I'm Not Celebrating Ilona Maher's SI Cover

or enjoying a memoir that tells on itself

I greatly enjoyed the Paris Olympics this year. The gymnasts! The swimmers! The badass Turkish shooter guy! The offensive-and-extremely-Parisian float they tried to gaslight us into not caring about¹! The Snoop Dogg of it all!

And as per usual during an Olympic year, I found myself tuning into sports I wouldn’t regularly care about, like the various track and field events or all of the different ways a person can ride a horse. One thing I had no idea was even an Olympic sport was women’s rugby, and I watched it with all the gusto of a life-long fan.

I, like many others, was introduced to and quickly formed a parasocial relationship with Ilona Maher. I found her Instagram coverage of the Olympics hilarious. As a woman, I stand up and rejoice when we’re able to expand our model of what we consider “beautiful”—all body types ARE beautiful, and more muscular women have long been mocked and made to feel less-than. Those broad shoulders and wide hips are stunning. Girlfriend could also murder any of us with her bare hands. I’m cheering for her on Dancing With the Stars. I would love nothing more than to hit up a bar with her.

But that’s what made me so disappointed about her Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover.