Somewhere in the world there is a young girl. She is full of light, full of potential, she is not yet torn down by the world. She likes to read her mother's magazines and imagine how glamorous womanhood will be.
Flicking through the pages she regularly finds adverts for diet pills and cosmetic surgery, and with each flick it trickles into her consciousness that women should only look one way. That women only exist so that they can look that one way. That women only exist so that they can be looked at by others.
She breaks. She shrinks. She diminishes herself until she fits into those magazine pages, or dies trying.
Years later, years of pain and torture and struggle later, she finds her freedom. She realises that she can wear what she wants, live how she wants, be who she wants. That she doesn't exist to emulate the impossible beauty standards that poisoned her mind so long ago.