I am a woman who whole-heartedly embraces my voluptuous shape- my tits, my ass, my thighs, and the curve of my hips are all something I rather enjoy. I do not have the body of a supermodel. Luckily, becoming a super model was never an aspiration of mine, so I don’t really give a fuck whether I look like one or not. BUT- I am only human. And we alllllll have our days. And this particular day was my day. “Do I look fat in this outfit?” I asked Britt, examining my shape in the mirror.
She looked at me. “Ummm…no,” she answered.
“Ok…” I wasn’t convinced. “But you would like, tell me if I did, right?”
“I mean, I guess I would. But that would never happen.”
Right answer, sis. Britt and I aren’t the kind of girls who toil or bother with body snarking to each other, the way some BFF’s do. This is something I feel has isolated me from girlfriends in the past. Inevitably, the conversation of “I hate my fat thighs and OMG my stomach is like getting huge” always comes up, and when it was my turn to hate on myself, I just never had anything to say regarding the matter. It seems that certain groups of girls do not appreciate this sort of confidence, and would rather widdle away their precious time on earth trying to conform to some arbitrary status quo of beauty that has been created by corporations and the advertising industry for the sole reason that we will purchase their products to aid us in our lifelong quest for perfection. We are the consumers and we are the majority. Why do we have to fit into their whack-ass mold and not the other way around? And now, a quote: “It is in our biology to trust what we see with our eyes. This makes living in a carefully edited, overproduced, and photoshopped world very dangerous.” - Brene Brown. End of rant/PSA. *Takes a bow*
Thrifted top and hat. Urban Outfitters jeans. Charlotte Russe booties.
Until next time,
Chelsea
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