MENTAL SOUVENIRS FROM THE LIFE OF THE FAT GIRL: PART ONE

1996 (5th Grade):  Her name was Danielle and she called me "Hippo". Not affectionately either. The peer pressure in elementary school was oppressive, even for a child. Classmates were french kissing (I didn't know what that meant), Tom was calling me a "bitch" (my mom told me what that meant), I faux-voted for Bill Clinton because everyone else was (I felt SO guilty) and I wore orange socks which were apparently unforgivable even at age 10. The last thing I needed was someone to point out the fact that I wasn't slender.

1999 (8th Grade): I went to Sears in the mall to pick out a new dressy shirt (such a treat) and Mom let me do the shopping alone. I remember the shirt I chose so vividly: light lime green with elastic lined sleeves. After wearing it for a month, my Mom pulled me aside and said that I should get rid of it because it was "unflattering" on my arms. She started to cry and assured me that someday I would find a man that would love me for me, and not for the way I looked. I loved that shirt until then.

2005 (Freshman Year in College): The Mormon College I attended was marriage-centric. The girls spent their free time flirting and working out in the University's gym. I remember the mandatory gym outfits (baggy grey men's t-shirts and dark blue basketball shorts) that were supposed to keep you modest, but really just made you feel like a gargantuan cinder block. I would change only in the bathroom stalls. I look back on the pictures now and see how perfect I was, and I wonder how in the world my vision was so distorted. I kinda wish I still looked like I did then.

2010 (Trip to London): We were couch surfing with a Scottish lad and we went pub hopping, picking up his friends along the way. I distinctly remember cramming into a cab and arriving at a posh bar with paparazzi outside and feeling severely underdressed in my silly purple and white 50's day dress compared to everyone else's slinky black and gold. To further instill my unacceptability, one of the Brits turned to my rail thin friend and said "Now THATS what an American girl should look like!". Some random acquaintance defended me saying that I was okay too, but the comment was still throbbing in my head and I don't really remember what was said. Looking back, I realize that I was a "bella tourista".

2011 (Working in the Bakery): It was a weekday morning and my chauvinistic boss was blaring his usual shock jock radio show for a few hours. The radio jockey made a smarmy comment about how he hurt his back while having sex with a "fat chick" and I felt shame completely submerge me. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't look up. I felt so not okay. I let rude and crude men make me feel not okay.

2012 (Today): I stood up extra straight for the picture so my chin wouldn't double, thought twice about it and decided "fuck it". Body acceptance starts with me, and only me. Then it grows into a circle of friends and people that accept and love who I am. Then it expands into surrounding myself with media and role models that embrace and celebrate diversity and challenge the unrealistic norm. Then, and only then, can it sprout into a lifestyle that outwardly advocates for EVERYONES right to feel not just okay, but exquisite.

Take THAT Karl Lagerfeld.