Sander Jennings was getting hate on the internet for encouraging people to move their bodies.
Not for what you might consider to be controversial, or a political take, or a spicy hot-button opinion. He posted a workout video — functional movements, stuff anyone could do from home during COVID — and the comments came anyway. This isn’t a real workout. You don’t even look good. Why would I take advice from you?
That’s where we started our conversation, and it set the tone for everything that followed: a quiet, clear-eyed look at why we’ve been taught to police each other’s bodies, who benefits from that, and what it actually costs us to keep doing it.
Sander grew up in South Florida—a stone’s throw from my house, in fact. You might know him as Jazz Jennings’ older brother. Jazz, the transgender activist and I Am Jazz star, just graduated from Harvard and has been one of the most publicly visible trans voices in America since she was six years old. But Sander is very much his own person, and this conversation proved it. He’s built a following of over 1.5 million on the foundation of a simple, radical idea: love yourself, love others, and do both out loud if you can.
It sounds easy. It isn’t.
How Fitness Became Activism
Sander didn’t set out to be an activist. During the pandemic, he had a backyard, some time, and a desire to help people move. So he started posting workouts anyone could do from home — no equipment, no gym membership required.
The trolls arrived soon afterward.
What struck me about his response was how it sidestepped defensiveness and went straight into curiosity. He started asking why we’re so invested in telling each other that our movement doesn’t count, that our bodies aren’t right, that our effort isn’t enough. And the answer is simple and unsettling: someone profits from you feeling that way.
The fitness industry, the diet industry, the supplement industry — they’re all built on the premise that you are a problem to be solved. And once you see that mechanism clearly, Sander told me, you start seeing it everywhere.
“Society tells us we have to look or act a certain way in order to fit the mold,” he said. “And the moment you stop buying that story, a lot of other stories start falling apart too.”
The Jazz Connection — And Why It Goes Deeper Than You Think
To know Sander is to know his advocacy for body image and trans rights. The idea that trans individuals deserve autonomy over their own bodies is absolutely part of the body positivity conversation. But Sander took me somewhere more specific.
Jazz, his sister, has struggled with binge eating disorder. Separate from her identity as a trans woman, this was a health crisis for someone he loves. And Sander told me that watching himself try to help her — and realizing he was unintentionally imposing his own ideas about what “healthy” should look like — was one of the most formative experiences of his life.
“I realized that in some ways I was trying to push my own ideas and narratives,” he said. “Just like the people who were saying ‘you’re weak and lazy’ were doing to me.”
That’s not a small thing to admit. That’s someone doing the actual internal work — catching himself mid-pattern and choosing differently. The body positivity he now advocates isn’t abstract. It was forged in real relationship, real love, real friction.
The Math of Being an Ally
One of the things I find most useful about Sander’s perspective is that he approaches allyship strategically, not just emotionally.
Here’s the math he laid out: roughly 5-7% of the population identifies as LGBTQ+. Which means 90-95% of us can be allies. And that’s not a small number. That’s a movement waiting to happen, if people decide to show up.
“I realized I could use my voice to start being a voice for change,” he said. “Not just the proud big brother amplifying his sister’s message — but a voice for every LGBTQ+ person who needed someone in their corner.”
This is where I think Sander’s work is genuinely underappreciated. It’s easy to celebrate the person who is openly trans, who is out and visible and bearing the cost of that visibility every day. It’s harder — and maybe more strategically important — to be the person standing next to them saying I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.
Allies normalize. Allies expand the circle. Allies make it possible for the 5-7% to breathe a little easier.
On Staying Sane While the World Burns
I asked Sander how he keeps his mental health intact while doing this work.
He stays active — movement every day, even if it’s just a walk. He goes to therapy. And he specifically called out the cultural script that tells men therapy is weakness: “I think it’s exactly the opposite.”
I’ll admit something here too. He asked me what helps me stay calm, and I told him the truth: I feel the cumulative weight of all of it — the empathy I extend to people under attack, the worry that extends beyond my own kids to anyone I see being targeted publicly. And when I stop moving, when I stop getting outside, when I neglect the very things I know help me, I feel it. I get ornery. I get small.
So we sat there at my kitchen table, two guys who are supposed to have it together, admitting we’re both doing our best and some days that’s enough and some days it isn’t. It felt like exactly the kind of conversation everyone should be having more of.
What His Parents Got Right
Sander mentioned that his parents are routinely called the worst parents in the world for unconditionally loving their child.
For supporting Jazz through her transition. For consulting with medical professionals. For saying we know the statistics of not allowing our child to be her most authentic self, and we choose love.
The worst parents in the world. For loving their kid.
Sander didn’t say this with bitterness. He said it with something closer to clarity. That’s great parents, right there. Full stop.
I think about the parents watching this who are scared, or confused, or who have been told by someone — a pastor, a pundit, a politician — that supporting their child’s identity is somehow dangerous. I want those parents to hear this: the research is clear, the human cost of rejection is devastating, and the thing your child needs most is exactly what Sander’s parents gave Jazz. You.
The Takeaway (And the Bidet)
I asked Sander what he wanted people to walk away with:
“Leading with empathy is not weakness. It’s not our place to tell people how they should live their life — whether that’s their identity, their body, their choices. It’s up to people to make their own decisions, and it’s up to you to accept and love those decisions, or zip your mouth and stay quiet.”
I’ll take that. That’s the whole thing. You don’t have to understand everything. You don’t have to agree with everything. But you do have to decide whether you’re going to lead with love or lead with judgment — and that choice, made millions of times a day by millions of ordinary people.
That’s how the world actually changes.
You can follow Sander across Instagram, TikTok, and YouTube at @sander_jennings. He runs a good ship over there. Kind community. Real talk.
Be kind, and wash your behind.
— Slade
