Pretty, Fit, Hypocrite

TW: Eating Disorders, Eating Disorder Behaviours

Kiera checked the lighting in her phone’s camera, adjusting her platinum blonde hair to make sure no unruly strands were sticking out. Satisfied with her soft makeup look, she reapplied her dusty pink lipstick, smacking her lips together and flashing a quick smile to make sure nothing was in her teeth. Her outfit for the video—a matching activewear crop top and leggings—had been carefully selected to flatter her figure.

Everything was laid out on the kitchen counter in front of her, Pinterest-worthy, ready for the shot. Fresh fruit cut up and portioned into ramekins, NutriBullet plugged in. She sucked in her stomach, tensing her muscles before hitting record.

“Hey guys! As promised, tonight I’m showing you how to make my favourite post-workout smoothie.” She showcased each item before placing it into the blender, her long manicured nails visible in every shot. “Dairy-free, gluten-free, sugar-free, and completely guilt-free. And it tastes delicious!”

As she chatted away to her screen, she heard her stomach rumble audibly. It didn’t matter; she could edit that part out later, if needed. Once she had added all the ingredients, she pressed the power button. The blender whirred and buzzed as she gave a wink to the camera.

While the blender continued to crush and pulverise its contents, her stomach rumbled again, this time with familiar hunger pangs. She’d finished work and gone straight to the gym for her second workout of the day before hitting the sauna for an hour. By the time she’d got home, it was already 9 pm and she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.

Kiera observed the contents of the blender unenthusiastically and couldn’t help picture a big bowl of pasta—with extra cream and extra cheese. A wave of guilt washed over her for even entertaining a fantasy that clashed with her strict no-carb diet and gluten-free lifestyle.

With the camera still rolling, she expertly poured the smoothie into a glass filled with crushed ice and took a sip. “Perfection!” she commented with well-rehearsed enthusiasm. “And the best thing about this is, it’ll keep you nice and full.” That was a lie.

After she was done filming, she sipped the smoothie slowly, letting each mouthful linger before swallowing. It had to keep her going; this was dinner.

Sitting on the couch editing her reel, she tried to ignore her stomach’s protests, begging for something more than crushed ice and fruit. Her thoughts wandered back to the cheesy pasta fantasy while her gaze shifted back and forth to the fridge.

After editing, she posted the story to her page and watched as likes and comments filled her screen.

That looks amazing!

Thanks for the recipe, Kiera—will try that today.

I hope I can look like you someday.

The dopamine rush felt good, but as always, it was fleeting, leaving her with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

But then again, her stomach was literally empty, the ice and fruit well and truly digested by now.

Suddenly agitated, Kiera got up from the couch and busied herself with cleaning while her mind continued to torture her with images of food, and not the ‘guilt-free’ kind. It was risky staying in the kitchen around so much temptation, but she wanted to prove to herself that she was strong. Mind over matter.

Once everything was spotless and back in its place, Kiera plopped herself onto the couch and switched on the TV. She’d earned a rest, and the constant thoughts whirling in her brain were exhausting.

She flicked through the channels, sipping slowly on a hot cup of green tea, hoping it would do the trick and curb her appetite.

A low grumble of her stomach told her otherwise.

She noticed the fridge out of the corner of her eye, beckoning her, trying to lure her in.

Was it her imagination, or had it moved closer?

She shook her head and turned back to her show, but it was impossible to concentrate; the pangs of hunger intensified with each passing minute until they became intolerable.

Her body knew what was happening before her mind could catch on. As if on autopilot, she walked herself from the couch to the kitchen, a jar of crunchy peanut butter appearing in her hand.

At first, it was slow, controlled—just one spoon. Then, another spoonful, and another, until she abandoned the spoon altogether and used her fingers to scoop out the contents. Soon, she had finished the entire jar.

At this point, the hunger had taken over—it was primal. She rummaged through the fridge, grabbing whatever she could find, and devouring it in any order; pickles, then ice cream, then pickles again, bread and butter, cereal straight out the box; cheese that had been sitting in her fridge for weeks.

No enjoyment, no pleasure, just an instinct to eat, to numb, to fill that emptiness.

Ten minutes later, she emerged from the frenzy, dazed and disoriented. A food coma was an understatement. Kiera stared at the mess on the counter, her mind crunching the numbers, adding up the calories she had just consumed.

What had she done?

She couldn’t believe how much she’d eaten.

You’re a pig! Her mind screamed—fat pig, fat pig, fat pig—taunting her like a schoolyard bully.

The shame was overwhelming.

Wasting no time, she sprinted to the bathroom and shoved her fingers down her throat, desperate to rid her body of everything.

Over and over, she retched, purging her body of food and shame, until only bile came up.

Tears streamed down her face as she rose and looked in the mirror, wiping away spit and vomit from her lips. Her previously flawless face was smeared with tears and mascara, her hair a tangled, sweaty mess.

As she stared at her reflection, she noticed—perhaps for the first time—the person behind the curated image. Beneath the façade of health and perfection was a gaunt face, deep purple bags and hollow, bloodshot eyes.

“You’re a fraud,” she spat out, her voice hoarse and rasping.

But it was far from over; Kiera braced herself for another sleepless night of eating and numbing, purging and releasing—and repeat.