THE GOOD BODY

WRITTEN BY EVE ENSLER

EVE ENSLER known mononymously as V, is an American
playwright, performer, feminist, and activist.
 EVE ENSLER
--she came from a wealthy family from New York City, but
unfortunately, her father abused her physically and sexually, much to
the awareness of her own mother. –
--her greatest play hit is the “The Vagina Monologues” which became
an idea from discussing with a friend about her hatred with her vagina
(lmao).—

--Ensler learned to talked about her past experience through humor

and acceptance which she shares with others who deal with the same
pain as well.
--she created V-day Movement, a non-profit organization which raises
money and educates the public about violence against women and
efforts to stop it.
http://www.csun.edu/~sm60012/WS_300/OLD%20Group%20Projects/Eve%20Ensler%20webpage.htm#:~:text=Eve%20Ensler%20grew
%20up%20in,10%2C%20but%20her%20punishments%20continued.
 BACKGROUND KNOWLEDGE:

• The standard of beauty around the world tends to lean toward

the fair skin, thin bodies, and western features.
• Many believe that fashion industry and women’s magazine
construct a negative body image for women and which
resulted to usage of skin whitening creams, plastic surgeries,
and eating disorders.
• The excerpt comes from the play The Good Body, a series of
monologues performed by different women.
 THE GOOD BODY (AN EXCERPT)

My body will be mine when I’m thin. I will eat a little at a

time, small bites. I will vanquish ice cream. I will purge
with green juices. I will see chocolate as a poison and
pasta as a form of self-punishment. I will work not be full
again. Always moving toward full but never really full. I
will embrace my emptiness. I will ride into holy zones.
Let me be hungry. Let me starve. Please.
Bread is Satan. I stop
eating bread. This is the
same as not eating food.
Four days in, a scrawny
actress friend tells me, “Eve, your stomach has nothing to
do with your diet.” what? “It’s a change of life”, she says.
“All you need is some testosterone.” I try to imagine
what I would be like, totally bread deprived, and shot up
with some testosterone. “Serial Killer” comes to mind.
I’m walking down a New York
street, and I catch a glimpse of
this blond, pointy-breasted,
raisin-a-day stomached smiling girl
on the cover of Cosmo
magazine. She is there every
minute, somewhere in the
world, smiling down on me,
on all of us. She’s omnipresent.
She’s the American Dream. My
personal nightmare. Pumped
straight from the publishing powerplant into the bloodstream of
our culture and neurosis. She is multiplying on every corner.
She was passed through my mother’s milk and so I don’t even
know that I’m contaminated. Don’t get me wrong I pick up the
magazine. No, no, no. it’s the possibility of being skinny good
that keeps me buying. I discover starbucks maple walnut scone
expanding in me, creeping out. Flabby age leaking through the
cracks. Big macs, French fries, Pizza land, four helpings, can’t
stop. My stomach is America. I want to drown in the cement.
Obviously I’m missing something. Maybe if I go find the
woman who thought this up, she’ll reveal the secret.

-----end of excerpt-----