At first, I didn’t want to review I Feel Pretty. I’d seen the trailers, where an average-sized woman expresses confidence in her average body for laughs, and I decided the movie was going to be infuriating. Other people would adequately tear it apart, I figured, without me throwing my 500 words into the void. Being a woman is already exhausting, and I wanted to sit this one out. Just this once. I am tired.
But then I realized I’d spent a fair amount of time crafting a thoughtful “No way in hell am I subjecting myself to this garbage” e-mail to my editor. I’d read (and hearted!) the cutting tweets and posts that criticized I Feel Pretty’s offensive trailer. And since I follow I Feel Pretty’s stars, Amy Schumer and Aidy Bryant, on Instagram, I’d read all the statements they (or their publicists) had written in defense of the film. Sure, I rolled my eyes every time, but I also kept reading. Whether I liked it or not, I was paying attention. I was in this. Didn’t I owe it to myself, and to other women who like comedies, to give I Feel Pretty a chance?