It was Tuesday, October 14th, 2019, at the Equinox on Bond Street. I was doing kettlebell swings in front of those floor-to-ceiling mirrors that are designed to make you look like a Greek god but usually just highlight every insecurity you forgot you had. I caught a glimpse of my reflection from the back. My $110 leggings—from a brand I won’t name yet—looked like they were struggling for their life. Every single dimple on my thighs was broadcast in 4K resolution. I felt like a human orange. I cut my workout short, went home, and went on a three-year mission…
