I was hoping this book would be more scientific, more researched, more Naomi Wolfe. Instead it was a strange mix of that, and cri de coeur and rah-rah self help.

Still, it’s one of the only books I’ve encountered that really dissects some of the roots of the eating disorders that pervade today’s young women – the way the assurance that girls could be anything has transformed into pressure to be everything, to have everything.

There were many parts I recognized myself, and many parts where I wanted to strangle the author. I guess asking for perfection from this book would only be a perfect irony.

And yet…