The Aesthetic Version of Real
The heat aimed at Grounded in the Stars says far more about us than it does about the statue. In an era dominated by filter culture, surgical enhancements, and performative “body positivity,” we’re still deeply bound to Eurocentric beauty standards. Slim, sculpted, smooth—these are the features we’re conditioned to celebrate. If you’re not thin or symmetrical, you’d better at least be exceptional.
The statue, however, asks us to recognize beauty in the everyday. She isn’t a celebrity. She’s not a symbol of success or struggle. She just is. And that’s what unsettles people.
When Authenticity Is Too Real
This discomfort isn’t new. In today’s curated world, it’s been amplified. We live in a time where “natural beauty” is often code for minimalistic glam, not truly untouched. Even the movements that claim to embrace authenticity are often repackaged, retouched, and filtered for palatability. There’s a clear preference for the aesthetic version of real: soft edges, symmetrical features, curated imperfections.
Stylist GooGoo Atkins addressed this head-on in a recent Instagram post. She shared two photos from a 2015 shoot—one taken on a phone, the other professionally edited:
“Regardless of whether you think the picture on the left (or right) is amazing, it’s the real me (with a lil makeup 😉)…What I’m not about to do is take a picture as GooGoo and edit it to look like Esmeralda Fantastica!”
Atkins wasn’t just critiquing the culture of over-editing, but also naming the root of the issue: there is societal discomfort with showing up as our authentic selves.
“YOU LOOK HOW YOU LOOK. Your audience has two options: they can take it or they can leave it,” she notes. In a world increasingly obsessed with digital perfection, this kind of radical self-acceptance feels revolutionary.
She ended with: “…they’re chasing something that DOES NOT exist. PERFECTION is a myth.”
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The Audacity of Unapologetic Presence
This is the core of why Grounded in the Stars became a lightning rod. The woman cast in bronze is not chasing anything. She’s not edited. She’s not tailored to trends. She simply stands confident, composed, and unapologetically herself. For many, that kind of visibility feels confrontational.
Singer Lizzo, a frequent target of similar critiques, recognized the parallel. In a now-viral video, she posed beside the statue, playing a clip from comedian Katt Williams: “You can be fat. You can be Black. But you can’t be no fat, Black, bitch.” The line—raw, biting, and heartbreakingly real—highlighted a truth many Black women know too well. Society tolerates our visibility only when it fits a narrow mold.
