You’re standing in a supermarket. The aisles are shifting. Not figuratively—literally. The milk is where the detergent used to be. Every employee is wearing a giant, expressionless foam mask. This isn't a fever dream; it's just Tuesday in Alexandra Kleeman's You Too Can Have a Body Like Mine.
Honestly, reading this book feels like staring at a screen for ten hours until your eyes go fuzzy. It’s a 2015 debut that somehow predicted the "Instagram face" and the weird, hollow hunger of the 2020s. People call it "Fight Club for girls," but that feels too loud. It’s quieter than that. Creepier. It’s about the terrifying realization that your body might not actually belong to you. Read more on a similar issue: this related article.
The Plot: Roommates, Reality TV, and Edible Face Cream
The story follows a woman named A. Just A.
She lives with a roommate, B, and a boyfriend, C. It sounds like a math problem, and in a way, it is. A is obsessed with her own surface. She spends her time watching commercials for Kandy Kakes, a synthetic snack cake that is 100% artificial. The mascot, Kandy Kat, is a cartoon feline who is perpetually denied the very snack he represents. It’s a loop of wanting that never ends. More journalism by Vanity Fair highlights similar views on the subject.
Things get weird when B starts trying to become A.
She doesn't just copy her outfits. She starts mimicking A's physical flaws. She buys the same makeup. She eats the same weirdly specific diet of oranges and popsicles. It’s a slow-motion identity theft that happens right in their shared kitchen.
Meanwhile, C wants A to go on a game show called That’s My Partner! The premise? You have to identify your partner in a dark room full of naked strangers just by touch. If you fail, your relationship is legally dissolved.
"Maybe that was the secret to happiness," A muses, "being free of the responsibility of yourself."
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That line hits hard.
Why the Wally’s Supermarket Scenes Still Haunt Readers
If you’ve ever felt a soul-crushing malaise while walking through a big-box store, Kleeman gets you. Her version of Walmart, called Wally’s, is a masterpiece of corporate horror.
The store is designed to baffle. The essentials are hidden in the most inaccessible corners. You go in for milk and come out with a "chandelier made of food" or a gallon of veal. The employees, all named Wally, are interchangeable cogs.
It’s a perfect metaphor for late-stage consumerism. We think we’re the ones choosing, but the store is choosing for us. We’re not customers; we’re just the "creators" of profit for the system.
The Church of the Conjoined Eater
Eventually, A leaves her life behind to join a cult.
The Church of the Conjoined Eater is where all the book's themes of hunger and identity collide. The members wear white sheets to hide their individuality. They practice "unremembering." They want to reach a state where they are no longer individuals, but part of a single, consuming mass.
It sounds like a solution to A’s anxiety. If you don't have a self, you can't be worried about losing it, right? But as it turns out, even cults have branding.
Breaking Down the Themes (Without the Academic Fluff)
Why does You Too Can Have a Body Like Mine still matter a decade after it was published?
Basically, it captures the "brand anorexia" of modern life. We are told to want things, then told that wanting things is a sign of weakness. We are told to be ourselves, then sold the tools to look exactly like everyone else.
- The Disappearing Self: A doesn't have a personality; she has a set of consumption habits.
- The Body as a Project: Whether it's "edible face cream" or plastic surgery, the body is treated like a piece of software that needs a constant update.
- Artificiality vs. Reality: In a world of Kandy Kakes and foam-headed employees, "real" things (like oranges) feel violent and messy.
Kleeman’s writing is sharp. It’s clinical. She describes a character eating an orange with the same detached precision a coroner might use for an autopsy. It makes the mundane feel alien.
Is This Book for You?
Look, this isn't a "beach read." It’s slow. It’s repetitive in parts. Some people find the characters too "cardboard," but that’s kind of the point. They are ciphers. They are the placeholders for our own insecurities.
If you like the "unreliable narrator" vibes of Ottessa Moshfegh or the social critiques of Don DeLillo, you’ll probably love this. If you want a plot with a clear "happily ever after," you should probably stay away from Wally’s.
Actionable Takeaways for the Existentially Curious
If the themes of this novel resonate with you, here are a few ways to engage with the world more mindfully (and avoid joining a sheet-wearing cult):
- Audit Your "Influences": Notice how many of your daily desires are actually your own versus things suggested by a Kandy Kat-style algorithm.
- Observe the Architecture of Consumption: Next time you're in a grocery store, look at the layout. Is it designed for your convenience or to keep you wandering?
- Read Kleeman’s Other Work: If you finish this and need more, check out Something New Under the Sun. It deals with climate change and "fake water" in a similarly surreal way.
Alexandra Kleeman didn't just write a book about body image. She wrote a map of the modern psyche. It’s a world where we’re all hungry, but we’ve forgotten what real food tastes like.
To truly understand the impact of the novel, you might want to look into the history of the Charles Atlas ads that inspired the title. Those old "insult that made a man out of Mac" comics are the direct ancestors of the body-shaming algorithms we live with today. Comparing the two reveals just how little has actually changed in the way we're sold our own reflections.
