Most women have something they hate about their bodies. For Eve Ensler it's her stomach, but for me it's less one part and more a laundry list of complaints: the hair on my head (too fine), the hair on my body (too thick), my cheeks (too hamster-licious), my eyes (too wonky), my teeth (too mangled), my stomach (too wobbly), my thighs (too thick), my legs (too short) and my feet (too wide). I've spent a fortune over the years buying products to firm, tone, support, remove and disguise the many areas of my shame, all trying to replicate the photoshopped and virtually unattainable look that is now the western female body ideal, and yet still on my best day I imagine anyone looking at me is secretly doing this:
The Good Body intends to free us from this endless, demoralising war against our own flesh - sadly such a skinny book was never going to undo 35 years of conditioning, although it did provide some food for thought. It's a sad thing to contemplate how few women are accepting of their bodies and I appreciate Ensler shining a little light on the subject, although I also felt that light was mostly directed at herself even when giving other women a voice - whether it be the model married to her surgeon (who desperately needs for me to rip him a new asshole), the teenager at fat camp or the ladies in Afghanistan risking their lives for a taste of ice-cream, everything was viewed through whether Eve's stomach was flat enough. But this is coming from a woman who spent the first paragraph of this review rambling on about herself, so can probably be taken with a pinch of salt.
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