By Johanna Ferreira
September 24, 2026

The recent wave of public speculation and commentary regarding Jenna Ortega’s physical appearance has been difficult to watch. It is not simply because a young woman’s body does not require an explanation or a public defense, but rather because the reaction highlights a deeply ingrained cultural problem. It demonstrates just how acceptable people still find it to discuss women’s bodies as though they are public property—open to endless observation, uninvited assessment, and harsh criticism.

This pervasive entitlement to women’s physical forms is something that touches many lives, manifesting in different ways depending on body type, cultural background, and personal health struggles. 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, barriers, and discrimination experienced by people in larger bodies. Size privilege is real, and the societal penalty for living in a larger body carries severe psychological and physical consequences.

Still, experiences over the past year have served as a stark reminder of how deeply our society has normalized treating an individual’s weight as public information. After I unintentionally lost a noticeable amount of weight while struggling with Small Intestinal Bacterial Overgrowth (SIBO)—a debilitating gastrointestinal condition that at times left me unable to digest more than a single meal a day—neighbors and acquaintances began offering enthusiastic congratulations.

The well-meaning compliments I received reflected a culture so profoundly committed to thinness that visible weight loss is reflexively interpreted as good news. It did not seem to matter that the physical reduction was a symptom of illness, or that I was visibly struggling to maintain my health; the thinness itself was perceived as an automatic achievement.

When society conditions people to view weight loss as inherently positive, it creates a dangerous psychological environment. It is hardly any wonder that so many women struggle intensely with body image issues and eating disorders. The mixed signals sent by praise masquerading as compliments can be profoundly disorienting.

During a candid interview with Jay Shetty in July, actress Camila Mendes opened up about her own historical struggles with bulimia, body image, and perfectionism during her time on the hit television series Riverdale. Mendes described how confusing it was to receive praise and compliments from people when she lost weight due to her eating disorder. That reinforcement sent a damaging message, validating the idea that she looked her best at her thinnest, even when she was deeply unwell and suffering physically and mentally.

That, ultimately, is the inescapable reality of moving through the world as a woman: no version of our bodies ever seems to escape unsolicited commentary. Society keeps an ongoing scorecard where women are perpetually measured and found wanting. We are routinely deemed too thin, too fat, or not curvy enough. People always seem to find something to observe, question, praise, criticize, or express simulated worry over. Living under that constant microscope, and being on the receiving end of that unrelenting scrutiny, is profoundly exhausting.

For Latinas, that scrutiny frequently begins at a very tender age. Many of us grow up embedded in families and cultures where commentary about women’s bodies, eating habits, and physical development is so deeply normalized that we do not always recognize it as a violation of personal boundaries.

In many traditional households, the commentary flows freely. One relative pulls you aside to tell you that you have gotten far too skinny, while another is quick to point out that you have gained weight. An aunt feels entitled to comment directly on the shape of your thighs or the measurement of your waist. Growing up, my girl cousins frequently told me that I was far too skinny and desperately needed to gain weight. Within my own family, one of my enduring nicknames has always been flaca.

While that nickname was usually deployed as a term of endearment, and jokes about my thinness rarely bothered me because I knew they generally stemmed from a place of familial love, intent and impact are two different things. Loving intentions do not erase the underlying message being communicated: that my body is public domain, available for others to evaluate, monitor, and discuss openly.

What makes this kind of scrutiny particularly complicated and inescapable 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 should we be considered "fat." The cultural blueprint often demands that we remain feminine and voluptuous, provided that our stomachs remain perfectly flat and our waists impossibly tiny. We are simultaneously encouraged to enjoy food and our cultural dishes, only to be subtly or overtly criticized if we gain weight as a result. We are praised for losing weight, immediately followed by anxious inquiries about whether we are eating enough—a persistent question that I have heard echoed around me my entire life. No version of our bodies is ever simply allowed to exist in peace.

This intricate web of impossible standards helps explain why the recent reaction to Jenna Ortega’s body felt so painfully familiar to so many observers. The public obsession with her appearance prompted her younger sister, Aliyah, to step forward and publicly support a fan’s social media message. That message served as a necessary reminder to the public that Jenna does not owe anyone an explanation for her body, her weight, or her appearance.

The core principle at stake is remarkably simple: women should never have to explain why their bodies look the way they do, whether those changes are due to genetics, stress, demanding work schedules, illness, or personal choice. And yet, the fact that this conversation is still necessary underscores how far society still has to go. A woman’s body is not a public question, and it is certainly not an inquiry that she is ever required to answer.