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That’s Kim Kardashian, not the author. Photo: Getty.
No matter what you call it—booty, junk in the trunk, cake, bootius maximus, or round derrière—there’s no denying butts are having an especially, well, big moment right now. To celebrate, we’re dedicating the week to all things ass-inspired—famous celebs with Internet-breaking booties, specialized workout plans, style tips, random trivia, confidence-boosters, and more. Welcome, readers, to Butt Week.
My bottom is large and round. I have a 26-inch waist and 38-inch hips. I work out four times a week, and most would say I’m fit—but my butt ain’t going anywhere.
I’ve accepted the word fat. When you have a big butt, people throw that word at you a lot. I’ve learned to ignore trainers who claim they can work it out. They can’t. The more I squat, the more it grows. In fact, the lazier I am, the smaller it gets, and softer, and just a bit saggy.
I’ve always had junk in my trunk. When I was eight years old, 50 pounds soaking wet, my family joked that I looked like I was wearing a diaper. And that was before butts were cool.
If J.Lo didn’t blow up during the time I was in middle school, I wouldn’t have survived it with a shred of self-esteem. Thunderbutt was my nickname. Luckily, by freshman year of high school, butts were a thing . I wore a mall girl’s version of Jenny From the Block’s green Versace dress from the 2000 Grammy’s to my prom. Jeggings got me through college. Without them, I would’ve subjected my classmates to plumber’s butt in my sad attempt to squeeze into Abercrombie jeans.
But beyond the issue of clothes, there’s the issue of men and my butt. They’re fascinated by it. It doesn’t matter where I am—the subway, the gym, Whole Foods—somehow, guys always manage to graze it. I often wonder if it’s intentional or if it’s just in the way.
It’s ballsy to cop a feel of a girl’s chest—a guy might get away with an extra-tight hug—but for some reason, people think the ass is up for grabs. Catcalls are a friendly hello—because multiple 311 calls to report harassment won’t change that they happen to me several times a day.
And it’s not just strangers—guys I date are amazed by the curve from my waist to my bum. They can play with it for days. I had a boyfriend who used to lick it. Another boyfriend couldn’t decide what he liked more—me or my ass. “Are you sure it’s real?” he kept asking.
A friend who was dating the actor Jamie Foxx asked me to wear a long baggy sweater once when we went out with him. I agreed to hide the fanny, but he seemed to be able to just sense it was there. When she wasn’t looking, he nonchalantly copped a feel, without even looking my way.
All men inevitably beg for anal sex. But it’s not open for business. I’m an anal virgin, I’m saving that for marriage. Just because it’s big, doesn’t mean I want something in it.
One pain in the rear I always endure is the inevitable spanking. It hurts! It still has nerve endings, people.
Men aside, my butt and I do face other challenges. As an adult, I can finally wear clothes that don’t involve spandex, it just involves a lot of extra work. I buy my dresses and pants multiple sizes bigger to be able to fit my rear, then get the rest taken in by a tailor.
But, no matter how I dress, I somehow always end up looking like a Kardashian. It’s just the way it is. If I can’t show off my waist and legs, then I end up looking like a blob. And I won’t even consider wearing pants with pleats.
European designers with their narrow hips and splashy patterns are out of the question. The only thing I can wear off the rack is black and clothes with stretch. Spanx are my pals, but even they seem to get lost in the crevices.
And then there are the logistical nightmares that come with having an ample bottom. It’s hard to pass through large crowds and squeeze in tight places. It’s impossible to move in between tables at a restaurant. It’s bound to catch on fire or knock over a glass.
My posterior also always manages to become the subject of conversation. There’s meaning behind the phrase “butt of the joke”—it’s impossible to be taken seriously when everyone is taking shots at my ass. When I reunited with my best friend after a month apart, the first words out of her mouth were: “I forgot how big your butt is.”
Girls stare just as much as men. They’re either fascinated or disgusted, maybe even jealous. If my butt could talk it would say “Judger, quit looking, you judger!”
I’m of European descent but people often ask if I’m Latina, mostly because of my butt. My friends joke that I’m black from the waist down.
When I’m not wearing heels, I feel dumpy. As crazy as it sounds, when my hair is up, I feel like I’m giving too much attention to my hips.
Those who have been truly blessed (or cursed) with a big butt generally find Kim Kardashian’s ass to be nauseating. The way she flaunts it to no end, the belfies (that’s butt selfies). It doesn’t need to be showcased. Everyone can see it, trust me.
When I hear about women who are considering rear augmentation, it lifts me up. There are people who want this. And so I’ve learned to embrace it.
