Please stop making fun of Benedict Cumberbatch’s chin.
For that matter, please stop making fun of everyone ever for any arbitrary part of their body or physical appearance.
Because that is a douchey thing to do. Because that perpetuates a culture wherein those things are done, and can be done to you. Because you are participating in your own marginalization and the marginalization of those you love when you do so. Because upholding a narrow beauty standard is shitty. Because it’s impossible to comment on one person’s appearance without also commenting on someone else’s.
Which brings us back to Benedict Cumberbatch and his chin.
I like Benedict Cumberbatch’s chin. My favourite part of it is that he’s gorgeous while having it.
See. I have a weak chin. My chin has two settings.
Setting 1: No Chin. Where’s the chin? There is no chin. I am a q-tip head.
Setting 2: ALL THE CHINS. Use them to teach your preschoolers to count!
This has been true about me my whole life. Even while thin! Which I am not any more! But even when I was thin, I was still Girl Of The Nonexistant Or Overexistant Chin.
It also would not be in any way an exaggeration to say that for most of my life it was (and is) the single greatest point of physical self-consciousness for me. That if a magical fairy came and said I could change only one part of my body, even as I started getting fat (generally [and wrongly] considered THE WORST THING TO BE) this chin would have been the thing I asked to change.
It made me hate photos of myself. It made me believe no one could ever find me pretty. And since it’s not something easily fixed by plastic surgery I couldn’t even fantasize about if it were different.
I used to, age 6 and 7 and 8 and 9 and 10 and 11 and 12 and on, grab the tiny and unavoidable little stip of fat under my chin and pull it as taught as possible to see if I could make my chin look different.
When people like the way Benedict Cumberbatch looks, it makes me feel good about myself. I don’t need the kinds of boosts I could have used when I was younger any more, as I’ve worked hard for many years to help myself to feel better about my looks, but still. When I see that Benedict Cumberbatch, with his funny chin like my funny chin, can still be sex on legs - Not even despite it, perhaps because. Because it adds to his whole look. Because he’s just overall attractive. - it makes reminds me that I can be attractive too.
And when people make fun of him, they are also making fun of me. And the way I look. Because when people make fun of Benedict it always comes down to that chin. And I feel 8 year old me already learning to hide from cameras. 12 year old me trying to pull her face into being something else in the mirror.
And that sucks.
So knock it off.
Because I may be old enough and wise enough to take it.
And Benedict may be a public figure who chose a career where he knew he would be scrutinized.
But I can promise you I’m not the last little kid who’s had these kinds of anxieties.
And it’s very possible the eleven-year-old version of me is on tumblr right now.
And she’s about to give up dating and give up boys and give up everything romantic and run away from photos and not try out for those roles in the play and give up figure skating and dance because she believes she isn’t pretty.
Because you just told her she isn’t.
And this goes for every other actor and every other physical trait you think is funny/unattractive.
Knock it the fuck off.