I love curves; I'm all about curves. I don't have many, which is

Cara Delevingne, a woman whose face has graced the grand stages of fashion, once confessed with disarming candor: “I love curves; I’m all about curves. I don’t have many, which is really sad, but I think the more the better.” These words, though spoken in the light of modern glamour, carry with them an ancient struggle—the longing for a body not one’s own, the praise of forms that embody abundance, and the quiet sorrow of comparison. In her truth, we glimpse the universal dance between self-perception and the ideals shaped by culture. For she names curves not merely as lines of flesh, but as symbols of vitality, sensuality, and fullness of life.

The origin of such sentiments is as old as civilization. In the Paleolithic age, the sculptors of the Venus figurines carved women with exaggerated hips and breasts, honoring curves as signs of fertility, health, and power. In the Renaissance, artists like Rubens painted bodies abundant with flesh, their beauty celebrated as divine. Yet, in different eras, the pendulum swung, and slenderness became the idol. Delevingne’s lament—that she herself has few curves—shows how even those exalted as icons can feel bound by shifting ideals, mourning the absence of what the culture exalts in another moment.

History reminds us of the cruelty of such changing standards. Consider Audrey Hepburn, whose delicate frame brought her global adoration, yet who herself often confessed insecurities about her thinness, especially when the world praised fuller-figured actresses like Marilyn Monroe. In the contrast between Hepburn and Monroe, we see the same tension Delevingne describes: beauty defined not by the truth of the body, but by the demands of an era. To love one’s body yet still feel sadness for what it lacks is a burden that has weighed upon women—and men—for centuries.

Yet there is wisdom hidden in Delevingne’s confession. Her words praise curves, but also reveal an admiration that is generous rather than envious. To say, “the more the better,” is to declare that beauty is not limited, not scarce, but abundant. It is a reminder that all forms, whether slender or curving, carry their own poetry. Her sadness does not diminish her admiration; rather, it highlights the longing we all share: to celebrate in ourselves what we so easily celebrate in others.

The deeper meaning here is that the body is not simply flesh but symbol. Curves represent abundance, strength, and the ability to carry and nurture life. Slenderness represents lightness, grace, and agility. Both are gifts, and both can be burdens if misunderstood. Delevingne, in her humility, reminds us that even those who seem to embody perfection are haunted by longing. This is the truth of humanity: we often mourn the gifts we do not have, instead of cherishing the ones we do.

The lesson for us, O seekers of wisdom, is that beauty is not in comparison but in acceptance. To love another’s form is noble, but to despise one’s own is folly. We must learn to honor the diversity of bodies, not as a hierarchy, but as a garden where each flower blooms in its own glory. For the world needs both the rose and the lily, the oak and the willow. So too does beauty dwell in many forms—curved, straight, tall, short, slender, or full.

Practical wisdom follows: when you look upon your body in the mirror, do not ask what it lacks, but ask what it gives. Does it move you through the world? Does it hold joy, memory, strength, or tenderness? Celebrate these gifts. And when you see the beauty of another, let it inspire admiration, not envy. For the world is vast enough to hold many kinds of beauty, and your own form is part of that sacred variety.

Thus Cara Delevingne’s words, though spoken in simplicity, hold enduring truth: “I love curves; I’m all about curves… the more the better.” They remind us that beauty is not a fixed law but a flowing river, changing with culture, yet always rooted in the mystery of the human body. Let us then cease to mourn what we lack and instead rejoice in what we are, for the greatest beauty is not in the eye of the world, but in the soul at peace with itself.