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4.02 AVERAGE
4.02 AVERAGE
reflective
Reading My Body felt like walking into a hall of mirrors- each reflection revealing a layer of Emily Ratajkowski shaped by visibility, objectification, and the struggle to reclaim herself.
She begins her story with a confession that resonates from the very first page: "Beauty was a way for me to be special. When I was special, I felt my parents' love for me the most." (17)
She lays bare how her worth was first tethered to how others looked at her- beauty not as an asset but as a fragile tether to validation. That early weight of visibility becomes a theme she revisits throughout the book. Later, she writes: "In my early twenties [...] women who gained their power from beauty were indebted to men whose desire granted them that power [...] how limited any woman's power is when she survives [...] as a thing to be looked at." (47)
This realization -of power so dependant on the gaze- is seismic. It reconfigures her rise in the "Blurred Lines" video as both career-making and control-relinquishing. She acknowledges that what was perceived as empowerment was more often a trade: beauty in exchange for agency.
Ratajkowski's self-description of her body as an object is both poetic and haunting: "My body [...] is an ornament used for decorating." (103) She explains how overexposure and dissociation became survival tactics: "Dissociating makes everything easier [...] strip yourself naked so it seems like no one else can strip you down." (103)
Reading those lines felt like staring at an emotional armature- the realization that overexposure was less freedom and more protective mimicry.
The arc of her memoir reaches something like catharsis when she says: "I have grown past shame and fear and into anger [...] I stood on their shoulders to here." (219-220) It is not a triumphant declaration as much as an unvarnished acceptance: anger as agency, discomfort as growth. This refusal to apologize for ambition, for visibility, and for contradictions is both fierce and grounded.
What struck me most was the texture of her truth. These aren't solitary recollections- they feel communal, especially when she writes of unnamed women. "I stood on their shoulders..." is an admission of inherited silences and collective reclamation.
That said, the book doesn't offer manifestos or prescriptive feminism. Rather, it is a testament to complexity- a memoir written as a series of mirrors, shards, contradictions. At times it treads close to celebrity self-inquiry; yet in its raw honesty, it becomes an act of political storytelling.
My Body unsettled me, in the same way an uncomfortable truth eventually makes you breathe differently. It is not always comfortable- but beauty, the power it brings, and the pain it inflicts, rarely offers ease.
Ultimately, the memoir insists: visibility can be both prison and portal. And reclaiming ownership of one's body- its presence, its scars, its gaze- is always a quiet revolution worth reading closely.
She begins her story with a confession that resonates from the very first page: "Beauty was a way for me to be special. When I was special, I felt my parents' love for me the most." (17)
She lays bare how her worth was first tethered to how others looked at her- beauty not as an asset but as a fragile tether to validation. That early weight of visibility becomes a theme she revisits throughout the book. Later, she writes: "In my early twenties [...] women who gained their power from beauty were indebted to men whose desire granted them that power [...] how limited any woman's power is when she survives [...] as a thing to be looked at." (47)
This realization -of power so dependant on the gaze- is seismic. It reconfigures her rise in the "Blurred Lines" video as both career-making and control-relinquishing. She acknowledges that what was perceived as empowerment was more often a trade: beauty in exchange for agency.
Ratajkowski's self-description of her body as an object is both poetic and haunting: "My body [...] is an ornament used for decorating." (103) She explains how overexposure and dissociation became survival tactics: "Dissociating makes everything easier [...] strip yourself naked so it seems like no one else can strip you down." (103)
Reading those lines felt like staring at an emotional armature- the realization that overexposure was less freedom and more protective mimicry.
The arc of her memoir reaches something like catharsis when she says: "I have grown past shame and fear and into anger [...] I stood on their shoulders to here." (219-220) It is not a triumphant declaration as much as an unvarnished acceptance: anger as agency, discomfort as growth. This refusal to apologize for ambition, for visibility, and for contradictions is both fierce and grounded.
What struck me most was the texture of her truth. These aren't solitary recollections- they feel communal, especially when she writes of unnamed women. "I stood on their shoulders..." is an admission of inherited silences and collective reclamation.
That said, the book doesn't offer manifestos or prescriptive feminism. Rather, it is a testament to complexity- a memoir written as a series of mirrors, shards, contradictions. At times it treads close to celebrity self-inquiry; yet in its raw honesty, it becomes an act of political storytelling.
My Body unsettled me, in the same way an uncomfortable truth eventually makes you breathe differently. It is not always comfortable- but beauty, the power it brings, and the pain it inflicts, rarely offers ease.
Ultimately, the memoir insists: visibility can be both prison and portal. And reclaiming ownership of one's body- its presence, its scars, its gaze- is always a quiet revolution worth reading closely.
medium-paced
Pros:
- very interesting pov
- fast paced and easy to follow
- liked the writing style
Cons:
- could have been more profound in some chapters
- no mention of the beauty standards that she herself perpetuates
- very interesting pov
- fast paced and easy to follow
- liked the writing style
Cons:
- could have been more profound in some chapters
- no mention of the beauty standards that she herself perpetuates
challenging
dark
emotional
funny
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
sad
tense
medium-paced
emotional
informative
reflective
I didn’t realize this was supposed to be “a collection of essays” instead reading it as a memoir- which is what it honestly is.
I think throughout the book what I feel the most for her is sadness- and sadness for all the other women that see the world in this way. It’s honest, and raw at times but bleak and sad. I think this book really hits the point home that female nudity and exhibitionism as “empowerment” is a lie. It’s good for the people that might vulnerable to those lies to hear it from someone like EmRata who really made it to the top of that game as it were.
Thought provoking, as I contemplate raising a daughter this had some good “don’ts” based on her stories of her parents
I think throughout the book what I feel the most for her is sadness- and sadness for all the other women that see the world in this way. It’s honest, and raw at times but bleak and sad. I think this book really hits the point home that female nudity and exhibitionism as “empowerment” is a lie. It’s good for the people that might vulnerable to those lies to hear it from someone like EmRata who really made it to the top of that game as it were.
Thought provoking, as I contemplate raising a daughter this had some good “don’ts” based on her stories of her parents
Evelyn Hugo would’ve loved this. Emily is an amazing storyteller, and it is so empowering to see her reclaim her narrative of the past & present.
I knew she was more than what people thought of her as; I knew she was smart and strong. But sis is a brillliant writer. It was beautifully done. I cannot emphasize that enough. Not only was the content thought-provoking, but the writing was stellar. Anyone who disagrees is jealous IMO.