Being a freelancer, I have the luxury of spontaneous shopping. I get up from my desk (or plastic table in the garden as it is today), and head into town on some phoney pretext which is generally total procrastination.
Today, I decided my summer clothing was sadly lacking, so headed off to remedy the situation. I tried the charity shops first, believing it’s far better to both recycle and give money to charity. However, finding nothing, I headed to the more mainstream clothes shops.
Unfortunately, I am prone to forgetting I am no longer a size 10, and as such, clothes shopping has become a much more sobering and depressing experience. This is especially true for revealing summer garments, and I’ve yet to understand why or when the larger lady would ever wish to wear hipsters.
So, I go in search of the perfect article of clothing; the one which will transform my flab into some vision of fitness. Whilst logically I know such article does not exist, I have not given up my quest. It has long been posited that major high street stores use slimming mirrors, but I’m becoming convinced some of the larger charity shops have also adopted this tactic. I’ve brought endless supposed flattering pieces only to discover I look like an obese whale in my own less flattering mirror.
Yet, I don’t agree with this body fascism. Idealistically, I believe we shouldn’t be so prejudicial to people because of their size. I want to feel proud and confident about how I look no matter what weight I am. But this doesn’t stop me from buying tops which are three sizes too big because I don’t want them to cling to my belly.
Today, the sensible voice in my head took over. I stood in the changing room and looked at myself in shorts and a swimming costume. I looked at my fat – or curves if I were feeling generous – and realized I had a simple choice. I could either make the decision now not to go in the water with my four year old all summer (I live five minutes from the beach), or else I needed to wake up and start accepting the way I look. After all, there are many women who are sexy and big. It’s about confidence, and all I needed to do was to start projecting this confidence.
Twenty five pounds later (cash, not fat), I’m back at home at my plastic table. I’m wearing the shorts, but my legs are hidden, and only time will tell whether I’m willing to wear them out. The swimming costume I’ve thrown on the side in the bedroom. I’m hoping I can hold on to the golden nugget of positivity. I have visions of striding confidently across the sand, comfortable with my womanly figure.