I'm hatin' my reflection, I walk around the house tryin' to fight mirrors, I can't stand what I look like
I have had a love-hate relationship with my body.
Standards of beauty are arbitrary. Body shame exists only to the extent that our physiques don't match our own beliefs about how we should look.
I'd feel better about myself if I did stomach crunches, but I don't.
I am not too keen on my nose, I don't like my knees, I hate my ankles, I am unsure about my behind, I don't like my legs at all. I am not too sure about my chin, my forehead is a bit dodgy. But, overall, I can live with it.
Nothing tastes as good as thin feels.
I am not even trying to become size zero. My problem was that I hated to see myself putting on weight when I could see others around me slim and trim and looking great. It was affecting me mentally.
Some people who think they are in unhappy marriages are just in unhappy bodies.
I don't really know why I'm not thinner than I am.
I didn't look like Rihanna. I was a bit chubby. I had puppy fat. I had a moustache. I didn't want to have lips; I didn't want a bum. I grew out of it, but I feel like everyone went through that phase of wanting to be skinny.
For all of my life it was the size of my rear that caused me the most hand-wringing, but in this nearly-50 zone it is my stomach that is the problem. It seems to have broken free from its moorings and there is no knowing how far it will roam.
Whenever I go to L.A., the make-up artist or hairdresser will end up having a conversation about how fat they think they are, and I really just can't take it seriously at all.
I do have body-image issues, just like everyone else. I mean, I wish I had bigger boobs. And I hate my butt. I want an onion butt - you know, a butt that'll bring tears to your eyes?
I don't like my physique at all.
There were days I could barely struggle into a size 46 or 48, months of larges and XXLs, and endless rounds of leggings with the elastic at the waist stretched to its limit and beyond - topped with the fashion equivalent of a tea cozy. And always black, because I was in mourning for my slimmer self.
I'm comfortable with my body but I don't like my bum - I think it's too big.
When a lot of people wake up in the morning and put on their underwear, the first thing they feel that day is terrible about themselves. When you see that your body is not what other people want, it can be really devastating. I have so many friends that I grew up with who have had serious eating disorders.
Most women are dissatisfied with their appearance - it's the stuff that fuels the beauty and fashion industries.
I have to be careful not to get a paunch - I'm so skinny that if I put any weight anywhere, it'd be there, and I don't like a bulge. I wouldn't mind if it went on my bosom, but it doesn't.
Being surrounded by supermodels' bodies was triggering to me.
When I get older, I don't think I'll like to have wrinkles, or a big jelly belly. I cannot have it.
It sucks being fat, you know.
I hate my stomach. It's impossible to get it flat, and the area around my belly button drives me crazy.
I hate the sound of my voice. I can hear it from a mile away - it's nasally. Why do I talk like that? It freaks me out!
When I'm at the greatest odds with my body, it's usually because I feel my body's betraying me, whether that's been in the past, struggling with my weight and feeling that I couldn't eat what I wanted to eat, or that I couldn't get my body to do what I wanted it to do.
