What the hell is a thigh gap?
It started with a blue flower bikini. Patches of material too thin to cover the curves I now had to offer; strings that dug into my skin a little too tight. I hated it. I hated that I now had to like bikinis. It was no longer acceptable to wear frills or one pieces. I hated that I had to accept that I had developed breasts and, according to all my classmates, that meant they were to be on display. I was now to be on display. I used to panic at gymnastics when I forgot to bring my shorts to wear over my leotard and here I was standing in a bathing suit that revealed more than my underwear. Soon my mother walked by as I grumpily gazed at myself in the mirror and said the first words to ever haunt me, “you’re not fat”. What is a woman? Is it a she, a her, a gender, a race, maybe some alien being we have not figured out yet? Is she a body or just a persona? Perhaps she is a threat; a weapon used for mass destruction of mascul...