It makes me sad that corporations and media and Hollywood

Hear the voice of Rob Delaney, sharp with sorrow yet burning with defiance: “It makes me sad that corporations and media and Hollywood conspire to make people feel terrible about their bodies from the second they wake up, so I sort of try to subversively undercut that.” In these words lies both a lament and a mission: a lament for the millions whose self-worth is crushed beneath false ideals, and a mission to resist the great machinery that feeds on human insecurity.

The body, that sacred vessel of life, has been turned into a battlefield by the forces of profit. From dawn to dusk, images and messages proclaim that it is not enough—that one must be thinner, stronger, younger, more flawless. The corporations and media, joined by the glamour of Hollywood, weave illusions to enslave the mind. What should be a home becomes a prison; what should be celebrated becomes despised. It is this corruption of beauty, this theft of dignity, that Delaney calls sad.

The ancients knew this struggle in their own way. In Rome, statues of gods and heroes displayed bodies perfected beyond mortal reach. Citizens compared themselves and found only failure, forgetting that marble is not flesh. So too in Greece, the pursuit of the “ideal form” often overshadowed the acceptance of the human form. Yet wise voices, such as the Stoic philosophers, cried out that virtue, not appearance, was the true measure of a person. Delaney’s words stand in this same tradition of resistance: the reminder that worth lies not in conformity to an image, but in the wholeness of being.

History shows us the devastation wrought by unattainable ideals. In the twentieth century, the rise of advertising turned insecurity into one of the world’s most profitable industries. Women were told they must starve to be beautiful; men were told they must harden themselves into unfeeling statues. Eating disorders spread, depression grew, and the cycle of shame fed itself endlessly. But always, there were voices like Delaney’s—voices that mocked the lie, voices that sought to undercut the illusion with humor, honesty, and courage.

The heart of Delaney’s resistance is his word “subversively.” To fight openly against such massive forces is difficult, but to chip away at them with wit, with satire, with unexpected kindness—that is a powerful rebellion. By making people laugh at the absurdity of the false ideals, he frees them, if only for a moment, from their grip. By revealing the cruelty beneath the glamour, he reminds us that the conspiracy is not truth, but theater. And theater can be unmasked.

The lesson for us is this: guard your heart against the images that tell you you are not enough. Know that these voices seek not your flourishing, but your dependence, your money, your submission. Resist them with laughter, with truth, with solidarity. Speak kindly of your body, and of the bodies of others. Create a culture of reverence for what is real rather than worship of what is false. In doing so, you too may undercut the machinery of shame.

So let Delaney’s lament become a call to arms: do not allow corporations, media, and Hollywood to dictate your worth. See through the conspiracy, and remember that the body you inhabit is sacred, powerful, and sufficient. Celebrate it not for how it compares to an image, but for how it carries you through the world. For when enough people awaken to this truth, the empire of illusion will crumble, and in its place will rise a culture of dignity, compassion, and freedom.