With all this talk of Kim Kardashian West embracing her cellulite and in the process making some kind of feminist statement (whether consciously or otherwise) it’s got me thinking that whilst it is certainly okay to love your cellulite, isn’t it okay to not love it too? Because I don’t love my cellulite. Sorry. It was one of my first encounters with puberty – meaning I’ve had a long time to mull over its presence, as well as try some pretty ambitious tactics to get rid of it (think along the lines of the cling film scene in The Full Monty – which doesn’t work). The only thing that makes a dent (or rather the opposite) is a dry body brush.
But with maturity comes acceptance and, perhaps more importantly, perspective. I have a long, hard-copy list of “things to worry about” (a masochistic method of self-motivation) and cellulite is just not on that list – it doesn’t even come close. I have got far more pertinent things to think about (currently on the worry list are things like, “cripplingly expensive probiotic habit” and “daily experiences of imposter syndrome” and “pollution – in general”). To be honest, I find the idea of being told to embrace my cellulite just as infuriating as being told to dislike it. When I’m on the beach and said cellulite makes a public outing, I tend to be too busy fretting about getting sunstroke (can you tell I’m a hypochondriac?) or else too zenned out listening to the sounds of the ocean to “embrace” my cellulite. And if the sight of it wobbling into the waves offends you, well, you can like it or lump it.