Bodyshaming Under the Sun – Impressions from a Greek Beach

On the beach of an average small Greek town, you can come across all kinds of people, not only depending on which countries they come from, but also in terms of their manners (or lack thereof) and culture (or lack thereof).

Three days spent on the beach are more than enough to gather impressions for an entire book, let alone for one or two articles.

But not every situation is worth recording, while some absolutely need to be brought to light.

I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation of a married couple lying on sunbeds right next to us—not because I particularly enjoy eavesdropping on strangers, but because their conversation was anything but quiet. Like it or not, I was forced to be a witness to their exchange.

So, a man in his 30s, built and weighing about as much as an average bloated walrus, starts lecturing his wife, who is sitting right next to him, while their three-year-old child plays happily in the sand.

“Seriously, you could finally lose a little weight! Just look at yourself!” he grunts at her, pointing his finger toward her stomach.

At first, she says nothing, instinctively stands up, and looks down at her stomach in confusion.

“What’s wrong with me?” she replies defensively, gesturing to show that she doesn’t actually have a “big” stomach.

But that’s not enough for him.

He continues to verbally insult her with words I won’t quote here, because there are limits to decency—limits he clearly doesn’t recognize.

The whole situation is topped off by the cynical smirk of the guy sitting next to him (presumably his best buddy, because in both body type and, apparently, mental makeup, they look like two peas in a pod).

“Yeah, man, just look how much she’s let herself go,” says our walrus, turning directly to his fellow specimen to put the cherry on top.

The humiliated woman sits back down and instinctively crosses her arms over her stomach to cover her “imperfections.” A moment later, she even gets up and puts on her beach dress.

The saddest part is that situations like this aren’t rare, and similar male behavior is unfortunately very widely accepted in our environment. Some would even classify it under a term I’m especially allergic to—tradition.

No one has the right to lecture others about their physical appearance. It’s absolutely irrelevant what the relationship is between the verbal abuser and their victim.

Whether it’s a husband, wife, mother, or father—it doesn’t matter. In fact, in these situations, such comments have an even more toxic effect.

The toxic masculinity of the typical Balkan man, the so-called “head of the household,” often goes hand in hand with his physical appearance, because by unwritten rule, he can look however he wants and “let himself go,” wearing a bloated belly proudly like a trophy—as if a belly were proof of masculinity or status.

And yet these same “heads of households” expect or even demand, like our walrus on the beach, that (their) wives always look like they’ve just been photographed for the cover of Cosmo.

Double standards!

In a short-lived relationship, I once got a comment from my then-partner that it was “about time I waxed again.” The only thing removed as quickly as a strip of cold wax from the skin wasn’t the hair from my legs, but his presence in my life.

Because that’s how it starts—today, “fix this,” tomorrow, “fix that,” and before you know it, you no longer feel good in your own skin and you feed your insecurities with his approval. No, thank you.

We live in a world that is set up in such a way that girls are programmed from an early age to be insecure, to believe that something is wrong with them, that they constantly need to “improve,” wax, tighten, put on makeup… All with the underlying message: to be more attractive to men.

The world shouts from every direction: something is missing in you. And when such behavior comes from those close to you, it only adds fuel to the fire.

A man can be a walrus and not lose his worth, but a woman has to be a runway model?! Nope. Not on my watch!

A woman can look exactly how she wants, as long as she feels good in her own skin.

Read that again!

And how did the story from the beginning end?

This was one of those situations where the bully needed to be shown, in a polite and perhaps to him incomprehensible way, that his behavior was unacceptable.

So I demonstratively stood up, walked over to the so-called “alpha male,” and casually remarked:

“Good thing you’re the spitting image of Brad Pitt.”

He didn’t expect that.

Neither did she.

A faint smile of silent agreement and female solidarity lit up her face.

I’m tired of sitting and watching, staying silent, and thereby tacitly approving such behavior. I know I won’t change him or his actions, but I can hope that she knows she’s not alone—and that she finds the strength to stand up for herself, for her own sake, and even more for the sake of the little girl playing carefreely by her feet.