I laugh every time I say ‘curvy’. Me and my other ‘curvy’ friend only have to lock eyes at the mere sound of the word and we’re off into fits of giggles; is ‘curvy’ just the nice way of calling someone who’s fat, fat? There’s no other way to say it, really, is there? Without being a twat. I’m not Kim Kardashian ‘Kurvy’, I’m not even Kelly Brook curvy; I’m more the two yoga balls curvy. Sometimes after a heavy weekend on the ale and a late night Maccies, I reckon I’m bordering more on spherical. Perfectly rotund. But nonetheless, I’d rather be referred to as curvy than fat.
I’ve always been of a bigger build, and by that I don’t mean I’ve always been fat, I just mean in year 5 when everyone was floating round in Oilily shoes I had size 7 kickers. Year 5 though – the shame. These days, I’m not talking can’t zip up your River Island jeans: I’m talking on occasion those Evans jeggings are cutting off your circulation! When your two sisters are feather dusters and you’re a big fucking Henrietta Hoover, you’re always going to have a bit of a complex aren’t you?! It’s ok, though, coz I’ve always been the one with ‘the prettiest face’. I thought it was about time to do a humorous take on the daily battles of self-confidence for a true ‘curvy’ Sassy Bird. Walk a day in my chunky heel platform wedges, because stiletto heels are an absolute no-no!
It’s a weighting game…
It’s not rocket science. In fact, losing weight and toning up is probably the easiest equation going. Eat less + exercise more = look like J-Lo. Except it’s not that easy, is it? It’s the willpower and the consistency that’s the hard part. In every other part of my life, if I want to do something I do it. But when it comes to not eating that last piece of bread: fuck me, the willpower crumbles (no pun intended). Life gets in the way. As one of a group 26 year old, successful single girls, how can I choose to stay in and ‘eat clean’, ‘drink clean’ and ‘stay clean’? Shouldn’t these single years be about ‘being dirrrty’? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t go round the Maccies drive thru like I’m on the Magic Roundabout, and I’m regularly at the gym of a weekend; so for all of you who are going to hate on this and criticise; just remember, I’m not judging anyone else and I’m not complaining. I don’t hate myself, I know exactly what to do and how to do it, but come back to me when you’ve got more than a couple of stone to lose and tell me how easy it is. Let it be known: I’m also not trying to normalise being overweight. What I am trying to do is highlight a few issues that I think the average person doesn’t even stop to think about. If the only message anyone takes from this, is who really is the unhappy one with how we look, ‘us’ or you? And if you pause to think the next time you go to judge or criticise anyone, then that’s a success.
I’ve always been the popular one, with loads of mates (ohhhh! Is that that ‘big bubbly girl’ charm everyone goes on about?). I’ve always been the loud, confident one, and it was always true confidence. However, in recent years I’ve found at times that this confidence is something I’m – plastering on, and this isn’t because I’m unhappy with myself – of course I want to be thinner, of course the one thing I’d change and can change would be my weight. My confidence has been dented because of the people that are unhappy with me. And I’m not talking people that know me; I’m talking nasty little Gobshites on the street. What would you say if you knew the real truth about how a comment, a look, a smirk to your mate really affects a person? Has humanity really got to the point where it’s ok to be nasty about someone JUST because they’re fat? Is it ok? Of recent years, the Pie-ass Paranoia has become a reality for many ‘curvy’ girls, and that’s because abusing a complete stranger has become normal. From happy slaps, to filming fights, this society has truly lost its morals (personally I blame the Tories).
Definition: Pie-ass Paranoia, noun – the absolute certainty that whatever they’re laughing at, whatever comment they’ve just made, it’s DEFINITELY about you. They’re definitely taking the piss and it’s definitely because of your pie ass.
When Pie-ass Paranoia takes over you’ve literally had it. There’s no stopping it. The next thing you know you’re fighting a fully grown man for a look at his camera because you’re convinced he’s just taken a photo of you and his mate having a dead hard neck. Or that lad that you weren’t even that into hasn’t text you because he’s scared you’ll eat him. Now, the way I’m going on you’d think Channel 4 were about to come and do a documentary on me! Am I crazed? Does this really happen? Absolutely. That look, that laugh, that smirk that those lads are pulling as you pass them at the bar, the way that girl’s just whispered to her mate. It happens, and this is the toned downed version. You’re walking down the street minding your own business, and the next thing you know you hear “FFFFAAATTTYY!” out of a car window. Well that’s it then, that’s one bit of “body magic” I’ll be doing in the dark with a balaclava on. Because of these confidence blows, no matter what anyone tells you, the Pie-ass Paranoia takes over. The majority of the time it genuinely is just Pie-ass Paranoia, and you can breathe a sigh of relief, but sometimes it’s not, and you can’t help thinking, ‘I’ve had my curly blow, I’ve got me perfectly blended smoky eye, I’m doing my thing. Did I miss the bit where I insulted your mum? Killed your cat? Ate your last Rolo? Because I must have done something really bad to deserve the humiliation you’ve just tried to bestow on me!’ No, no sorry, I forgot. I deserve it. Because I’m fat.
