It appears that a supermodel is joining along in the high-profile anti-bullying campaign known as, “Slut-Shaming”. An awareness campaign originally started by glamour model Amber Rose, has now received endorsement from Sports Illustrated Swimsuit model Emily Ratajkowski. Supporting her fellow former Ford Models stablemate (Rose was released in December 2010), Emily has been very vocal lately on variety of social issues, joining the cause, the 24-year-old released a empowering essay on HBO Girls writer/actress Lena Dunham personal website; Lenny. The near and dear essay details the current GQ (GQ Russia & GQ Spain) cover model’s definition of sexy and reveals past situations exhibiting what is now identified as “Slut-shaming”.

Slut-shaming is the act of criticizing a woman for her real or presumed sexual activity, or for behaving in ways that someone thinks are associated with her real or presumed sexual activity.

Slut-shaming’s social relevance comes from an 2011 incident in Toronto, Canada that involved Police suggesting that some women incite rape by dressing sexually suggestive in public and ask them to dress in a conservative apparently to stir away rapist. This incident ignited Rose’s October 2015 SlutWalk in Downtown Los Angeles (See: Rose Host SlutWalk). Rose later continued to address the cause on several media outlets like Los Angeles’s Real 92.3 and Men’s entertainment magazine GQ (See: Rose Bares All)

Ratakowski originally announced the release of her essay entitled, “Baby Woman” early last week in a revealing instagram post, addressing the personal importance of this letter.

Tomorrow my @lennyletter essay entitled "Baby Woman" is released! This piece of writing is near and dear to me. Sign up today to have it in your email tomorrow AM! Link in bio. Many thanks to @lenadunham ❤️

A photo posted by Emily Ratajkowski (@emrata) on

Ratajkowski letter stems from online harassment from trolls after Ratajkowski endorsed Presidential candidate Bernie Sanders introducing him at a recent rally. shortly after the rally, derogatory comments from trolls, objectifying the model saying, “show us your tits” and “stick with taking your clothes off.”

Ratajkowski penned this letter with intention to defend her personal expression and to also inspire other women in her situation to take a stand. In her response, Emily recalls growing up as a teenager, adults would often make her feel uncomfortable with her developing body and sexuality. Revealing that as a model, her negative experience with the commenters was nothing new.

Here is the complete Lenny Letter, and it reads:

“To me, ‘sexy’ is a kind of beauty, a kind of self-expression, one that is to be celebrated.” Emily Ratajkowski may be best known for being the nude girl in “Blurred Lines” or the normally scantily-clad model-turned actress, but the 24-year-old is taking hold of her own sexuality and fighting against slut-shaming. In a letter published on Lenny, Lena Dunham’s platform for females and feminism, the beautiful model speaks about her childhood and questions what it means to be “sexy” and why the term holds such strong negative connotations. Her empowering thoughts are refreshing and definitely brings up a ton of valid questions — something we should all contemplate, for a fairer and less misogynistic world. Read on and let us know what you think in the comments below:

Growing up, my father would lovingly refer to me as a “baby woman.” And that’s what I was: a 12-year-old with D-cup breasts who still woke up in the night and asked her mom to come and sleep in her room.

As an only child in a tightly knit family with two of the most loving people I have ever known — think Atticus in To Kill a Mockingbird — I was safe in the in-between place of half-baby, half-woman. The confusion came from outside our small, ivy-covered, wood-floored home in Southern California.

In eighth grade, a vice principal snapped my bra strap in front of an entire room of my classmates and other teachers. She did it because the strap was falling out from my tank top and that broke the school’s dress code. When I was 13, a close family member came to see my performance in a play. I remember feeling pretty — tanned, wearing lip gloss and a red button-up ribbed top over my bra and a mod-style zip-up miniskirt from Forever 21. Our family member sobbed to my mother and me at dinner after; she was worried for me, worried about the looks I got from men, because I was wearing what I was wearing. I needed to protect myself, she explained.

The same year, my parents hosted a dinner party where I spoke freely, keeping up with the mature humor and storytelling, an only child comfortable sharing my conversation with adults. On my way to the bathroom, before dessert, an older family friend took me aside, separate from the rest of the party: “You need to hide out, a girl like you, keep a low profile.” Whatever that meant. I truly believe he felt he was being protective, helpful even.

