In 1981, the compact disc was born, and so was Jasper Peach. Both arrivals, as Peach now reflects, were surprising and have drifted in and out of fashion ever since. It is a parallel that frames a lifetime of navigating shifting attitudes toward bodies — from the celebration of a “majestic chonk lord” baby, through the sting of childhood exclusion, to the eventual adoption of a philosophy that offers what body positivity could not: a quiet, sustainable peace.
Childhood and the Weight of Other People’s Eyes
Peach, who is trans, non-binary and disabled, recalls that from a young age, their presence seemed to offend others. At seven, after turning the skipping rope for everyone else, they asked for a turn. Another child explained why not: “You’re too fat to skip.” The lesson stuck. Children learn hierarchy from adults, Peach notes, and from peers. Their classmates had learned to see them as something to mock and despise.
Even well-meaning family members reinforced the message. Peach’s father sat them down and told them nobody would love, trust or employ them because of their body shape. It did not shock them; they had already absorbed what everyone was putting down. Overriding genetics and environment was a tall order, but Peach learned early that leaning into intelligence and humour might compensate for the space they took up. This was the era of Weight Watchers, Aerobics Oz Style and heroin chic. The ideal body was unattainable and contradictory — muscular only if male, thin but not unfeminine, and “thunder thighs” were the worst insult. Breakfast cereals promised answers, BMI had not yet been exposed as a flawed and racist metric, and failing to look “just right” was a moral failure. Peach kept their head down until their mid-20s.
The Promise and Pitfalls of Body Positivity
The fat acceptance movement had begun decades earlier — spearheaded in the 1960s largely by Black and queer women, with the core philosophy “change society, not ourselves” — but it took until the 2010s for body positivity to reach the mainstream. For Peach, it felt like stark relief from a lifetime in the shame corner. Body positivity was a philosophy that stared down overt and implied criticism of shape, size, ability and skin tone, and offered an alternative: all historically marginalised bodies should be embraced with reverence.
Yet, like most things, the movement was quickly scooped up by advertisers to sell clothes and lifestyles. The people it had served were discarded. It became acceptable to be fat, provided you were also conventionally beautiful and heavily airbrushed. The pressure to “love your body” could itself become a burden, particularly for those with chronic pain, progressive diagnoses, or bodies that did not conform to the sanitised imagery the commercial version demanded.
The Principles of Body Neutrality
Then came body neutrality. Where body positivity insisted that everything about everyone’s appearance was gorgeous, body neutrality is devoid of hierarchy. “My body is fat” is a true statement, Peach explains; it does not need to be couched in compliments. It is as accurate as saying “a disco ball is shiny” or “that grass is green”. The emphasis shifts from loving your body to accepting and respecting it, appreciating its function — what it does for you — rather than its appearance.
Peach draws a simple analogy: being cold and getting a jumper. You would neither celebrate nor criticise someone for feeling cold or for wanting to be warm. Similarly, a body is not wrong because it is cold, and it is not wrong because it is fat. You are not an amazing person simply because you choose to eat an apple instead of hot chips. This approach reduces the pressure of constant self-appreciation. For Peach, body neutrality also pairs well with autism and a love of the literal. They could never settle on what they believed about their own body when they were so focused on what everyone else thought. Having understood every hateful statement hurled at them to be accurate, they can now file those thoughts away with other outdated notions — prescribing heroin for toothaches, or low-rise skinny jeans.
The philosophy offers a middle ground. It acknowledges that size is not solely determined by self-control. Genetics, environment and economics all come into play. Dr Emma Beckett, a nutrition scientist and author consulted by Peach for their children’s book, notes that in her own household, siblings with nearly identical food intake and movement had differently shaped bodies. The same is true across the broader community. The conflation of health with appearance remains a subject of debate, but body neutrality sidesteps that by focusing on what a body can do, not what it looks like.
Personal Application: Raising Children Without Shame
Peach’s decision to write a children’s book about body neutrality, My Body is My Home, illustrated by Beci Orpin, grew from a desire to introduce these concepts early. Research shows children as young as five can express concerns about their bodies and dieting; body dissatisfaction can begin in youth. Peach spoke with Dr Beckett and others to ensure the book was grounded in science and sensitivity.
At home, Peach and their wife have tried to use neutral language with their children — no forced positivity, no heavy shame. Bodies are described the same way anything else is described. One of their dogs resembles a wiggly pile of wigs; the tree out front is tall. The way their children describe them, unprompted, makes their heart sing. A few weeks ago, their nine-year-old asked if bodies change and “get bigger in their tummies” when they grow up. Peach explained that bodies do change but tend to follow their own patterns, and that we respond to joy and safety just as much as movement and nutrition. After bedtime stories, sleeepy and milksweet, the boy patted Peach’s upper arms and said: “I love these floppy bits, they’re so good for cuddles.” There was no manufactured consolation in his words. Peach felt as if they were watching harm dissolve before it could take hold.
If they had been taught about body neutrality as a child, Peach says, they cannot begin to imagine how much easier things could have been — not just for them, but for everyone convinced that their size was the result of being weak-willed or broken. In 1981, CDs were born, and so was Peach. Neither has stayed in fashion, but there has always been a place for them — and there always will be.
