I am good enough and beautiful just the way I am.

Think about how you look at a photograph of someone you love. You don't audit it. You see them — the way they stand, the particular expression that means they are about to say something unkind and funny.

Then a photo of yourself arrives and a completely different instrument comes out, one that measures in millimetres and finds against you.

Nobody who loves you is running that instrument. They have never once seen the thing you would point at first. This isn't reassurance so much as a correction of the record: the version being marked down exists in one viewing only, and it is not the one anybody else attends.