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Before, women were supposed to be skinny. Then they were supposed to be strong. Now, women are being told it’s possible to be both, and brands are looking to capitalise on it.
Back in the 90s, women were kept skinny. Late-night dinners were traded for low-rise jeans, and subsisting while in a calorie deficit was considered an achievement. Kate Moss was heralded as the body to strive for, and regular hunger pains could always be endured with a Diet Coke.
The oppressive nature of diet culture and the pressure placed upon women’s bodies was, by this time, nothing new. Take July Garland, who was famously told to ‘smoke more and eat less’ to maintain a youthful figure during filming for The Wizard of Oz in the 1930s.
This narrative suggested that it wasn’t enough for your body to be instrumentalised for household labour or male pleasure. It also had to be desirable, youthful, and above all, small enough that it wouldn’t take up too much space.
Then, in the early 2000s, the growth of surveillance culture that was driven by the rise of social media platforms meant that women were no longer just expected to be vessels for men’s realisations of pleasure.
They were also meant to be pleasurable to look at on screens, which went beyond the infamous Page Three girls. This indicated the usurpation of utility by aesthetics for women’s bodies. In a post-truth society reminiscent of Guy Debord’s Spectacle, the photo replaced the real. Women’s bodies were both literally and figuratively shrunk down or otherwise blown up (on billboards).
These images reified a distant and unattainable version of the female form that was meant to tempt men – and ultimately taunt women.
Skinniness signalled that women should take up less space, at the same time that it would “reward” them with more visibility in a society which valorised the female body based on its desirability to the male gaze.
If women could achieve this aestheticism through asceticism, and thus not only be, but also consume less, even better.
This value system certainly wasn’t – and isn’t – helped by the comparison of self-surveillance culture facilitated by online Ana communities and the rise of the filtered, photoshopped image, which gave us both the tools and the blueprint of how to achieve this idealised body type.
Strong vs Skinny
Fortunately, these weren’t the only communities facilitated by online media. These platforms also gave scope to the body positive movement, which strove against the notion that less was more and that value lay within skin and bones.
Perhaps one of the most prevalent narratives of this movement was that which started to view food as fuel rather than something to be avoided. This, of course, has its own problems, which emit the cultural and social value of nutrition, but at least it meant women were eating again.
Subsequently, women’s bodies earned themselves a newly functional status beyond being a receptacle for male pleasure and childbirth. Instead, women were striving for strength over skinniness and muscle over malnourishment.
Those looking to lift weights rather than weigh themselves didn’t all flock to gyms. Women also took to working out in the safety and privacy of their own homes, with key figures like Anna Engelschall and Julieta Puente offering intense home workouts which focus on “growing” and “glowing” – as opposed to shrinking and shrivelling, supposedly.
Significantly, many of these female fitness influencers tell a similar story: of overcoming their debilitating desire for skinniness to realise that strength requires sustenance. Thus, their fitness channels were born.
Once again, this self-documentation and surveillance culture facilitated the social categorisation of our online identities. Enter: The Fitness Girly.
Variations upon this umbrella term included the gym girl, the yoga or pilates girl, the clean girl, and the hot girl. Women who lift, “strong women” groups, women running communities, etc., all emphasise women’s prioritisation of autonomous ability over aesthetics.
Starvation Without The Stigma
However, it’s no secret that recently, thin is once again “in” – as if body types were trends rather than the result of a complex combination of biological, economic, and environmental factors.
This time, the response is not simply self-willed starvation. Before, we didn’t have the same “insights” into the lives, fitness routines, and bodily acceptance journeys of “normal” people with a significant online following. Now, the slimshakes have been discarded for something far more effective, and far more dangerous: Ozempic.
These “miracle weight loss drugs” like semaglutide and tirzepatide (otherwise known as Ozempic or Mounjaro) were originally approved for type 2 diabetes and related weight management. Once people realised that these injectable drugs worked as appetite suppressants, however, they began using them for weight loss.
This is essentially starvation without the stigma – or the willpower.
Whilst this is a worrying misuse of medication which creates likely unsustainable results, that’s not the worst of it. Not only is the demand for this “miracle weight loss drug” creating a lack for those who actually need it, but the side effects can range from feelings of nausea to death.
