So lately I've been tempting myself to venture out on the "wild side". You know, the side which everything isn't censored, politically correct or size four...actually BARELY even size ten. American. EVERYTHING that most of the fashion blogs 'go around' and avoid. This blog was destined to be everything all about the politically "incorrect", the girls in between and the waistlines that go belly up [ no pun ] to butter, Caesar salad and/or the occasional Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey [ my weakness ] who admittedly plunged to the same creamy hell we all theater majors do.
I started this blog with fat and fashion in mind. Socially it's definitely quite the water and vinegar cocktail, but frankly I'm not here to test either the circumstances. I've never been a fat girl all my life, technically, I've only been "overweight" by the typical standards starting with this year of 2010. A year ago, I was a happy, hourglass, size six with a ribcage and hip bones that wouldn't budge. I lived off of Top Ramen, Popov vodka [ plastic ewww ], and fitted tailoring.
Yet now I'm fifty pounds overweight. How? Even I bang my head in at this marvelous query. I'm usually stressed about my dying father, cook everything on butter and LOVE hard liquor. Brandy in general. I was used to seeing the typical cellulite on my thighs, but now when I find it's dimpled depths on my upper arms and knee caps...I shudder. The stretch mark scars lining my stomach are just as tumultuous. The boyfriend secretly complaining nonstop about my "adorable" hippo smile...nonstop. My family who concludes that my recent weight gain is correlated my lack of "admirable" job. My own mother who's been overweight since her last four c-sections donating her two-hundred-fifty [ ? ] "fat" clothes...one's I secretly fit in.
I'm fat. The world isn't. I'm learning to love my wider self, but it's a journey with more than cellulite and double chins. It's a reflection of my current stage in life. This blog from now one will be a mix of it all.