Written by Miracle Okah
What would society look like without rigid beauty standards? Without relentless policing of women’s bodies? Without people searching for flaws, even when there are none? Well, I know what it would look like; it would be a world where women are free and unburdened by the shackles of being the ‘Hot Girl’ or ‘It Girl’. A world where a woman could easily wear a bikini with her fupa resting comfortably on her thighs without shame. A world where social media’s unrealistic expectations didn’t dictate women’s desirability because who made these rules anyway?
Online, the “perfect” body is strictly defined—flawless skin, a flat stomach, a tiny waist, perky breasts, the right amount of curves, and a handful of buttocks. Anything outside this mould is criticised. A big stomach? Unacceptable. Stretch marks? God forbid. And if you dare embrace your body as it is, you’re ridiculed for it. Your audacity is questioned.
These beauty standards do not just shape how women are viewed; they hijack women’s sexual liberation.
Sexual liberation should mean autonomy over our bodies, desires, and how we choose to express them. However, this autonomy has been altered and filtered on social media, making women desirable only through external validation. The same platforms that promote body positivity also punish women who do not fit the body standard laid out for them. You can be sexy, but only if you look a certain way. You can be confident, but only if your body is in line with what is considered ideal.
A Cosmopolitan UK survey found that how we women feel about our bodies plays a significant role in our sex lives. Another research has also shown us that women who are satisfied with their body image are more likely to feel comfortable during sex, initiate intimacy, and experience orgasms. This is not surprising; how we perceive our bodies matters a lot, and our relationship with our bodies influences our experience of pleasure. But what happens when that relationship is damaged? What happens when our body becomes a combat zone?
Feyipitan knows this struggle well. “If you ask me what I hate most about myself, it’s my stomach,” she said. “I also hate the stretch marks on my hips.”
For a long time, she only had sex with the lights off. She recalled a time in 2022 when a guy she was with insisted on keeping them on. “He complimented my body, and for a moment, I felt good,” she said. But weeks later, she stumbled on a chat where he told his friend, he let her start turning the lights off again because her stretch marks were too distracting. “A turnoff.” He had said.
“Of course, I confronted him, and that was how our relationship ended,” she said.
Feyipitan mentioned that her current boyfriend is kind and affirmative, but the damage from before still lingers. “I still struggle to believe him. That is why I’ve never agreed to bathe with him to date,” she admitted.
For Alex, it was not her body shape or skin; it was a part of her body. She had always known her vulva looked different. Back in school, when she and her friends got dressed together in the hostel, she noticed it but never thought it was wrong. It was simply her body, the way she was meant to be. Then, in university, her boyfriend’s reaction changed everything.
She remembered the moment vividly; one minute, he was pulling down her underwear, and the next, he was laughing.
“What is this?” he said, flicking her inner lips as if her body itself was proof of shame. The amusement in his voice stung more than any insult could have.
That night, she locked herself in her room and cried until her chest ached. Desperate for answers, she turned to Google and learnt she had labial hypertrophy, a harmless genetic variation. Normal. But no medical reassurance could undo what had happened.
“That moment rewired something in me. Sex was no longer about connection or pleasure; it became something to fear, something to hide from. I would not say I have outgrown the feeling now, but I’ve been fortunate enough to have sex with other men who didn’t seem to mind. I still have my fears, though. I just hope I don’t end up with someone who looks at me differently again.”
For Mariam, the insecurity was her butt.
“My flat bumbum is my biggest insecurity. I once had a meltdown over it in front of my friends.”
She talked about how they constantly joked about the shape of her butt. It was just a harmless banter to them, but to her, it was more than that. “I can’t pass by a mirror without looking at my butt. It’s weird, right? The shape of it just looks… off.”
One day, when the jokes started again, she snapped. “I started shouting and crying. Do they even know how many times I tried hitting the gym to change it? I’ve even used creams before. It was exhausting.”
Even though they apologised and became more careful around her, the insecurity never left. “A woman’s ass is the first thing I look at when I see her. Why am I not shaped like that? Why won’t mine grow? I’ve taken protein shakes, squatted like my life depended on it, but I guess my butt has a mind of its own.”
The insecurity followed her into the bedroom. She said she liked doggy style until one day, she saw herself in a mirror while having sex with a situationship. “Argh,” she groaned, “The image never left my head; I looked ridiculous. Now, anytime my partner suggests doggy, I lie and say it makes my stomach hurt. It doesn’t; I just can’t imagine someone looking at me from behind like that.”
She concluded with a small hope. “Maybe if I start exercising again and add a good diet, maybe my bumbum will grow a little. Maybe by then, I’ll finally feel comfortable enough to have sex in that position… Who knows?”
For women, sex isn’t just physical; it’s deeply psychological. Confidence is key to intimacy, but when body image is damaged, it affects everything. Women overthink, hold back, and struggle to enjoy their own pleasure.
Even in relationships where their partners are affirming, many women, like Feyipitan, carry the weight of past criticisms, which eventually affects how they handle intimacy.
A woman who has been body-shamed might avoid certain sex positions out of fear of how she looks and keep the lights off, not out of preference but insecurity. She also hesitates to initiate sex because she doesn’t feel desirable; she feels detached from pleasure because she is too focused on self-conscious thoughts, just like Mariam did.
Sex, for women, happens first in the mind. If that space is filled with shame and insecurity, it becomes difficult to connect with their bodies fully.
And all of this is made worse by social media, where beauty standards are not just upheld but aggressively imposed on women. A celebrity posts an unedited bikini photo? The comments are brutal. A plus-sized influencer embraces her body? She’s ridiculed for “promoting obesity.” Even the women who fit society’s ideals are constantly assessed. But what if these rules didn’t exist?
What if social media didn’t treat women’s bodies as public property that is open for judgement? Perhaps women wouldn’t feel like their bodies are problems to be fixed.
If beauty standards weren’t so ruthless, maybe more women would feel comfortable exploring their sexuality without shame, initiating intimacy without worrying about how they look, and experiencing pleasure without the constant mental interruptions of insecurity.
It is easy to say, “Love yourself,” and “Confidence is sexy,” but confidence doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It is shaped by the world we live in, the messages we consume, and the reactions we receive.
If society, and particularly social media, were less harsh in its scrutiny of women’s bodies, maybe, just maybe, more women would feel free. Free to exist, to be desired, and most importantly, to desire themselves.
