Hola possums,

If you’ve followed me at all on FB or Instagram by now,

you might have noticed

my very





The gift of a very stretchy face that can transform into a piece of putty.

The face that can imitate perfectly the:

Blue Steel of a Rabid Chipmunk

or the sultry pose of an earthworm.

It’s fucking HILARIOUS.

Not everyone finds it funny though.

Especially not this bloke:



Thanks William,
but no thank you.
My face belongs to me.
I love it.
And I love me.
And I will continue making whatever faces I like.
I don’t need to be attractive to be allowed to take up space in the world.
All I need to be is me.


I’ve also had some well-intentioned but misguided comments:

Leonie, I prefer when you are serious and beautiful.

Leonie, this is a self-love issue. You should only embrace your beauty. You don’t need to act so silly. If you look deep within yourself, you’ll find the answer.

Thanks but no thanks, guys.

Loving myself doesn’t mean I only post photos where I am looking shit hot.

That’s not celebrating my fullness. That’s not celebrating all of who I am.

Posting hilarious awful selfies doesn’t mean I don’t adore the skin I’m in. Because – dude – I do. I love being a Leonie. I know that there is not one inch of me that is supposed to be any different from how it is.

And that includes one face that sometimes looks a teensy bit like Charlize Theron gazing meaningfully over into the sunset and sometimes looks like a squirrel on acid that is about to eat your face and steal your nuts.


My face. My space. And it’s a glorious one to be in!


Big love,


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