An Ode to My Thick Thighs

Three dates in, the man who would become my husband told me that he loved my “thick thighs.” I was 24 years old at the time and luckily, by that point, finally secure with my robust femoral region. I thanked him, but I also warned him that should he find himself dating other women in the future, he might want to be careful with this particular compliment. He seemed genuinely taken aback. Who wouldn’t appreciate thick thighs? To him, they signaled vitality and strength. Oh, if only the rest of our culture shared his reverence. I first became self-conscious about my thick thighs in the sixth grade, the same grade that my daughter will enter this week. She and I have always been sturdy females, lean but strong, with dense bones and muscles that make doctors tsk tsk over our BMI. It was in my 12th year of life that I noticed my thighs spread to what I considered grotesque proportions when I sat down and they still kissed in the middle when I stood up. I thought there was something wrong with me. One of my best friends had made a similar observation about her own thighs, so we started the “Thick Thigh Club” to make ourselves feel better. Website