What’s on the menu for summer 2025? Sea moss and bone broth? Intermittent fasting with a side of lemon water? If #SkinnyTok, an insidious corner of the internet, has its way, we’ll exclusively consume organic, “gut-friendly” micro-meals with minimal calorific content all the way through the sunny months. Forget about pitchers of Pimm’s and late-night pizzas.
Recently, my TikTok algorithm has been serving me nothing but lifestyle and fitness advice. Countless beautiful women with textureless skin and 26-inch waists implore me to forego carbs and, if I simply must drink, swap pints for slimline gin and tonics or, worse, vodka sodas.
Many of the SkinnyTok videos involve incessant body-checking (influencers not-so-subtly turning 90 degrees to show off their lack of tummy) and depressing what-I-(don’t)-eat-in-a-day vlogs (long lists of low-fat, no-carb, raw ingredients masquerading as meals). Bypassing the emaciation, I scroll swiftly on, trying not to think about the softness of my own tummy, which pushes against my jeans.
I know that I am not toned (but I am strong), I am not sculpted (but I am soft), and I am not the same size I was a year ago (but I am significantly happier). In fact, contrary to the negative connotations many attach to weight gain, the heaviest I’ve been is also the healthiest I’ve been.
As a teen, my body mass index, or BMI (a bullshit metric, but useful here) teetered on the verge of “underweight”. I’d been thin as a child and hadn’t filled out during puberty thanks to pernicious anaemia—an autoimmune condition, which (among many other things) decimates your appetite. Symptoms set in around the age of 14, but I wasn’t diagnosed until I was 19. That’s five years of near-constant nausea and never making it more than halfway through a meal. Who needs the weight-loss drug Ozempic when you’ve got a chronic health condition to curb those pesky food cravings?
I began treatment during my first few weeks of university, visiting the college nurse regularly for B12 injections. Once I had the pernicious anaemia under control my appetite returned, and I began to understand the hype around food; chips drowning in melted cheese and gravy became a staple part of my diet throughout my undergraduate degree. Inevitably, I gained a bit of weight.
It’s almost unheard of for a student to return home from university looking healthier than when they left, but I came home for Christmas in my first term aglow with healthy haemoglobin. My mum, nan and friends all celebrated the difference. I’d shaken off the pallor that five years of malnutrition had left me. I felt good for the first time in my adolescent life.
My body ran through a similar cycle in my early twenties. Mental health episodes took a couple of inches off my waist. Weight gain followed when I began to recover and got my ordinary life back, along with the ability to eat ordinary meals. For me, this was another example of weight gain being a win—a sign of good health to be cherished, not to be ashamed of.
I know in my heart of hearts that a snatched waist and ever-so-slightly-sharper jawline won’t make me happy. When I’ve had a slim 28-inch waist, I have only ever been miserable and malnourished.
So why did a bolt of panic shoot through me when I saw that micro-shorts were headlining the Coachella fashion scene? Why did I immediately have visions of myself spilling out of the teeniest tiniest denim cutoffs? Why do I struggle to look wholly and appreciatively at my body in the mirror? Why do I recoil from low-rise jeans, as though it would be inappropriate for me to show my midriff?
The hegemony of skinniness is hard to escape—and SkinnyTok is only a symptom of the broader fatphobia that has the mainstream culture in a chokehold. Celebs who were once advocates for body positivity are now rumoured to be on Ozempic, shedding fat (and muscle mass) at alarming rates. Noughties diet culture has come back stronger—forget SlimFast shakes, many celebrities are now on harder stuff.
In the face of all this, I remind myself that loving and accepting my body is a choice—and I must resist the pull of SkinnyTok. The young women online who are “freeing the pouch” and celebrating their tummies—which exist to literally protect our internal organs—are giving me inspiration. #PoochTok has emerged as a counter to SkinnyTok and it fills me with joy to see women celebrating their softness.
Maybe I’ll wear the damn shorts and set my own pouch free this summer.
