Have you seen it? You must have. The past few weeks the internet has been buzzing about Olivia Wilde’s radical photo shoot for Glamour magazine’s September issue, in which she is featured breastfeeding her five month old son Otis. Olivia Wilde: her name will forever be synonymous with the word Goddess. Beautiful, talented, funny, smart, formerly married to an Italian prince and currently engaged to an American jester (actor and comedian Jason Sudeikis, for all you celebrity gossip virgins), Wilde is lauded in Hollywood for her grace and easygoing personality. And now this, her public celebration of motherhood, a valid attempt to cast away the mindset that women must be boxed into categories — mother vs. sex symbol, ambitious vs. nurturing — and then shamed when any of these overlap.

In some ways this cover is revolutionary, much like when a very pregnant Demi Moore posed nude for Vogue in 1991. Another public disavowal of anyone who subconsciously doubts women’s complexity. This is a good thing. I kept repeating that to myself as I read more and more articles with titles like “Wilde stuns while breastfeeding son,” and “Olivia Wilde gushes over being a mom!” It’s a good thing, right? Giving a woman a spotlight for both her professional and her personal life. Removing the stigma against breastfeeding in public, and baring skin not as an act of sexuality or objectification, but motherhood and serenity. If I could sit there and acknowledge all of these positive things, then why was I inwardly so itchy, more anxious each time I saw that picture? Something was off.

I spent the better part of my summer catching up on old “Parenthood” episodes with my family. (I lead a wild life). In an episode in the third season, Kristina Braverman (whose overbearing neediness normally incurs my strongest disdain), is deeply relatable as an insecure new mom. Weeks after giving birth to her third child, she has to go to her husband’s hip recording studio opening in the Haight. She reluctantly borrows a dress from her sister-in-law, feeling out of her skin and unwieldy. At the party, her breasts begin leaking milk in front of her husband’s hot new assistant, seeping through the borrowed dress. Kristina cries from embarrassment, from exhaustion, from self-consciousness and feelings of inadequacy.

Nursing Olivia Wilde is not this. While her photo spread is a step forward to re-imagining women as multifaceted workers, caregivers, artists and lovers, all she serves is to raise the standards of perfection once again. ClickHole, a subsidiary of The Onion that satirizes sites like BuzzFeed and Gawker, worded it with blinding clarity: “Breastfeeding in Public Should No Longer be a Taboo For Mothers Who Are Conventionally Attractive.” (Shout-out to Erika Harwood, summer Onion intern and current Daily editor, who didn’t write this article but to whom I give credit anyway).

Wilde’s photo illustrates a modern Madonna – her face calm, her waist already thin, even her breasts sans stretch marks. Her baby is naked and glowing, a paragon of infant innocence and grace. What purpose does this humble-brag serve? What is the cost that one of the few public representations of new motherhood now establishes even more impossible standards for women? Imagine Kristina, exhausted and soft, still trying to regain her dignity after her body has grown and reshaped to accommodate a whole person, reading that article. Seeing how far she misses the mark, how unsuccessful she is at being a woman. Wilde’s photos intone that a real woman can have it all, and must be it all: successful and nurturing, confident and sexy.

I know what many people must be thinking. “It’s Hollywood, everything is unrealistic.” “Women can’t compare themselves to her, she’s a movie star.” And even, “She looks great, you’re just jealous and won’t admit it.” So I’ll admit it: of course I’m jealous. A woman who recently pushed a child through her vajayjay is now on a magazine cover looking better than I will ever look – jealousy is only human. And no, one Glamour photo does not change the course of history, nor does it show us anything about the way Wilde actually lives her life. She could be just as scared and insecure and confused as other new moms. But we don’t get to see that. We see perfection, the way all women could be if they tried a little bit harder, if they lost one more hour of sleep to work off the baby weight, if they miraculously regained their confidence to pose for photos. Because Wilde, in both the article and the photo, does not set herself apart as a glamorous, Hollywood enigma — no, she is like every new mom! She loves her baby so much she breastfeeds him in public and giggles with him at a diner! She is no exception, she is just like everyone else, according to her. How does that make every other new mom feel?

So congrats, Olivia. Seriously, you seem happy and your baby is adorable. You were perfect before, and now your title can include “Goddess with Babe in Arms,” like a 2nd century Greek statue. Feminism is complicated and often at odds with itself, and navigating a public image as a woman is nearly impossible, so you can’t be blamed. Who knows who is to blame. I’ll just be on the couch, watching “Parenthood” and eating ice cream from the carton, in solidarity with the Kristinas of the world.

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