I didn't realize that I lived without seeing my body type presented as beautiful until I suddenly saw it everywhere — and it made me feel a strange mix of comfort and sadness. Comfort, because I felt like these works of art were homages and celebrations of bodies like mine. Painters and sculptors from all over the Western world, for centuries, revered these shapes so much that they were moved to capture and immortalize them. But I was also saddened by the reminder that I, like so many other women, are constantly deprived of images of ourselves. And we're in desperate need of them — particularly women of color. Wouldn't it be lovely to look around and be met with images that praised familiar shapes and silhouettes, instead of having to actively seek them out?