When I was 15, the adults in my life were concerned by my modeling at such a young age. They’d heard the horror stories of creepy middle-aged men taking advantage of young women, or agents pressuring girls to lose weight. Surprisingly enough, dealing with the world outside the industry was the toughest part of my adolescence and young adulthood. Teachers, friends, adults, boyfriends — individuals who were not as regulated as those in the highly scrutinized fashion world were more often the ones to make me feel uncomfortable or guilty about my developing sexuality. I was modeling only occasionally at that time, but I found the same people who faulted the modeling industry for being oppressive and sexist were frequently missing entirely their own missteps and faux pas. Their comments felt much more personal and thus landed that much harder.

I was still figuring out how to put a tampon in, never mind how to understand some of the more complicated aspects of womanhood, and all these kinds of interactions made me feel like I was missing something about the world. Even now, as an adult, I think of my thong popping out of my low-rise jeans in class and of my neophyte attempts with eye makeup and wonder, Wow, should someone have forced me to wear something else?

I see my naked body in the mirrors of all the places I’ve lived, privately dressing, going through my morning routine. I get ready for my day as one of my many roles in life — student, model, actress, friend, girlfriend, daughter, businesswoman. I look at my reflection and meet my own eyes. I hear the voices reminding me not to send the wrong message.

And what is that message exactly? The implication is that to be sexual is to be trashy because being sexy means playing into men’s desires. To me, “sexy” is a kind of beauty, a kind of self-expression, one that is to be celebrated, one that is wonderfully female. Why does the implication have to be that sex is a thing men get to take from women and women give up? Most adolescent women are introduced to “sexy” women through porn or Photoshopped images of celebrities. Is that the only example of a sexual woman we will provide to the young women of our culture? Where can girls look to see women who find empowerment in deciding when and how to be or feel sexual? Even if being sexualized by society’s gaze is demeaning, there must be a space where women can still be sexual when they choose to be.

I think of John Updike’s short story “A & P,” in which a young girl in a resort town wears a bikini into a grocery store and is asked by the store manager to leave. She enters the store in her new sweet bathing suit, excited for a summer day, and exits with a crushed spirit and an uncomprehending feeling of guilt. I think of women in their workplaces worrying about how their sexuality might accidentally offend, excite, or create envy. I think of mothers trying to explain to their daughters that while it wasn’t their fault, they should cover up next time.

I refuse to live in this world of shame and silent apologies. Life cannot be dictated by the perceptions of others, and I wish the world had made it clear to me that people’s reactions to my sexuality were not my problems, they were theirs.

I was showing a charcoal nude of mine to an esteemed male professor when he suggested, “Why not draw a woman with a waist so small she falls over and cannot stand up?” It was the end of term in my drawing class at UCLA, and I was struggling to explain my thesis to him. I wanted to celebrate the beauty of a woman’s waist, thighs, and hips in my drawings, not to overly sexualize the body but to show the strength in beauty. He shook his head; my attempts were unsuccessful, and he had missed my concept completely. He told me I was either to play into the stereotypes of the beauty standard or to show its oppression. I struggle to find the space between as an artist, as a model, and simply as a woman — a space where I can have ownership and enjoyment of my gender. Honoring our sexuality as women is a messy, messy business, but if we don’t try, what do we become?

For the original piece, head over to Lenny Letter.

Recognized as one of the top sexiest models in the industry, Emily O’Hara Ratajkowski broke into modeling at 14, discovered by Ford Models. Her most current credit includes her Super Bowl 50 Buick Cascada commercial (See: Ratajkowski “Odells”). Since 2015, now signed with DNA Model Management, Ratajkowski is one of the current faces of Spring/Summer ’16 Marc Jacobs and inside the pages of current Love Magazine with an Carin Backoff-editorial titled, “The Daisy Chain”.

The Los Angeles Times released a piece by contributing journalist Sonali Kohli addressing the problem of Slut-shaming in school last Monday. Discussing a recent situation with a middle school student being exhibited to this form of bullying for the first time due to her wardrobe attire. The piece also includes a video asking the question of if this type of bullying starts in the education system.

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