Will we ever tire of able-bodied writers telling us how they've learned to love their their fat, their freckles, their stretch-marks, man-boobs, double-chin, wrinkles, receding hairline or any other of a multitude of perceived physical flaws?

Feeling good about one's body or appearance is an admirable ambition, but it's hardly a human right.

If you accept the way you look, you shouldn't feel the need to write 2000 words about how you now know you're "beautiful".

The idea we should be "happy" about anything in our lives is a remarkably Western one. The concept we must have "body acceptance" - particularly when all the bits are present and functioning properly - is just another microcosm of how little we actually have to worry about in our plush iphone prisons.

People might think they deserve not to have others judge them on this or that body part, but it's a fool's gambit expecting universal kindness, discretion or even politeness in the real world, where we all have faces and face consequences.