Everyone has their kryptonite: Superman had...well, kryptonite; Achilles had his heel; and for me, it's shorts.
I remember standing on the field during camp on a particularly sticky August day. Everyone around me was dressed in the ubiquitous uniform of shorts and a tank top, but I stood there in my dark-wash jeans, drenched in sweat, swearing that I was perfectly comfortable. Thanks to some harsh body-bashing brainwashing I had experienced over the years, I felt that my chubby legs were something to be ashamed of, something to keep covered up.
I carried those body issues with me into adulthood, until one day I realized: Screw it. I refuse to allow my hang-ups to prevent me from wearing what I want and especially those pieces that are generally awesome. Now, I do that without fear of showing off my stems — thick thighs, cellulite, and all.
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