When Emily Ratajkowski released her debut essay collection, the internet basically had a collective meltdown. People couldn't wrap their heads around it. How could a woman who built a multimillion-dollar empire on her physical appearance—someone who essentially became the face of the "Instagram face" era—be the one to dismantle the very system that made her?
It felt like a glitch in the matrix.
My Body by Emily Ratajkowski isn't some ghostwritten vanity project filled with generic "girl boss" platitudes. Honestly, it’s a lot darker than that. It’s a book about the sheer exhaustion of being watched, priced, and eventually, stolen. If you went into this expecting a light memoir about runway shows and Hollywood parties, you probably came away feeling a little rattled.
The Myth of Empowerment
We’ve been sold this idea that baring it all is the ultimate feminist act. "My body, my choice," right? Ratajkowski takes that narrative and turns it inside out. She talks about the "Blurred Lines" music video, the 2013 breakout moment that defined her career.
For years, she defended it. She called it empowering.
But in the book, she admits that Robin Thicke groped her on set. She describes the chilling realization that even in a space where she felt "in control," she was still just an object to be manipulated by more powerful men. This is the central tension of her writing. She acknowledges that her beauty is a "superpower" that gave her financial independence, but it’s a power that only exists as long as men find her desirable.
It’s a trap. A lucrative, gold-plated trap.
Buying Back the Stolen Self
The most famous essay in the collection, "Buying Myself Back," originally appeared in New York Magazine and it is a gut-punch. It’s not just about her. It’s about the legal absurdity of the modeling world.
Think about this: Ratajkowski was once sued by a paparazzo for posting a photo of herself on her own Instagram. Let that sink in. She didn't own the rights to her own face.
She also details the nightmare involving photographer Jonathan Leder. In 2012, she did a shoot that she thought was for a small magazine. Years later, Leder released a book of hundreds of those photos—many of them incredibly intimate and taken without her express consent for that purpose—and profited off them.
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She tried to buy the photos back. She tried to stop him. She couldn't.
"I have learned that my image, my reflection, is not my own."
That line from the book sums up the weird, dissociative reality of being a "top" model. You aren't a person; you're a stock option. You're a brand that everyone else seems to have a stake in except you.
Why the Critics Are Split
The backlash was predictable. People love to point out the hypocrisy. They ask, "If she hates the male gaze so much, why does she keep posting bikini photos?"
It’s a fair question, but it also misses the point of the book. Ratajkowski isn't claiming to have solved the problem. She’s admitting she’s still stuck in it. She’s a "cog in the machine," as some critics put it, but she's a cog that has started to scream.
My Body doesn't offer a clean resolution. It doesn't tell you how to "fix" the patriarchy or how to feel perfectly comfortable in your skin. Instead, it offers a messy, uncomfortable look at what happens when your only currency is something that inevitably fades.
Key Themes You Might Have Missed
- The Motherhood Shift: The book ends with the birth of her son, Sylvester. It’s one of the few moments where she feels her body is "useful" for something other than being looked at.
- Parental Influence: She’s remarkably candid about her mother’s obsession with her beauty, showing how the pressure to be "special" started long before she ever signed a contract.
- The Dissociation: She frequently describes looking at photos of herself and not recognizing the person in them. It’s a survival mechanism for an industry that treats people like mannequins.
What This Means for the Rest of Us
Most of us aren't world-famous models. We don't have millions of followers or David Fincher on speed dial. But in the age of social media, we’re all participating in the "attention economy" to some degree.
We all curate. We all filter. We all wonder how we look from the outside.
Ratajkowski’s experiences are extreme, but the underlying anxiety is universal. The "prettiness scale," as she calls it, is infinite. You can never be enough.
Actionable Insights for Moving Forward
If you’ve read the book or are thinking about it, here are some ways to apply these heavy themes to your own life without getting overwhelmed by the existential dread:
- Audit Your Consumption: Notice how you feel after scrolling through perfectly curated feeds. If it makes you feel like a "product" rather than a person, hit the unfollow button.
- Define Ownership: In a digital world, your data and your image are frequently sold. Be intentional about what you share and why. Is it for your own joy, or for someone else’s validation?
- Acknowledge the Gray Areas: You can be a feminist and still care about your appearance. You can enjoy fashion and still hate the industry’s toxicity. Holding two conflicting truths at once is the most human thing you can do.
- Read Beyond the Headlines: Don't let the "clickbait frenzy" define your opinion of complex topics. Whether it’s Ratajkowski’s book or any other controversial piece of media, the nuance is usually found in the pages, not the tweets.
Ultimately, My Body is a reminder that even the people who seem to have "won" the game of beauty are often just as tired of playing it as the rest of us. It’s a call to look at the structures behind the screen rather than just the face on it.