Success tarnished by the knowledge that it would feel lighter if I was thin
In the days following her performance at BBC Radio 1's Big Weekend in Sunderland, Irish singer-songwriter CMAT found herself navigating a familiar and exhausting terrain — the gendered hostility that greets women in public life whose bodies fall outside an unspoken threshold of acceptability. Taking to Instagram, she named what so many endure in silence: that professional success, rather than offering shelter, can amplify exposure to cruelty, and that the demand to be thin is not a matter of health or aesthetics but of permission — permission to exist in one's own achievement without penalty.
- Festival photographs from CMAT's Sunderland performance triggered a targeted wave of body-shaming commentary that she described as accelerating in pace and intensity alongside her rising fame.
- A stark disparity emerged: fellow performers Zara Larsson and Olivia Dean moved through the same event largely unscathed, while CMAT absorbed abuse that revealed not random cruelty but a pattern of selective, gendered hostility.
- CMAT pushed back against the assumption that her body represents a defiant choice, stating plainly that she would change it if she could — stripping away the comfortable narrative that frames her endurance as empowerment.
- She described her growing success as increasingly 'tarnished,' a word that captures how achievement is being corroded from within by the knowledge that it would feel freer, lighter, in a different body.
- With a sold-out Dublin headline show approaching and a third album on tour, CMAT continues to work inside an environment she describes as growing more hostile with every step forward — the cost of visibility made visible.
Ciara Mary-Alice Thompson, who performs as CMAT, addressed her followers on Instagram in late May with the particular exhaustion of someone who has said something before and knows she will have to say it again. Days after performing at BBC Radio 1's Big Weekend in Sunderland, she found herself responding to a fresh wave of online commentary about her body — commentary that, she noted, was growing louder and more aggressive as her career grew larger.
"It is literally so boring for me, a gorgeous genius, to keep having to yap on about how horribly I am treated because of my body," she wrote. The weariness was not performative. She made clear she would stop speaking about it if the abuse would stop arriving — but it wouldn't, and so she couldn't.
What sharpened her response was the contrast. Sharing screenshots from an essay analyzing the Big Weekend lineup, CMAT pointed to the treatment of fellow performers Zara Larsson and Olivia Dean — women who moved through the same event with what the essayist described as a basic grace that was entirely withheld from CMAT. The cruelty directed at her was not random. It followed a pattern, one shaped by which bodies are granted the right to occupy a stage without cost.
She also addressed those who framed her body as a statement — a punk refusal, a deliberate act of defiance. She rejected that framing directly. "I am not being defiant," she wrote. "I simply have a body, one that I would of course like to change in order to fit in and avoid all of this abuse." There was no performance of bravery in her words. There was only the honest account of someone enduring something they did not choose.
The deepest grief in her post was reserved for what success had become. She was grateful — genuinely — but that gratitude was being corroded by the awareness that the same achievements would feel different, would feel free, if her body were different. "There is no relief from this," she wrote. The work continued regardless: a third album on tour, a sold-out Dublin show days away. CMAT kept moving forward, even as the ground around her grew more hostile with every step.
Ciara Mary-Alice Thompson, who performs as CMAT, took to Instagram on a Thursday in late May to address something she said she was tired of having to explain. The Irish singer-songwriter had performed at BBC Radio 1's Big Weekend in Sunderland just days earlier, on the 24th, and the photos from that stage appearance had triggered a wave of online commentary about her body and weight. She felt compelled to respond publicly, she wrote, because the abuse kept arriving, and it was getting worse.
"It is literally so boring for me, a gorgeous genius, to keep having to yap on about how horribly I am treated because of my body," she wrote. The exhaustion in those words was real. She explained that she would stop speaking about it if she could, but the attacks were accelerating in pace and intensity as her fame grew. It was a catch-22: the more successful she became, the more hostile the environment around her seemed to grow.
What struck her most was not the abuse itself, but the disparity. She shared screenshots from a Substack essay by someone calling themselves Front Row Feels, who had analyzed the treatment of women performers at that same Big Weekend lineup. The essay laid out something stark: Zara Larsson and Olivia Dean, who performed alongside CMAT, were granted what the essayist called "a level of grace and basic humanity that was completely denied to CMAT." The toxic comment sections revealed a pattern—not random cruelty, but a gendered one, where some women were protected by an invisible shield of acceptability while others were not.
CMAT addressed a particular strain of commentary that came from well-meaning places. People suggested, implicitly or explicitly, that her body size was a choice—a defiant statement, perhaps, or a punk rock act of refusal. She pushed back firmly. "I am not being defiant," she wrote. "I simply have a body, one that I would of course like to change in order to fit in and avoid all of this abuse, but I have had extreme difficulty in doing so." The statement was blunt and honest: she was not choosing this. She did not get to choose whether to be brave. She simply had to endure.
The deeper wound, though, was what success had become. She was grateful for her rise as an artist—genuinely. But that gratitude was being "increasingly tarnished by the fact that I would be allowed to enjoy it so much more if I was thin." The achievement itself was being poisoned by the knowledge that it would feel different, would feel lighter, if her body were different. There was no escape hatch. "There is no relief from this," she wrote. "Nobody can protect me or save me from this, and all that is demanded of me is more and more work as every environment I am placed in becomes more hostile."
The timing was not accidental. Last year, CMAT had released an album called Take a Sexy Picture of Me, which directly engaged with the scrutiny women face over their bodies and appearance. She had made art about this problem. And now she was living inside it in real time, watching it unfold in comment sections and Substack essays, unable to step outside the frame. She was touring her third album, Euro-Country, with a sold-out headline show in Dublin coming up on Saturday. The work continued. The abuse continued alongside it.
Citas Notables
It is literally so boring for me, a gorgeous genius, to keep having to yap on about how horribly I am treated because of my body.— CMAT, on Instagram
I simply have a body, one that I would of course like to change in order to fit in and avoid all of this abuse, but I have had extreme difficulty in doing so.— CMAT, addressing the notion that her appearance is a choice
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
When you read that essay comparing how she was treated versus Larsson and Dean, what exactly was the difference people were pointing out?
It wasn't that the other performers got no criticism at all. It was that they weren't being subjected to sustained, targeted commentary about their bodies. They were allowed to just be performers. CMAT wasn't granted that same space.
She said her body size wasn't a choice. Do you think people genuinely believed it was, or were they just looking for a way to blame her?
Probably both. Some people genuinely think weight is purely a matter of willpower. Others know better but still use that framing because it lets them off the hook—if it's her choice, then the abuse is justified, or at least not their problem.
The phrase about success being "tarnished" stuck with me. That's not just about feeling bad. That's about the achievement itself being poisoned.
Exactly. She's accomplished something real. But she can't inhabit it fully because she's constantly aware that it would feel different—lighter, freer—if she looked different. The success is real, but the joy in it is conditional.
She said there's no relief, no one can protect her. Does that mean the industry itself is the problem, or is it the audience?
It's both, but in different ways. The industry creates the conditions where appearance matters so much. The audience then enforces those conditions through comment sections and abuse. She's caught between them.
What does it say that she had to make an album about this problem, and then immediately had to live through it anyway?
It says the art didn't change anything. She named the problem publicly, made something beautiful about it, and the problem just kept happening. That's the real exhaustion in her post—not just the abuse, but the futility of trying to talk your way out of it.