36-24-36

Shattering the Illusion of the Perfect Body

Whoever came up with those three numbers must’ve been holding a Barbie doll. I’m not a disaster, but I’m definitely not Miss Universe either. I’ve got curves. And honestly? I’ve stopped caring.

In China, the 36-24-36 body measurements are considered the gold standard for a woman’s “perfect” figure. Chest, waist, and hips as measured in inches. If you don’t fit those numbers, well, you’re just the “before” photos.

I remember being a teenager and learning about my body. I measured myself—32-26-33. Dang! Nowhere near 36-24-36. Maybe I’ll try next year, I thought. Like I’m training for the national swim team?

I already felt like my body wasn’t good enough because I didn’t meet some random number that society had shoved into my head. And then came the well-meaning aunts: “Men like bigger hips. You need them to give birth like a champ.” Thanks, Auntie. That’s exactly what I needed to hear.

But let’s be honest, the pressure on men is just as ruthless. Society tells them they need to be the provider: strong, silent, and financially stacked, but also emotionally available (just not too sensitive). It’s like trying to juggle a million personality traits. Be the breadwinner, do the kids’ homework, mow the lawn, take out the trash, and listen to her gajillion feelings when they’ve checked everything off. No pressure.

And don’t even get me started on social media. It’s the cherry on top of this unrealistic sundae. Everyone posts perfect bodies, perfect homes, perfect relationships. We scroll through and wonder, “Am I doing this wrong?” The truth? We probably are. Keeping up with the Kardashians? Please. It’s all fake—just like most of their body.

Here’s what I learned, even after working in the modeling industry: whether you’re 36-24-36 or 32-26-33 (or any other combo), it doesn’t define you.

Perfection is a myth. We’re all chasing someone else’s idea of beauty, and it’s exhausting.

For the guys out there: stop trying to fit into the mold of “the provider” and “the emotional rock” all in one. You’re allowed to be more than just your paycheck and your abs.

I’m a number nerd myself, so trust me—these equations don’t add up. And if you’re stepping on a scale? Your weight means nothing unless you’re free-range fancy meat sold by the pound.

We’re Okay

So, why not take a collective deep breath? Stop comparing ourselves to arbitrary digits and embrace the fact that we’re all perfectly imperfect.