Me, You and Technogym

Looking back at the pieces I have written, I realise the body keeps returning.

Not because I have decided to turn MOREL into a fitness magazine. That would be fairly ambitious, considering I have always been a little lazy.

It returns because image is difficult to escape now.

Perhaps it always mattered. Of course it did. But now we look at it far more often. We photograph it, measure it, compare it. And above all, we have an endless supply of other bodies available to make us feel suddenly inadequate.

I do not think there is anything wrong with taking care of yourself.

Training can make you feel better. Feeling stronger can make you feel better. Looking in the mirror and liking yourself a little more can be wonderful.

The question is when that pleasure stops being pleasure.

And starts giving orders.

We used to play sport

My generation had a different relationship with all this.

You played sport at school, joined a team, kicked a ball around, swam, cycled — or you did very little. Gyms existed, obviously, but they were not yet such an important part of identity, social life and, in some circles, belonging.

We played sport.

Today, much more often, we build the body.

They are not quite the same thing.

I do not want to become a professional “in my day” bore. Every generation has had its obsessions, and some of ours were considerably worse.

And the gym now has another role that I genuinely value.

It is somewhere people meet. At a time when many of us live alone, work from home, speak through screens and can even order dinner without seeing another human being, a place where you recognise faces and exchange a few words can be real social contact.

Good.

But there is another question.

What happens when belonging to that place starts to feel as though it also requires looking like the people in it?

The mirror never says enough

You go in to feel better.

Then you notice the man beside you. Broader shoulders. The one in front: more chest. The one on the bench: more defined.

Your personal trainer tells you that you can do a little more.

Of course you can.

Then you go home and carry on comparing without even noticing. Instagram. TikTok. Advertising. Photographs. Before and after. Other bodies, other results, other goals.

You do not need a psychology textbook to understand the mechanism: we compare ourselves with what we see. The difference now is that what we see does not end when we leave the gym.

Slowly, the scale changes.

Three years ago you would have paid to have the body you have today.

Today you look at it and mostly see what is missing.

That is the part that interests me. Not improvement itself.

Getting used to improvement until it no longer feels like enough.

The mirror has one flaw: question it for long enough and eventually it will find something else to correct.

After the CV comes the passport

I have already written about the body as a CV — the way it can enter a room a few seconds before us and be read, classified and judged.

But perhaps there is a next stage.

When the body is no longer there only to be assessed.

It becomes a way of feeling admitted.

In some gay circles this can be especially visible.

Not everywhere. Not for everyone.

But pretending it does not exist would be rather convenient.

The body becomes a code. A way to be visible, desirable, still in the game.

Gym. Definition. Age. Photos. Sexual position. Tribes. Categories.

A sort of identity card with abs.

And then comes the paradox.

A perfect body may be an entry ticket. It does not guarantee anyone will want to stay in the room.

I know that from experience too.

I have had boyfriends with magnificent gym-built bodies. Some were also narcissistic, boring and, at times, almost unbearable.

The muscle had not solved the problem.

And the opposite has happened too: I have judged someone quickly and later discovered, through conversation, something I had completely missed in the photograph.

Charm has this irritating habit.

It does whatever it likes.

It does not always cooperate with abs.

Me, you and Technogym

Then there is the point when the gym can enter the relationship as well.

You.

Him.

And Technogym.

Dinner? Depends on training.

Weekend away? Let us check whether the hotel has a gym.

Holiday? Lovely, although perhaps not seven whole days without weights.

I am not mocking people who train seriously. Discipline can be a wonderful thing.

But if missing one workout produces anxiety, irritation or guilt, perhaps it is worth asking at least one question.

The line between passion and obsession is not written in the number of hours spent at the gym.

It is in the freedom.

If you can stop without feeling that something is collapsing, you are probably still making the decision.

If you cannot, the relationship may have become more complicated.

Bigger, leaner, more everything

Then the eye gets used to things.

This is not only about gyms.

We see it in cosmetic treatments too.

A small change. Then another. A little more volume, cheekbone, lip. A little more muscle. A little more definition.

Very little feels extreme while it is happening.

