I am a hypocrite. As a devotee of plus size fashion, its mantras, bloggers and all it stands for I am committing serious hypocrisy. For the past two weeks I have been living on wheatgrass shakes, cuppa soups & poached eggs. Why? Because I am about to jettison off to Thailand where all manner of selfies and beach/bikini related photography will happen. My travel buddy and Best friend accompanying me is beyond snappy happy. Throw in a reunion with uni friends who are model-esque and you have one very insecure and hungry 22 year old.
Why is it I believe in flying the curvy banner for all and sundry and yet cannot accept my own body. I seem to believe that my life, my 20s that is as nothing exists outside of them for now, will really begin once I lose this extra weight. But is it extra weight or is it me? Why do I dehumanise areas of my body in an effort to disassociate, disconnect and disapprove of them. If I were thin would I have fewer problems? Probably not, but for some reason the idea that fitting into a smaller pair of jeans will make me happier won't go away.
I am blessed with beautiful friends, stunning in fact. A few are professional models and actors & the rest are Norwegian - explains itself. I have compared myself to them for years until very recently. Mainly because when you are 6ft and a size 14 you can't compare yourself to your mate who is 5ft 5' & a size 8. The biology just doesn't work. The truth is I have only one other friend who looks remotely like me and even then she is infinitely smaller chested so I'm still in a league of my own. I have tried to find a celebrity counterpart, and failing possibly Nigella Lawson, at a very big push I am out here on my own. And it's hard.
I have rules, like I can't wear bandeaux dresses, I can't cut my hair short, I can't wear double breasted anything or shorts or waistcoats or Lycra. I can never buy crop tops, high necklines are a no no and horizontal stripes are a cardinal sin.
My mother may have had a hand in establishing a few of these but by and large these rules have all come from the subliminal messaging fat women receive from supposedly well meaning shows like 'how to look good naked' & the style columns which give sound bite advice on 'how to dress'. Where have these rules come from?
I'm exhausted by shopping and prefer online where I scrutinise every angle of a piece of clothing before daring to order it. I cringe at the thought of wearing a bikini, luckily my drive to be brown outweighs this body shaming & I'm sure a cocktail or two will help me get over it. But why should I feel my body is unworthy of a bikini, that I am undeserving of displaying all that I am.
Heres where it all just gets ironic; I truly believe that being extremely skinny is unattractive, the fashion industry & it's designers are all fucked and they are trying to perpetuate an ideal woman who in fact has the figure of a prepubescent boy. It is almost as if the boy actor of Shakespeare's stage has been grotesquely subverted and now it is women who must play the boy and wear the costume.
The reality is that the average woman is my size. Definitely not my build but my dress size, in fact she's bigger at a size 16. And yet I don't have a role model who looks like her. It warps your way of thinking, to the point where instead of having a womanly figure I would kill to be flat chested, 6ft with no hips - I could wear anything I wanted. I would be perfect.
So what am I going to do about it? Am I going to quash the hunger pangs and eat? Am I going to get that trainer? Am I going to let my bikini terror get the better of me? Who knows, I am still trying to figure it out and my body is still my biggest battle ground. Denial is a really nice place guys. The one thing I know for sure is that I will never tell my daughter she can't wear something because of her size and shape. I will bite my tongue and tell her to try it on because at the end of the day they are only clothes.
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