Do You Know What Your Hot Body Can Do?

 By Sobowale Oluwadarasimi

I hope you know that when Ayra says “look what a hot body can do,” she’s talking to you.

Yes, you; the girl reading this in her bonnet. Yes, you who feels ordinary in the mirror and still hasn’t learned how to believe compliments. She’s talking to YOU.

I hope you know she didn’t mean “hot” the way the world means it. 

I hope you know she didn’t mean photo-perfect or hourglass or curated.

I hope you know she meant alive. She meant breathing, moving, and carrying your story in the way only you can. 

I hope you know she meant the kind of hot that burns quietly beneath your skin, that stubborn little flame that refuses to die even on the days you feel invisible.

I hope you know you don’t have to perform to be worthy. And that you don’t have to prove your softness or shrink your power. 

I hope you know you don’t have to wait until your body looks like someone else’s to love it. This body; your body; has survived hunger, heartbreak, grief, laughter, exams, stress, joy, and growing pains. 

Look what it’s carried. Look what it’s done.

I hope you know you are the evidence of beauty unfiltered. And you are the kind of beauty that doesn’t need angles to be seen. I hope you know that you’re not behind or too much or too late.

I hope you know that you were not made to disappear. I hope you know that although the world may prefer women who take up less space, your presence is a language.

I hope you know that every time you walk into a room, something shifts. I know you don’t always feel it, but I promise you it’s there. You are the before and after of every place you enter.

I hope you know you are not supposed to look effortless. Effort is holy. Growing is holy. Surviving is holy.

I hope you know the mirror is not your enemy; it’s your witness, so, let it watch you become.

I hope you know that your body is not the apology for existing in a girl’s skin.

It’s the proof that you were here.

The proof that joy touched you.

The proof that you are still becoming.

I hope you know that when Ayra said “look what a hot body can do,” she definitely was not just talking about a waist that snatches or a face that glows. She was talking about resilience. She was talking about confidence that doesn’t wait for validation, and about the quiet magic of girls who keep showing up even when they’re scared.

Look what a hot body can do.

Look what YOUR hot body can do.

It can hold tears and laughter in the same day.

It can forgive.

It can fight.

It can build.

It can rest.

It can love without needing permission.

I hope you know that “hot” isn’t an aesthetic. It’s a state of being.

I hope you know that beauty is not the goal. 

Presence is.

Peace is.

Joy is.

And sometimes joy looks like red lipstick, messy hair, and dancing in your room at 2 a.m. because your body asked you to.

I hope you know that every woman who ever felt small is watching you take up space and breathe easier. You are someone’s reminder that softness and strength can coexist.

I hope you know you don’t have to wait for someone to call you fine. You can call yourself that first. You can say it without guilt. You can wear your self-love loud enough for the walls to blush.

I hope you know your body isn’t just for being looked at, it’s also for living in.

It's for running, stretching, working, laughing, collapsing into your bed after a long day. It's for holding your friends when they cry, and for holding yourself when no one else does.

I hope you know that when Ayra said “look what a hot body can do,” she was inviting you to remember how sacred it is to be a woman who refuses to disappear.

I hope you know that the world is lucky to have you in it. That you are not replaceable, not imitable, not disposable. That your existence, right now, in this body, is a miracle.

And I hope, someday soon, when the music plays and the lyrics come up again, you will smile because you finally know she was always talking to you.