The boundary moves slowly, millimetre by millimetre.

And sometimes, looking at a photograph from ten years earlier, we realise that in trying to become “better” we have simply become very different.

I have no interest in deciding where somebody else’s limit should be. That is exactly the sort of tribunal I am trying to leave.

But there is one question worth asking:

when did we stop knowing what enough means?

Because the more we alter the body, the more we can alter our own measuring system as well.

And when we finally notice, going backwards is not always as simple as deciding that we would like to.

The fashionable body

The most absurd part is that the ideals keep changing.

One year you should be lean. Then big. Then shredded.

Then comes the dad bod.

Then belly.

Then chubby becomes almost a cult.

Then the abs return.

Women have known this game for much longer.

Thin. Curvy. More breast. Less breast. More bum. Tiny waist. Natural. Enhanced. Then natural again, provided it is naturally perfect.

It is exhausting just writing the list.

If the body becomes fashion, we risk treating ourselves like a seasonal collection.

There is one slight problem.

Fashion changes. The body stays with us.

Of course we look first

At this point it would be ridiculous to pretend beauty does not matter.

Of course it matters.

Sexual interest often begins with the eyes.

A beautiful face can put someone at the top of the list instantly. A great body can start desire. Sometimes an arse is enough.

We do not need to turn everything into philosophy.

For years, I must admit, I got away with a cover-model arse.

Today, unfortunately, it no longer makes quite the same difference.

And perhaps that is exactly the point.

When one part of us has worked very well for a long time, we can begin to treat it like a pension.

It is not.

And even if the person beside us has the most beautiful body in the world, our eyes do not stop noticing everybody else.

Someone will walk past with a better arse. More chest. More youth. More something.

And for three seconds our brain will decide this is vital information.

So what do we do with that?

Beauty can win the first round. It does not sign the contract for life.

If our security depends on always being the most desirable body in the room, we are already in trouble.

Sooner or later somebody with more something will walk in.

What Technogym cannot teach

And then there is everything else.

Charm. Class. Manners. Naturalness. Humour. Presence. The ability to listen. The way somebody feels when they are beside you.

Class, at least as I mean it, does not belong to a social class.

Anyone can have it.

And somebody dressed head to toe in expensive things can be completely without it.

Clothes can flatter us. Jewellery can please us. A trained body can make us feel magnificent.

But none of them can do the rest of the work for us.

You can have a perfect body and no grace.

You can wear a very expensive watch and have no sense of proportion.

You can look immaculate and still make dinner feel endless after seven minutes.

The body can open a door. It does not know what to say once it gets inside.

Some qualities can be cultivated. Manners. Curiosity. Sensitivity. The ability not to occupy every inch of the room.

But constructing the image of a charming person does not make us charming.

Sometimes the opposite happens.

The harder we try to look interesting, the more visible the effort becomes.

Better groomed, less satisfied

Perhaps the larger question is this.

We have never had so many tools for improving our appearance.

Gyms. Nutrition. Cosmetics. Surgery. Treatments. Apps. Filters. Information. Programmes. Coaches.

And I am not convinced all of this has made us proportionally more satisfied.

Perhaps it has made us better groomed.

But also better trained at finding a flaw.

More aware of the body.

And sometimes more enslaved by it.

That does not mean we should stop taking care of ourselves. That would be a silly conclusion.

Perhaps it means recovering a much less glamorous word.

Moderation.

Feel well. Look pleasant. Make the best of yourself. Train. Take care.

And then live.

Because self-care is supposed to help us feel better.

If instead it keeps leaving us with the feeling that we are not quite enough yet, perhaps it is worth asking who we are trying to satisfy.

Other people?

The mirror?

Fashion?

Our fear of no longer being chosen?

I do not have a final answer.

I am fairly imperfect and, on the whole, I am comfortable with that.

Of course there are things I would improve.

Then I think that, in the end, people either take to me or they do not.

And I have no intention of spending the rest of my life servicing the bodywork while forgetting to take the car anywhere.

The bodywork helps. But sooner or later you have to discover whether there was anything else inside.

Perhaps the real luxury now is not being perfect.

It is knowing when enough is enough.