My Thighs Are the New Thigh Gap

Victoria Hoff
PHOTO:

Urban Outfitters

While I was at yoga yesterday, the instructor kicked off the class by directing the group to stand tall in mountain pose. “Feet together, hands at your heart centre,” she said. “Close your eyes and listen to your body. What do you want from this practice?”

I didn’t close my eyes. Instead, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, trying to subtly arch my back in a way that would separate my thighs. It was a trick I picked up while in the depths of my eating disorder—adjusting my posture to better highlight the ever-covetable thigh gap. And while these days, I’m much more at peace with my much healthier (and much stronger) physique, some habits die hard. I’ve found yoga to be immensely helpful, as there’s no better way to work through your issues than by literally putting yourself in physically compromising positions.

In those beautiful seconds, your priorities change; there’s no room for doubts or bullshit or toxic thoughts, only breath and focus. It’s practice for real life, the letting go. But those first few minutes of class—the minutes before I remember exactly what my body is capable of—are often when I find myself at my most vulnerable. That unsureness is reflected back to me, amplified by the surrounding mirrors. So I arch my back and shift my weight, silently judging my thighs.

What did I want from this practice? I finally closed my eyes, sighed deeply, and silently repeated my usual mantra: Acceptance.

Coincidentally enough, I was browsing my news feeds this morning when my gaze landed on a headline. “Mermaid Thighs Are the New Thigh Gap,” it crowed. The story detailed the latest body-positive message to sweep Instagram: Women are posting photos of their thighs touching with the hashtag #mermaidthighs, in effect giving the proverbial finger to the gap. But while it warms my heart to see all this self-love go viral—especially as I thought back to the discomfort of my thighs touching in yoga the previous evening—it also made me take pause.

If body positivity is about unconditional acceptance—if the goal is to stop scrutinising a few lousy millimetres of flesh in between our legs—then why are we using touching thighs as the morally superior retort to the thigh gap? Moreover, why do so many of the mermaid thigh headlines refer to it as a body-positive trend? Why, pray tell, are we calling it “the new thigh gap?” Can my own thighs, in all their fluctuating size and strength, just be the new thigh gap—forever? And yours, too? And everyone else’s?

Want to dive deeper into the complicated issue of body image? Check out our (very) honest discussion about dieting.

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