Is there then no kind of men
    Whom I may freely prove?
    I will vent that humour then
    In mine own self-love.

Poet John Donne wrote about man’s fickle eye, and the lure of false beauty hundreds of years ago. In 2015, the desire to find true beauty in every facet of a woman’s being has been stretched to new limits with the #LoveYourLines trend.

Women are encouraged to share photos of their stretch marks on Instagram . The account was started by two women, who have so far remained anonymous, over a year ago.

But when Hannah Moore joined in and posted pictures of the stretch marks on her pregnant stomach, within minutes her photos were deleted and Moore’s Instagram account was shut down, citing a violation of the sites “nudity and violence” rules.

Instagram blamed the deletion on a mistake and has since restored her Moore’s account, along with her pictures.
Stretch marks, or striae – the dermatological term, are a form of scarring. Lines appear in certain regions of the body after a period of rapid growth or weight gain. They are most commonly associated with pregnancy and can appear on a woman’s belly, breasts, thighs, hips and elsewhere by her third trimester.

Sports Illustrated model Chrissy Teigen flaunted hers, with the caption, “Bruises from bumping kitchen drawer handles for a week. Stretchies say hi.”

Teigen isn’t alone. Since the creation of the Instagram account, hundreds and hundreds of women have joined the trend.

Instagram’s algorithm and robotic censors take heed: Every line tells a story. Even nature’s lines on a woman’s body. Perhaps #loveyourlines is really a modern day version of Donne’s 17th century poem about self-love. Here it is in its entirety:

He that cannot choose but love,
And strives against it still,
Never shall my fancy move,
For he loves ‘gainst his will;
Nor he which is all his own,
And can at pleasure choose,
When I am caught he can be gone,
And when he list refuse.
Nor he that loves none but fair,
For such by all are sought;
Nor he that can for foul ones care,
For his judgement then is nought;
Nor he that hath wit, for he
Will make me his jest or slave;
Nor a fool, for when others…,
He can neither….;
Nor he that still his Mistress pays,
For she is thralled therefore;
Nor he that pays not, for he says
Within She’s worth no more.
Is there then no kind of men
Whom I may freely prove?
I will vent that humour then
In mine own self-love.