Summer is peeking round the corner, waving a little hand; ‘I’m on my way’ it’s saying’, ‘dust off your Summer clothes’. A gloriously hot day is predicted for tomorrow. My first thought is; oh blast - what am I going to wear? With my soft, doughy upper arms, bulgy belly and cellulitely thighs, I’m not ready to expose my flesh!
We all know there’s a value judgement attached to weight, don’t we? That people say ‘well done!’ or ‘congratulations’ to you, when you lose weight. As if you’ve just made some amazing scientific discovery or run a marathon. We all know it’s a criminal offence to venture out in the sun, wearing temperature-appropriate clothes if you are carrying any extra kilos. As a woman, your BMI is meant to be as low† as the age you aspire to resemble (†under 24), no matter what your biological age; frozen in amber with no disfiguring lumps or creases. (And your crease is meant to be as smooth and hairless as a boiled egg.)
Unlike many of my contemporaries, who refer to 'middle age spread' or 'baby weight', I’ve always had a fluctuating body size. I didn’t wait around until I’d had kids or reached a certain age to get fat. My mother used to say that I was fine until I broke my arm, aged seven, and then, because I was relatively inactive for a while, I started to pile on the pounds. The way I interpreted this was that I was a ‘normal’ sized child until a freak, playground accident turned me into a human space hopper*. I went on my first ‘diet’ aged ten, when I stopped eating crisps and chocolate biscuits. I eschewed anything that I’d been told was fattening and it worked. The approval of other people - the grown-ups, when I first lost weight, was utterly intoxicating.
*No matter what size I am; however ‘big’ or ‘small’ I become, there is a part of me that will always feel like that space hopper
I watched a program about dieting once where it said that some people put on weight on purpose, just so they can get the buzz of praise when they do reduce. This really says something about us, as a society, doesn’t it? That we become so enamoured of the approval of others that we create a situation of gain and loss just to earn it. It’s a false high and the fluctuation can’t be particularly good for our bodies.
Whilst reading an article about the difficulty a ‘plus-sized’ woman had finding clothes in her size, I stumbled upon this blog about body positivity:
It’s creator is a woman called Megan Jayne Crabbe and she has an Instagram account where she shares pictures of herself. This is her mission statement:
"I'm a recovered anorexic, recovered self-loather, trying my best to shatter the 'not good enough' mentality we've all been taught about our bodies. As you'll know if you follow my Instagram, I'm a big fan of belly roll love, exposing diet industry lies, and wearing pastels."
I really love this woman; from her rainbow coloured hair, which makes you feel cheery, just looking at it, to her body positive, frank pictures, to the fact that she genuinely seems to want spread a positive message; spread the self-love. One of the big messages of the body positive movement is that we don’t exist for other people’s delectation and have no obligation to look a certain way. (I realise that, as a feminist, I should be totally on board with this concept, but there's a difference between knowing something, intellectually, and feeling it!)
So, friends, I’ve got a good mind to embrace this body positive thingy; who’s with me? I’m not asking you to take two giant pizzas, sandwich them together with double cream and eat them for lunch - but please feel free to do that, if you’d like. But shall we all stop bashing ourselves, drown out the inner Greek chorus of doubt and just go out and enjoy ourselves? (And let's stop disparaging other women, while we're about it. I know that you wouldn't do that, reader; you're too kind, but call out your friends if they do it. We don't need to slate someone to make ourselves feel better.)
P.S I'm wearing a dress tomorrow.
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