To every adult woman who's wishing she looked like JLo in a green sheet.

Here’s a public service announcement.

Don’t waste another minute. Not one more minute, on wondering why you don’t look like 49-year-old JLo when you dangle a green towel over your shoulder.

You know, like this:

You might be 29 or 49. You might be 19 or 59. You might have had twins (like JLo), or have never given birth. You might have a multi-millionaire sports megastar lover (like JLo does) or you might not (chances are, let’s face it). It doesn’t matter. You don’t look like this with no clothes on.

If you’ve caught sight of this image on the internet today, sighed deeply and started mentally cataloguing all the ways in which you are unworthy, you are falling into a trap you are way too smart for.

I know. I heard your thoughts.

“She’s 49. Oh my God, I’m not even 49 and my bum has never looked like that. How does JLo’s bum look like that? How does she not have one single solitary wrinkle on her entire body? Where are her stretch marks? Hasn’t she had twins? Shiiiiiiit. She has literally no cellulite. No cellulite at all. What kind of weird witchcraft shit is that? And her arms. She must do a million push-ups a day. I should get back to the gym. No, really, I should. JLo has twins and she has time to get her arms looking like a racehorse’s rump, what’s my excuse? F***, I’m so lazy. I bet JLo would have passed on that cheese plate I had last night. And the bread. I bet JLo hasn’t eaten bread for 12 years. I have no willpower. I’m so weak. I’m so weak and lazy and dumb and if only I got my shit together and learned to pass on the cheese plate, I might look like that in a green glittery cape, too. At 49. Oh my God, I’m not even 49 and…”

I can hear your thoughts because they’re mine, too. After the self-flagellation they turn to uncharitable bitterness.

“I bet she has So Much Help. I bet she barely sees those twins because she’s always at the gym, or the plastic surgeon, or the, that… place with the green smoothies. I bet that picture’s airbrushed to shit, too. I bet she’s soooooo boring to be around because she never eats the cheese plate and she’s probably neurotic and really insecure and a terrible example to her daughter. Yeah, JLo, it’s fine for you with your trainer and your chef and your nannies and your nutritionist and your assistant… I bet I would look like that – yep, I totally would look like that – if I had that kind of help…”

And then I remember it’s a trap. One that I am about to trip and fall into.  So I stop. And breathe.

JLo in a green sheet has nothing to do with me. She has nothing to do with you, either. JLo in a green sheet is JLo doing her job. JLo looking completely rocking in next to no clothes is basically you nailing a spreadsheet or selling someone an apartment or giving a pain-relieving massage or fixing a car or writing a marketing plan or teaching a kid how to read or making dinner for your family, or… you get the picture. It’s basically you, doing your job, only JLo’s sheet-shoot is probably slightly less useful to the world.

JLo has always looked like this. Before there was Kim Kardashian, Nicky Minaj and every single butt-selfie-snapping gym influencer ever, there was JLo. Her bum used to be considered shocking and enormous, if you can believe that, kids.

Because before JLo, the famous ladies were all Cameron Diaz and Jennifer Aniston and Sarah Michelle Gellar and they were only ever-thinner blonde people. And then JLo was in a movie with George Clooney called Out Of Sight and everyone lost their minds because “Jennifer Lopez” was Latina and beyond beautiful and had a bum and could act and sing and she had a string of exciting fiances (Puff Daddy! Ben Affleck! Marc Anthony! A-Rod!) and then she wore a green Versace curtain to an awards ceremony and people lost their minds and ever since then… JLo’s body has been a pop culture icon. Public property, always on display in an ever-more naked dress.

Remember, it's a trap. But JLo didn't set it. She's a genetically-blessed woman who's working out every day, is extremely conscious of what and when she eats, and has a team of professionals working on keeping her youthful, beautiful and relevant enough to keep her selling out tours and landing movie roles.

The trap is in making you feel like you're a disgusting failure if that's not your life, too. The trap sets out its tiny pieces of bait by putting JLo on a magazine cover with a line like Beauty At Any Age. It lures you in with a promise that You Can Get Jennifer's Arms In Just 30 Minutes A Day. And it snaps its jaws over your head when you press PAY on that super-exxy youth serum/weight-loss shake meal-replacement/gym membership you'll never use/diet book with a number on the front/underwear that will flatten your tummy but boost your bum. It chews you up when your head won't let you wear that dress/go to that party/apply for that job/go for a swim/be in that photo.

Let JLo have her green sheet moment. Appreciate the beauty of a body that's been relentlessly tuned for high performance for decades. Admire the work of a world-class photographer, a team of stylists, cosmetic artists and art directors.

But before those thoughts kick in, look past the pretty picture for the threat hiding in plain sight.

Look at it like a savvy deer sees the bear-trap sprinkled with leaves in the woods.

Nice try, universe, but I'm not that stupid.