In a completely predictable turn of events, two supremely talented women are being reduced to their appearances instead of celebrated for their talent. With Wicked set to hit cinemas soon, Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo have been front and centre of a PR whirlwind, sharing heartfelt behind-the-scenes moments and dropping hints about a production they’ve clearly poured their souls into. But instead of acknowledging their hard work, all anyone seems to care about is their bodies.
Let’s start with the facts: Grande and Erivo are accomplished powerhouses. Ariana, the pop star turned actress, has conquered stage, screen, and studio, while Cynthia, an Emmy, Grammy, and Tony winner, is mere inches from the coveted EGOT. Both women have proven their talent time and again, but their commitment to Wicked goes beyond what most might expect. Not only did they perform their own stunts and sing live on set—a rarity in film musicals—but they also poured their hearts into the production.
Ariana Grande, in particular, has spoken about her deep connection to Wicked, stemming from her childhood love for The Wizard of Oz and the stage production. She’s been vocal about this dream role for years, even tearing up in a 2019 interview on the Zach Sang Show at the mere idea of being cast in any Wicked remake. Her preparation began well before auditions were even announced. On the Sentimental Men podcast, she shared how the prospect of auditioning appeared on her radar pre-pandemic. “The prospect of auditioning came across my desk way before they had even attached John [M. Chu, the director], which is crazy. And it was just a murmuring of something pre-pandemic.” Committed to landing her dream role, Ariana told her team she was ready to cancel her tour to focus on intensive acting and vocal training. She took the process seriously, despite there being no guarantee she’d even land an audition. To say she is overqualified for Glinda would be an understatement.
So why, instead of focusing on their performances, has the discourse veered into a depressing spiral about their weight?
Since the public got hold of the teaser for Wicked, the online commentary has been relentless—and overwhelmingly nasty. Rather than focusing on the talent and effort of Grande and Erivo, much of the discourse has devolved into pettiness and cruelty. From mocking the duo for tearing up in interviews (completely valid, by the way), to dragging the colour of Ariana’s wig, to bullying Cynthia over her reaction to a fan-made poster (overreaction or not, the abuse she received was uncalled for), it’s been a steady stream of negativity.
The conversation reached its lowest point when their bodies became the focal point. Grande’s petite frame and Erivo’s visibly slender physique have triggered a frenzy of online analysis. Some “concerned” fans have taken to diagnosing eating disorders from afar, moralising about their perceived roles as “bad influences,” and even comparing them to skeletons. It’s the kind of toxic rhetoric that feels ripped straight from the early 2000s, and it’s as exhausting now as it was then.
Please, I don’t want to go back to the 00s.
This isn’t the first time women in Hollywood have faced this kind of scrutiny. The 90s and 00s were rife with magazines circling “problem areas” and offering crash diet tips. We’re supposedly more enlightened now, but continue to act exactly the same, except this time round, we confidently Tweet our opinions as facts. Have we learned nothing?
Some critics claim they’re acting out of concern, invoking the “think of the children” mantra that’s as tired as it is hypocritical. The argument goes: by looking this thin, Grande and Erivo are setting a dangerous example for young girls. But let’s not kid ourselves. This moral panic is just another excuse to police women’s bodies under the guise of faux-feminism. If we cared about children’s health, we’d talk about systemic issues like food insecurity and access to healthcare—not two actresses in a film about witches.
Always ask yourself: “Is it the same for men?“
You know what upsets me the most? The fixation on these women’s appearances is a glaring double standard that is as old as the media itself. When was the last time we dissected Timothy Chalamet’s slender frame with the same fervour? Did Seth Rogen’s weight ever overshadow his comedic talent? Of course not. Male actors are allowed to exist as creators first. Women, on the other hand, must endure an endless stream of unsolicited opinions about their bodies, no matter how accomplished they are.
Ariana has been THROUGH it, leave her be
For Ariana Grande, the scrutiny feels particularly cruel. A child star turned global icon, she’s endured unimaginable challenges, from the exploitation revealed in the Nickelodeon documentary Quiet on Set to the Manchester bombing that killed 22 of her fans. Add to this the death of her ex-boyfriend, Mac Miller, and you’re left with a deeply traumatic trajectory. If Grande’s relationship with food is complicated, why should the public feel entitled to speculate? And if she does struggle with disordered eating, what good comes from dragging her into the spotlight over it?
Let’s be clear: commenting on someone’s body—celebrity or not—is rarely as harmless as it seems. Grande even addressed this directly last year, asking people to stop discussing her appearance. “I think we should be gentler and less comfortable commenting on people’s bodies…there are many different ways to look healthy and beautiful,” she said in a heartfelt TikTok. Yet here we are again, with the same hurtful discourse.
Can we focus on the film now?
Wicked is a story about friendship and resilience. It’s ironic, then, that the actresses bringing this story to life are being dragged back into the tired narrative of body shaming. Ariana and Cynthia’s performances, by all accounts, are stellar. They’ve sung live, performed their own stunts, and clearly put their all into this. Can we please focus on that?
The truth is, this kind of commentary only perpetuates the culture of tearing women down. For every brilliant performance or groundbreaking achievement, there’s a cacophony of critics ready to dismiss it all in favour of superficial judgements. If we truly want to champion women, we need to start celebrating their work, not dissecting their waistlines.
So, here’s a radical idea: let’s stop talking about their bodies entirely. Let’s talk about their voices, their acting, and the incredible film they’ve brought to life. And if we can’t manage that, maybe we should just keep quiet.
