You’re free. You don’t have to. You can just have… a body.
You know, one of the standard-issue ones. The ones that are “kinda ready.” The ones that have a “favorite” side to sleep on. The ones that make that weird “hngh-ahhh” sound when you sit down.
You are officially allowed to have this body. The “I tried” body. The “it’s 3 PM and I’m already thinking about my pajamas” body.
Honestly, the real #bodypositivity isn’t even “loving yourself.” That’s exhausting. That’s more work! “Oh great, on top of my taxes and my job, I also have to love this? This thing that aches when it’s about to rain?”
No. The real body positivity is apathy.
It’s just forgetting about it. It’s treating your body less like a “temple” and more like a… “haunted shed.”
A temple implies it’s clean, and quiet, and people visit respectfully. My body is a shed. It’s got some useful stuff in it, but it’s mostly full of spiders, there’s a weird smell I can’t identify, and I really wouldn’t go in there after dark. It’s not “good” or “bad.” It’s just… my shed. It holds my stuff.
Think of all the brain space you’ll get back.
People with “the body” are always counting. They’re counting macros, counting steps, counting almonds. “Oh, I can only have seven almonds.”
Seven? Seven almonds isn’t a snack. Seven almonds is a clue. That’s a “Hansel and Gretel” situation.
I don’t want to count. I want to participate.
My body doesn’t run on kale. It runs on vibes, spite, and the vague memory of a vegetable I ate three days ago. And that’s fine!
You don’t need a “beach body.” You just need a body… to take to the beach. And then you need that body to sit on a towel, apply 80% of the sunscreen it needs, and then use its little hands to shovel chips into its face. That’s the job of the body.
So, this is your official permission slip. You’re released. You’re not “letting yourself go.” You’re just… letting yourself be.
Stop trying to get “the body.” You already have one. And it wants a pretzel.
This has been a PSA. You’re welcome.