As long as it’s still round and perky, I’ve got to appreciate it, because the older I get, the older it gets.
And so I’ve learned to remind myself daily that having such a big asset is a blessing, as long as I use it to get my way. I’ll make it twerk, because as they say, never trust a big butt and a smile.
This essay was written anonymously by a New York City-based writer.

StyleCaster is a part of Penske Media Corporation. © 2022 SheMedia, LLC. All Rights Reserved.

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Christine Leeb--Speaker and Christian Family Coach specializing in Parenting and Child Discipline. Founder of Real Life Families --a non-profit organization building better families through free classes and resources. Mother to three awesome (and exhausting) children from whom she shamefully hides brownies. Wife to one patient (and polar-opposite) husband with whom she constantly quotes "Friends". www.RealLifeFamilies.org
'Her View From Home' is the Registered Trademark of Her View From Home, LLC
It was Day 3 of our honeymoon…dun…dun…dun! A day I will never forget. A day I learned what marriage was really about.
It was just three days after our big wedding, our “I Do’s,” our commitment to spend the rest of our lives together. For better or worse. In sickness and in health.
My husband had no idea how quickly I would bank on those vows!
Day 1 and Day 2 of our honeymoon were filled with splashes in the pool, walks along the beach, sunset watching, giant bike riding in the ocean, and seeing each other at our best–our sexiest outfits, our most agreeable moods, and our most fun and adventurous spirits.
On the evening of Day 2, we dined at a gorgeous beach side restaurant. We ate. We drank wine–all while gazing into each other’s eyes as the waves crashed on the shore nearby. It was so romantic. However, the next morning on day 3, I awoke to a gurgling stomach – churning – aching.
I knew that something was going to come out somewhere. It was just a matter of time. NOOOOOOOOOO! Not on my honeymoon!
I wanted to hide my pain. I wanted to pretend all was well so we could go snorkeling and continue being flirty and sexy and enjoying our fairy tale of love and romance and happiness and fun.
I was about to ruin it all with a reality check of “the runs.”
I couldn’t hide it any longer. I had to tell my husband of 3 days that I had the stomach bug. Every 20 minutes throughout the entire morning, I was running to the bathroom and then crawling back to bed. My sexy new spouse was right there. He was getting me sips of water. He was dabbing my sweaty head with a cool wash rag. He sat in a chair next to the bed as I groaned and complained – helping me – encouraging me – being there for me.
As the trips to the bathroom started winding down, all my strength and energy and modesty were gone. I simply quit putting my clothes back on. I quit caring that we were on our honeymoon. I quit caring that I was pooping every 20 minutes in our Honeymoon Suite right in front of my new forever man. I quit caring that I was a mess. I flopped over onto the bed falling face first into the pillows, and I hear my husband of less than 72 hour’s voice whisper to me….”Honey, you have some poop on your butt.”
And I thought I couldn’t feel worse. I didn’t care though. I couldn’t move. I just wanted to die of pain and now, of embarrassment. I was just lying there – hot, sweaty, stinky, naked – with poop on my sun-kissed butt.
Without saying another word, my brand new mate for life went into the bathroom, grabbed some toilet paper, sat next to me on the bed, and——-wiped my butt. Yes, he wiped my butt. Now that’s love!
This moment will forever be known as our “Welcome to Marriage Moment!”
I was mortified, but at the same time, I was given a gift. A gift to see that my husband was going to be there for me no matter what. That he was going to be someone I could laugh with, have romantic dinners with, walk on the beach with, and enjoy the good times with, but he was also going to be someone who would stay by my side when I was at my worst. And that’s what matters most in life and in marriage.
We still laugh together, even after almost 17 years of marriage, as we reflect on Day 3 of our honeymoon. We recognize how much Day 3 prepared us (especially for my husband) for what was to come. He has seen me even more vulnerable, at my most disgusting, at my very, very, very worst. He has been there for the birth via C-Section of our three children. He has been there for countless stomach bugs, flu bugs, cold bugs, and even depression bugs.
He’s been there–by my side–through it all.
It hasn’t been easy. We’ve even been near divorce, but I’m so thankful that we both have been able to move forward, press on, and persevere through some really rough times, tough conversations, and painful moments. We have both grown and allowed God to shape us into the individuals and into the couple that we are today. Through our struggles, we’ve gained strength, wisdom, trust, and confidence in ourselves and in each other. Our marriage gets stronger with every year…with every day.
Even now, on Day 6,052 of our marriage, the honeymoon is well over, but we continue to celebrate those moments throughout our lives that have brought us closer together – more committed to one another – forever. Best friends by each other’s side no matter what comes our way – poopy butts and all!
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