'The 2000s ruined my relationship with my body. Here's the evidence.'

'Can I sue the 2000s for damages?'

That was my question after reading Lucinda 'Froomes' Price's book All I Ever Wanted Was To Be Hot, a forensic examination of self-image and western beauty standards set against an early 2000s backdrop. Smart, fierce and often very funny, the book explores the media-induced body dysmorphia that came to define the era, as well as Price's own eating disorders and relationship with cosmetic surgery. It left me breathless with rage.

To explain why, I have to use that all-too-ubiquitous pop psychology buzzword — 'triggered'. Price's book triggered me beyond belief, because like her, I also came of age in the 2000s (if by 'coming of age' you mean 'transitioning from 20 years old to 30', which I do). And I, too, was unhealthily obsessed with my appearance.

During the aughts, I felt overweight all the time, despite my size 10 figure. I constantly monitored my looks and appraised myself in every reflective surface — a habit I still can't break in my 40s. I caked my face in make-up and blasted my hair, first with scorching hot hairdryers and later, GHD straighteners. Lying in bed each night, I ran my hands over my belly, anxiously making sure I could still feel jutting hipbones at the bottom and ribs at the top. I purchased beauty products and magazines, hoping to buy my way out of ugliness.

During the aughts, I felt overweight all the time, despite my size 10 figure. Image: Supplied.

Unfortunately, this is fairly common behaviour for a girl in her 20s, regardless of the time period. But in drawing a clear line between her own self-surveillance and cultural phenomena such as Victoria's Secret and The Pussycat Dolls, Price proves that the fat-shaming, body policing, celebrity bashing and train-wreck spotting of the 2000s had a direct and lasting impact on her mental and physical health — a correlation that rang true for me.

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More recently, I discovered Sophie Gilbert's book Girl on Girl, which looks at the fragmented feminism of the aughts and shows how 'every form of media, heavily influenced by the rise of porn, has shaped and warped women's relationships with themselves and other women'. In it, Gilbert tries to understand how 'a whole generation of women came to believe that sex was our currency, our objectification was empowering, and we were a joke.'

Reading that, the toxic traits, disastrous relationships, and raging insecurities of my 20s began to make more sense. I feel so sad for baby me, who was trying so hard. I rose high on compliments paid when I was skinny from stress or wearing something revealing, then sank low with every perceived rejection. To this day, I still battle crippling self-loathing whenever I go up a dress size (which in middle age is basically inescapable, hurray). I'd always assumed these things were character flaws, but what if they weren't? What if they could've been avoided?

That's when I started feeling litigious.

Image: Supplied.

Obviously, I can't blame all my troubles on those years. But oh, to have my day in court!

I'd happily list their crimes, gleefully call forth witnesses. I'd seek compensation for emotional and physical distress, cultural whiplash and money spent on therapy. I'd cite the loss of valuable time, love and brain space. I recall how I sustained serious chafing from all those visible G-strings. And I would win my case, because no judge could possibly deny that we'd all been gaslit.

Exhibits A-Z. Sex and the City and The O.C. were sold as peak female representation, but in fact, each doll-like character's life revolved around chasing men, pleasing men and buying stuff. Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie were the embodiments of wealth and success, but their trade was ridicule and infantilisation (In her memoir, Paris ascribes her famous baby voice to chronically tensing her neck and shoulders in fear). Hugh Hefner purported to love women, but Playboy turned out to be a violently abusive sex cult. And don't even get me started on P Diddy.

My victim impact statement would detail my own quest for desirability. In trying to be Rachel from Friends, I set myself up for a lifetime of ill-fitting clothes and impossible expectations. In emulating Carrie Bradshaw, I put myself in countless uncomfortable positions with men I didn't really like, and consented to a lot of sex I didn't really want.

Image: Supplied.

Through osmosis, I learned how to be good in bed, but never once even considered my own pleasure. To rack up my 'cool girl' points, I bought porn for my boyfriend, not realising the direct link between it and the sh***y way I was being treated.

As further evidence, I'd submit the following: Size zero, 'It' Girls, crop tops, low-rise jeans, Jessica Alba, America's Next Top Model, The Biggest Loser, The Girls Next Door, makeover shows and Anna Nicole Smith. I'd follow up with the celebrity memoirs of Britney Spears, Demi Moore, Rose McGowan, Jessica Simpson, Pamela Anderson, Crystal Hefner and Jennette McCurdy — all game-changing re-evaluations of what we once considered 'entertainment'.

Then, to hammer the point home, I'd force the jurors to watch a string of teen sex comedies, starting with American Pie, a film in which — as Alice Bolin explains in her brilliant essay collection Culture Creep — "Sex is the goal, virginity the antagonist and girls the gatekeepers — the ones who are standing in the way of the heroes' glorious and rightful destiny." (Hello, Elliot Rodger.)

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But at least things are different now, right? We don't think that way anymore… do we? To answer that question, I'd like to call upon Andrew Tate, TikTok, Ozempic, the Trad-Wife movement, pro-natalism, 'hot girl summers' and Maison Margiela Couture, whose recent collection featured an aesthetic so dehumanising and torturous it prompted a deluge of social media comments demanding to know why fashion hates women. The floor is yours, fellas.

Concluding remarks would be difficult. I'd want to twist the knife, really go for the jugular, but I suspect I'd choke in the moment. Because, in spite of everything, I am still fond of those stupid years. We had some good times, and rage is only helpful to a point. So I'd simply hand the mic back to Sophie Gilbert, who understands the power of reappraisal.

'Analysing history together is, above all, an expression of hope,' she would say, quoting from her book. 'By understanding all the ways in which women have been diminished and broken down in the past, we can identify and defuse those same attacks in the present.'

And then I'd sit back and wait for the verdict.

Feature Image: Supplied.