Weighting for the one….
Now, while everyone else is single and enjoying the tinder game, I can honestly say I’ll never go on a tinder date, despite the fact that I’ve dabbled. This is partly because internet dating is not my thing and my toes curl at the mere thought of the awkwardness. But it’s also partly because whilst I can take a pretty decent photo and a perfectly angled selfie, I’m absolutely terrified that they’d be disappointed by the size of The Ass. Everyone who I tell that little secret to laughs, and says I’m being ridiculous. But seriously, it’s the way the world’s got me. Sometimes, I think I’d rather be a wool than fat; and then I give me chins a wobble. Every ‘curvy’ girl, in fact every single girl goes through this pre-Tinder date ritual I’m sure?! Watch this space, maybe when my 30 cats have started to have a better sex life than me I’ll crack and go one day! Meeting boys in a bar is more my scene; at least we both know what we’re getting. I might even let them have a cheeky feel of The Ass just to make sure there’ll be no disappointment when we meet sober. (Just to confirm: I’ve had no complaints! – 1-0 to the ‘curvy’ girl who goes the gym!) So after a few flanterous Whatsapps and you don’t even get to a first date, you think ‘oh shit, maybe their mate’s give them some stick about necking the big bird’, when actually, it’s probably just that he’s a non-committal Gobshite. I’ve only ever been in love once, it was a while ago now and I’m hoping that it wasn’t the only true love I’ll ever have. I’m aspiring for that again, and I’ll never settle. Every lesson a Girl needs to learn: thin, fat, tall, small – better to be on your own than with a Gobshite. NEVER settle.
“You’ve got a really pretty face…”
Before now I’ve been referred to as ‘African bum’, and I genuinely embrace my inner Nicki Minaj; I have the hoops and curly Afro to go with it. But more than once, I have been told I look like the legend that is Gemma Collins (or ‘GC The Kaftan Queen’ as me and my friends like to call her). I don’t though, and my only answer to that is: ‘why? Because we’re both big and blonde?’ Not that I am offended: she’s a successful, attractive, hilarious woman and although at times she can be a little bit of a cringe (how did she restrain herself from eating that apple pie? Let’s just not mention the apple pie), it’s not ok to say all Chunky Monkeys look the same, ok?! And while I’m on the subject of Gemma Collins, I think what happened to her on I’m A Celeb exemplifies what this whole article is about. What did she do other than go in the jungle? What did she do that was so bad she deserved the online abuse she got? I could understand if it was Katie Hopkins, the trout (FYI Katie, I’m not lazy; I have two jobs, attend the gym and have a very active social life so fuck your stereotype) but all Gemma did was go in and make us laugh! Alright, I’m not sure I wouldn’t have ducked her head under the pond myself just to stop her moaning for a minute, but she did no harm at all, and the reaction she got was ok? Society accepted that it was ok to actually terror her! Chris Moyles, of all people, even had a swipe at her! C’uuuuuuumon Chris, it wasn’t that long ago you were hiding cheeseburgers in your bra.
As I said, I’m not normalising being overweight, but losing weight is a long process and it’s not something that can change overnight. At some point in everyone’s life, whether it’s that 7lb holiday weight or that 7 stone, you’re going to be on some form of weight loss journey. So WHY has it become ok to judge everyone? How do you know that that person isn’t working on it? They could’ve already lost 5 stone, and are on their very own ‘fitness journey’. Should they not be allowed to wear fashionable clothes? Should they stay in so as not to offend your sensitive eyes? I know, better yet, let’s throw them all in a zoo! The funniest complement you’ll ever receive as a ‘curvy’ Girl is “you’ve got a really pretty face”, or “your face is stunning”, and “you have got the most gorgeous smile”. I’ve had every single one and that’s really nice, it’s lovely to hear. But what a backhander! Why don’t you just say “your face is fit, shame about the ass”?!
There’s so much more I could go on about and reveal to the world about shopping, clothes, work, holidays… but I think I’ve already given you a super-sized portion already. And you know, I believe in everything in moderation. To reiterate, I’m not saying all this because I am a ‘curvy’ Girl, I’m saying it because I’m a human being, and when it comes down to it, we’re talking about people’s feelings. What would you think if this was something your friend, daughter, cousin, sister, or niece experienced? And what I’d say to anyone who experiences this would be: fuck them! When it happens, you hold your chins up high, and no matter how much you want to absolutely die on the spot, instead of putting your head down or pretending you never heard it, turn around and ask them to repeat what they said, because I guarantee they won’t. Then congratulate them for picking out your most obvious ‘flaw’, because there’s fuck all else they can say about you, “but let me get started on you – take your Henry Lloyd, snaggle-tooth, 90’s gel-spiked hair, vile personality and shit shoes elsewhere, cause it won’t be belly that gets you, it will be karma and I hope it’s a fucking bitch.