Trauma Is Not An Aesthetic

Is it still healing if it’s monetized?

“Can you preach body positivity and still go under the knife?”

These days, all it takes is one insecurity, a ring light, and a half-baked caption to build a brand.

Trauma? Tell your story, daily.

Flat chest? Petite frame? Hips that barely curve and a body that never quite fills out like the girls in magazines?

Perfect. Start a movement. Call it body positivity. Call it radical self-love.

Film yourself twirling in crop tops, post captions about confidence, and tell the world you’ve never felt more beautiful in your skin.

Suddenly, your body isn’t just your body, it’s a brand.

The truth is, we’re living in a time where pain sells, and the more personal it is, the better it performs.

But what happens when the story no longer fits? When the brand outgrows the pain, and the healing was never true, just a carefully crafted show for profit?

In last week’s post on social media is making you weird (which did so well by the way. Thank you all so much for your support), I touched on this briefly. But today, let’s go deeper.

Let’s unpack it properly.

So. There’s this Canadian based influencer I used to follow.

Clara Dao. Yes, today I’m name calling. Because freedom of speech right?

She’s a petite, size 6 Asian woman, and if you’ve watched enough TV or spent any time online, you probably know the “on-screen Asian aesthetic” I’m talking about.

Very slim, size 6 to 8, with little to no curves, minimal boobs, minimal butt.

Some might have slightly more up top, but many don’t.

This particular creator? She falls into the “absolutely nothing there” category. Chest as flat as a pre-war ironing board.

I’m not even exaggerating.

And guess what?

She built her entire brand around it.

Her body.

And not so surprisingly. It worked.

She has millions of followers hanging on her every post. Brand deals rolling in from companies eager to align with her “authenticity.”

Comments filled with hearts, praise, and teary confessions from girls who finally feel seen.

It’s more than just support, it’s devotion. A community built on shared struggle. A cult following, really. Not in the scary way, but in that all-consuming, fiercely loyal, “you saved me” kind of way.

Her content is pure body positivity:

“My chest is flat, and I love it.”

“You should love your body too.”

“Don’t change yourself for anyone.”

“Own it. It’s yours. Be happy.”

Her TikTok is dedicated to reducing the stigma and body-shaming of skinny and flat-chested women.

She’s also active on her self-titled You Tube channel, where she posts body positivity and content about being flat-chested.

Her videos have earned her over 4.1 million subscribers and 3.2 billion views.

Every photo, every video, every caption, every sponsored ad pointed back to the same message: I’m flat, and I’m fabulous.

And to be fair, it was inspiring, at least, it looked like it was.

Until it wasn’t.

One day, she came online with a huge announcement.

She was getting breast implants.

Pause.

No really, pause.

Let that sit for a second.

The same woman who had spent years urging women to embrace their flat chests.

The one who boldly told us to reject society’s beauty standards.

To love our natural bodies, to silence the noise, to be enough just as we are.

Was now going under the knife… for bigger boobs.

And then she did it.

No more speculation, no more hints. Just full, unapologetic transformation.

Now, her feed is a celebration of curves.

Bikini pics drenched in confidence.

Side-by-side before-and-afters, almost like proof, visual evidence that she’s arrived.

The flat-chested girl who told us she didn’t need more… now has more.

A new wardrobe tailored to a new body.

A new silhouette she once claimed didn’t matter.

A new narrative; bold, sexy, certain.

Or maybe, it’s not a new narrative after all.

Maybe this was the truth bubbling under the surface all along.

The quiet longing she never let us see.

The ache behind the affirmations.

And now that she has what she always wanted,

she’s free enough to flaunt it.

But her followers?

They’re divided.

Some are cheering. “Your body, your choice!”

Because yes, in the end it’s her choice. And she has every right.

Maybe she owes no one an explanation, not even them.

She’s a woman, not a statue frozen in time. She’s allowed to evolve. To want more. To change her mind.

But some others, they did not cheer.

They didn’t clap.

They couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t just about breasts. It never was.

It was about belonging. About seeing someone who looked like them; small, flat, often overlooked, finally be enough.

It was about the quiet hope that maybe they didn’t need to change to be worthy.

So when she did… they felt blindsided.

Hurt.

Betrayed.

Because don’t you think… maybe she does owe them something?

Not her body, never her body.

But the truth. The full story.

A moment of pause before reshaping the very image she once told them to embrace.

A little tenderness for the girls who stopped crying in dressing rooms because she taught them how.

For the women who stitched confidence into their skin with her words.

This wasn’t just a shift in aesthetics.

It was a rupture in trust.

What happens to them now?

Do they undo their healing?

Do they book consultations too?

Was it all performative? Was the self-love ever real?

Many pointed fingers at her new boyfriend.

“He pressured her.”

“She changed for him.”

“She’s not who we thought she was.”

And honestly? I get it.

But sadly.

This is what happens when you build a brand, a whole identity, on something that was probably painful all along.

When your trauma becomes your selling point.

When your struggle becomes your content.

Because when you finally decide to rewrite the story,

You risk dragging everyone down with you.

Here’s the thing:

Most women are curvy.

So when puberty hits and your body doesn’t follow that “average” script; no hips to sway, no boobs to fill out your shirt, no curve to your silhouette, a quiet doubt creeps in.

Something must be wrong with me, you think.

But the doctor says you’re fine.

“It’s normal.”

“Bodies come in all shapes.”

“You’re still a woman.”

Still, when you scroll through Instagram and see every feed filled with curves, fullness, softness, it stings.

Everyday you come across images like this,

With the caption: “Which is your favorite body type?”

You see that you’re no one’s favorite. Your body type is there, but it’s almost non-existent. It stands out but not in the way you want.

You feel the familiar feeling.

A pang you didn’t really expect, but can’t exactly ignore.

Then suddenly, you find someone who looks just like you.

And she’s happy.

She wears cute outfits, smiles confidently, films herself doing everyday things, and most importantly, she owns it.

No male validation needed. No shame.

At first, it feels impossible. But slowly, your shoulders drop. You start looking in the mirror a little longer. You breathe. You stop crying. You start liking what you see.

Everyday she posts something: a photo, a reel, a story. And every day, a little piece of you heals.

Then, out of nowhere, she changes.

The narrative flips.

The person who helped you feel “normal” doesn’t want to be “normal” anymore.

You’re left wondering if this is the beginning of your own undoing.

Are you enough?

Will you ever be loved like this?

Should you change too?

And this is why I say:

Trauma is not an aesthetic.

It’s not a “look.” It’s not a personality. It’s not a brand campaign.

You can’t take something that once made you cry yourself to sleep, package it with affirmations, build a following, and then abandon it once you’re done with the phase.

Not without consequences.

Because people are watching.

People believe you.

People build themselves around your survival story.

Of course, it’s your body. You can do whatever you want with it.

I’m not against surgery. I’m not against change.

What I am against is using unresolved pain as your personality.

Because here’s the truth:

If you wake up one day and decide to do the very thing you’ve told people not to do, it’s not growth. It’s betrayal.

You lose credibility.

You lose trust.

You lose value.

People won’t remember you as the flat-chested body positivity queen.

They’ll remember you as the woman who preached self-love… until it no longer served her.

So,

Before you share your story publicly, before you turn your trauma into a brand, ask yourself:

Are you really healed enough to stand by it?

Because the internet never forget.

And that hard “never”?

It can turn into a “maybe just this once” faster than you think.

Please.

Think twice.

Soften the “nevers.”

And choose authenticity over aesthetics, every time.

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See you Next Monday.

Wishing you a lovely week ahead!❤️