By Johanna Ferreira
September 24, 2026
The recent public speculation surrounding Jenna Ortega’s appearance has been difficult to watch—not because her physical form requires any explanation or defense, but because the response demonstrates just how acceptable society still finds it to discuss women’s bodies as though they are public property. Across social media, entertainment forums, and everyday conversations, women’s bodies remain open to relentless observation, assessment, and unsolicited criticism.
Having spent most of my life relatively thin, I am well aware that the comments I receive about my body do not equate to the systemic judgment and discrimination experienced by people in larger bodies. Still, this past year served as a stark reminder of how deeply normalized it has become to treat weight as public information. After I unintentionally lost weight while struggling with small intestinal bacterial overgrowth (SIBO)—at times finding myself unable to digest more than a single meal a day—neighbors and acquaintances began congratulating me. Their compliments reflected a culture so profoundly committed to thinness that visible weight loss was automatically interpreted as good news, completely divorced from the reality that I was unwell.
It is hardly a wonder that so many women struggle with body image issues and eating disorders in an environment where sickness is frequently mistaken for wellness simply because it aligns with societal beauty standards. In a July interview with Jay Shetty, actress Camila Mendes opened up about her ongoing struggles with bulimia, body image, and perfectionism during her time on the television series Riverdale. Mendes described how confusing it was to receive praise and compliments when she lost weight as a direct result of her eating disorder. That misplaced praise reinforced the dangerous idea that she looked her best at her thinnest, even when she was deeply unhealthy and suffering.
This dynamic points to a larger, exhausting truth about womanhood: no version of our physical selves ever seems to escape commentary. We are perpetually deemed too thin, too fat, or not curvy enough. People always seem to find something to observe, question, praise, criticize, or express concern over, and being on the receiving end of that continuous scrutiny is utterly exhausting.
For Latinas, that intense level of scrutiny often begins at a very young age. Many of us grow up within families and cultural environments where personal comments about women’s bodies are so thoroughly normalized that we do not always recognize them as boundary violations. One relative will casually tell you that you have gotten too skinny, while another is just as quick to point out that you have gained weight, with a tía readily offering a critique of your thighs or waist.
Growing up, my girl cousins frequently told me that I was too skinny and desperately needed to gain weight. Within my own family, one of my enduring nicknames has always been flaca. While it was almost always intended as a term of endearment, losing even a few pounds could suddenly transform that affection into a source of overt concern. Jokes and remarks about my thinness rarely bothered me personally, and I always knew they stemmed from a place of love. Yet, loving intentions do not erase the underlying, pervasive message: my body, like those of so many women, is readily available for others to evaluate and critique.
What makes this kind of scrutiny particularly complicated for Latinas is the dizzying array of contradictory expectations placed upon us. We are explicitly told to be thin—but never too thin. We are expected to be curvy, but under no circumstances "fat." Society demands that we be feminine and voluptuous, provided our stomachs remain entirely flat and our waists stay tiny. We are encouraged to eat and enjoy our food, only to be criticized the moment we gain any weight. Conversely, we are praised for losing weight, immediately followed by anxious inquiries about whether we are eating enough—a persistent question I have heard echoed throughout my entire life. No iteration of our bodies is ever simply allowed to exist.
This complex web of expectations is precisely why the recent public reaction to Jenna Ortega’s body felt so painfully familiar. The young actress found herself subjected to a wave of online commentary regarding her appearance, drawing unwarranted concern and speculation from strangers across the internet. In response to the chatter, her younger sister, Aliyah, recently stepped in to support a fan’s message reminding the public that Jenna “doesn’t owe anyone an explanation” for her body, a sentiment that is undeniably true.
The underlying principle is simple and long overdue: women should never have to explain why their physical forms look the way they do. And yet, here we are in 2026, still finding ourselves forced to repeat the same fundamental truth. A woman’s body is not a public question that she is ever required to answer.
