Pixel Flesh: how the beauty ideal that smothers women moved me to tears
Searing indictment of the ideals foisted on women is grounded in the author Ellen Atlanta’s experience in the beauty industry, writes Édaein O’Connell
I don’t usually cry while reading books but a passage in Pixel Flesh forced salty tears to splatter on the pages beneath me.
Writer and brand consultant Ellen Atlanta recounts a conversation with one of her best friends, Eliza, who has grown frustrated with the beauty and societal pressures that smother most women. “I just can’t do this any more,” she says. “I can’t cope with the constant f***ing chat about Instagram girls and nose jobs and what we all look like. Yeah, I’ve gained a bit of weight, but you know what? I actually don’t care… I just want a day where I don’t have to think for a single second about my appearance, or if I’m going to get the right photo, or if I can eat a croissant for breakfast, or if my bum will look good in my outfit. I don’t f***ing care.”
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