I’ve previously spoken about how trousers are my equivalent of A Long Time Ago, In a Galaxy Fat, Far Away
yes there will be as many space and alien type puns as I can fit in. I’m not sorry in terms of the last time I wore them. Throughout my teenage years I never went near a skirt, now crave them like Gallaxhar craves Quantonium still not sorry.
These ASOS trousers though have been ones I would go back to again and again. They just looked so soft that despite no love lost with trousers I needed them.
As I work half a day on Fridays, I knew I could test my boundaries but feel safe that I was not at work for a full day. The green lends itself well to me remembering a never worn collar from Sugar and Vice. Add a bangle scoured from a previous Fat Swap and presto-chango, a Regenerated me stepped out feeling scared but babely.
Sometimes ideas that seem great turn out to be turds and this was, sadly, one of them. In my mind the geo print blouse with those orange red trousers were going to look fantastic.
It was annoying enough when due to the bank holiday and Hermes I did not receive anything until yesterday – and at the wrong address as I asked SimplyBe and ASOS to re-route both packages to my work, though luckily a neighbour was in – but it’s extra insult that it then looked so bad.
The top is great, I love it. The shoes are fine for what I need them, which is tan ones with a slight heel. My heart wants a big wedge type but I can’t walk in them and they hurt a lot when I try – stiletto, wedge, platform, block heel it’s all the same. The trousers however look more like a coral and I did not even bother to take more than an iPhone picture by my bed.
I look like someone’s grandma on holiday in Las Vegas, and not the chic, slightly edgy babe I was aiming for. The trousers are already on their way back to SB, that’s how much I loathed them that I re-packed them right then and there.
I want to try the top and shoes with some white jeans but having come on today (and those on twitter will have seen me complaining that I’ve had to shove loo roll up my vag, as I was sure I wouldn’t need my cup just yet. Maybe by 35 I can start tracking my periods like a grownup?) that will need to wait a week.
A few weeks ago, after excitedly awaiting for months, the Beth Ditto S/S16 range launched and the lady herself appeared in Selfridges where the range is being sold in the UK.
There were a lot of familiar faces within the London Fat Babe blogging world there and Beth herself is warm, friendly and just super nice.
I admit, it’s been a long while that I’ve been in a shop and tried clothes on and having seen someone I knew, along with their friend, we picked a bunch of outfits to try on. We had a film montage moment with each stepping out of our changing rooms, posing and all around being sassy.
The Leigh Dress that I tried on was one I had been eyeing since the website launch. It looks awful belted but looked stunning on Beth in the Lookbook pictures so I had faith. And was rewarded for it. The 2X I have on swamps me a bit as it is so roomy. In the end I bought the 1X
Having seen Beth wearing it, I also tried on the silk double bubble dress knowing full well I couldn’t afford it. But when in Rome, as they say…try on as much as you can – I think it’s one of those sayings which is lost in translation or something and made more sense back in 100BC.
Fat people aren’t usually afforded being part of the shapeless trend, we must try and accentuate smaller bits of ourselves (by hook or by crook, if you don’t have an hourglass shape. Belt it. Squeeze it. Hide it).
The necklace I spotted on a post by IKIWN and knew it would pick out the orange in the dress beautifully. I was right.
(what a beautiful picture this is. finding beautiful, fat bodies is so important I feel to plus size people. Society tells us we aren’t attractive, images portraying us as such are worthwhile surrounding yourself with)
Sex when you no longer loathe your body is a very different experience to all the years where you did.
I’ve always kept self-hate talk away from my spoken vocabulary. I thought both myself and my sexual partners knew of my shortcomings already and it would only embarrass us all and make things awkward to verbalise it. I spent so long desperately trying to hide the fact I was fat (*lol* I know right, I’m not sure how I fooled myself this was an achievable task) that it took up more space than the fun of having sex.
Lights were kept soft with a lamp on the floor, light on in the next room, etc. but not off as I’d read in those women’s magazines, which are not worth the ink they waste, that men (most of my sexual encounters have been with cis men) hated complete darkness. Plus, like I already said: ego. I wanted my pretty to be seen but I would avoid positions where I was on top, ones where I would be on all fours.
I strongly believe until you let go of your internal fatphobia you cannot begin to love yourself as a fat person. If you have limits on fat acceptability then you have already lost. It’s a self-sustaining growth cycle, the more you find showing love and kindness to others, the more you accept your own body and the space it takes up.
You go from never wanting hands to roam in certain areas (NOT THE HIPS AVOID! Oh god, will they touch my stomach, will they notice it creases between it and my groin) to actively craving those neglected areas be lovingly and sexily stroked. It’s empowering fully accepting being FAT. I want those areas touched because they spent years being shamed for existing. I want and crave my whole body being touched, it’s all equal, it’s all good and it is all beautiful. Soft, wobbly, dimply; all of it. Being caressed feels more natural too, your partner isn’t framing their touches with avoiding areas you clearly highlight, if not with words with body language, as being No Go. They can travel all up a leg, all down from breast to stomach. It’s lovely.
You already know. The waking world knows that David Bowie is gone, and those asleep will find out within minutes of waking. This is big news and you might confuse it as the usual internet drama machine that wrings its hands and fake wails whenever anyone at all dies. You would be so very wrong.
Amongst my peers I am seeing genuine sadness today, true broken hearts. I don’t cry for people I don’t know but today even I cried in the car. My partner asked if I had heard and I sharply replied that until a real source cited it (at the time only The Hollywood Reporter had) I was sure it was a hoax. I was convinced this was Not True. Minutes later the confirmation happened.
Everyone who is famous will mean the world to someone; their presence will inspire and save lives (my own bands who saved me were Placebo and Nine Inch Nails, for example). And yes in this digital world we all express our opinions en masse be it about X-Factor or Leonard Nimoy passing. That doesn’t mean it’s always the same impact. That doesn’t mean people are wanking on the internet for attention.
For me it was Bowie’s image rather than his music which inspired me first. Being a fat, awkward child and teenager (and adult, to be honest) who only knew about combat trousers and hanky tops (1999-2001) and had TOTP and SM:TV. The internet was not big at the time so I was limited to what I could discover. But there was this shining light who was so free. It was OK to like boys and girls – surrounded by straight friends this was massive to know. It was OK to not dress exclusively male, exclusively female. To present as nothing before (again, to my eyes as other legends of the 70’s I wasn’t aware of in the 90’s. My mother listened to Metallica) and to be so bright you are superhuman that we did not believe you could ever die, that your light could be extinguished.
The music for me came later. It’s not something I can touch on very well as I am not someone who knows about music very much so I always feel foolish discussing it. I keep it private, inside me; knowing what I like, what sounds beautiful, what elevates me from the shit but fearful of sounding stupid and ignorant. But let’s just say it completed the picture of this Super Being.
I have read of generations today of people to whom his music, his presence meant so much. First meetings, dates, weddings and funerals. Queer children like myself I’m seeing where things were made easier by discovering him.
We weren’t alone. We weren’t freaks. We didn’t have to hide.
How liberating this was.