The case for body neutrality
As much as we wish our relationship to our bodies to be as cut and dried as possible, it isn’t as easy as simply deciding to love everything about ourselves physically—never mind what body positivity campaigns and influencers try to tell (and sell) us.
It’s hard to outgrow the decades, even centuries of conditioning that have us be so constantly aware of our bodies, particularly their appearance. Even when we’re not out in public, they’re still subjected to a critical gaze, which, sadly, is our own: a measuring stare at the space that we could carve between our thighs, the shoulder-waist-hip ratio of our torsos, the degree to which the dimples on our buttocks have become more pronounced over time.
Sure, for some people, the scrutiny sometimes yields some positive feelings—which is great. For a lot of people, though, that’s a battle that’s very hard to win. And telling them to simply “love” and celebrate their bodies disregards the many deep-seated factors that come into play when it comes to body image. Plus, the resulting shame of not being able to muster the right amount of positivity about one’s body can only perpetuate the cycle of never feeling and being enough.
With the large, seemingly unbreachable gulf between dissatisfaction with (or even outright dislike of) our bodies and loving them, there needs to be a middle ground where those who can’t quite make that leap can still land somewhere soft and compassionate.
Body neutrality may just be that middle ground.
The body neutrality movement has been going on for the past few years, as more and more people—women, especially—realize the pitfalls of subscribing to the prevalent body positivity movement that had since been co-opted by brands and companies promoting more conventional beauty ideals. “[Body positivity] has become a buzzword, it has alienated the very people who created it,” Stephanie Yeboah, a writer and self-love and body image advocate, said in a 2018 The Guardian article. What was meant to be inclusive ended up pushing away those who wanted to widen the circle in the first place. “Now, in order to be positive, you have to be acceptably fat—size 16 and under, or white, or very pretty.”
Body neutrality then feels like a safe space for those who have felt they have nowhere else to go, a space where they don’t have to be performative about their acceptance of their bodies when they don’t feel up to it. It’s a space where they and their bodies could simply be.
In 2017, director of the Cincinnati Psychotherapy Institute Ann Kearney-Cooke, PhD., defined body neutrality to The Cut as “[having] the freedom to go about your day without such a strong focus on your body.” This doesn’t mean being neglectful of the body, though. “You listen to it, and are aware of the function it serves.”
Body awareness, which is about being connected to how our bodies feel at the moment and what they need, is an important factor in our relationship to our bodies. However, it frequently gets taken over by ideas of how our bodies should look. Considering that these physical vessels are the one constant thing in our lives, from the moment we were born to the moment we die, the premium we put on its appearance is ridiculous. We tend to forget that our bodies contain and carry who we are—that they help us do things, get to places, and achieve goals the best they can. They’re our first and last friend, yet the pressures we impose on them make them seem like the enemy.
Of course, in certain cases, the body could truly feel like a traitor—and body neutrality holds space for that feeling, too. Writer Rebekah Taussig told The Guardian, “Body neutrality…has the power to be really useful in particular to people with disabilities, especially those with chronic pain or people with diagnoses that are progressive. Those people are pretty frustrated with the demand to love their bodies when they feel betrayed by them. Being neutral could feel like a relief.”
The ability to be unbothered whether or not our gut looks bloated or if we have cankles or stringy calves does sound like a welcome relief. Who cares what our bodies look like, when the most important thing about them is they’re healthy and functioning well? And in cases where they aren’t, instead of having the additional burden of feeling shame over not celebrating our bodies when we’re already not at our physical best, our energies could be better funneled into understanding, curing, and nourishing them.
Given the disconnect that the commercialized body positivity movement has enforced between us and our bodies, body neutrality helps bridge that gap—and maybe even start us on the path to unconditionally loving them.
This piece was commissioned by a lifestyle/commerce magazine, though I’m not sure if it ever got published. Lead image is by Thiago Matos on Pexels.