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I’m five-foot-five and broad-shouldered with a short waist—I’m never going to have that Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue look. I’ve had certain projects tell me I need to wear push-up bras because I’m an A-cup, or I’ve been told I don’t have a pronounced-enough jaw, that I have a moon face. When I was younger I really took it to heart. I’ve started to realize that if I change all of these things that are my quote-unquote imperfections, like my little birthmarks and weird discolorations, my slightly lazy eye, or the gap in my teeth, then who am I? Am I a carbon copy of everyone else? Those things are what make me me.
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