08 February 2012


Something tragic happened to me this afternoon.For one nano second I became a number cruncher.
*She cringes*
I've witnessed them kind of girls hung up on their clothes size,I've witnessed the sad,sad scene numerous times in various locations including:buses (teenage girls comparing their waist measurement to that of their favourite ill looking celebs).
"LOOK- AT- THIS.How to get Pixie's beach body and legs!Shes like a size 6.I WANNA BE THAT SIZE TOO...Vanessa Hudgens SWEARS by a green juice diet!Is that like just orange juice right,where does it like say what size she is?I CAN'T believe in New Look I had to take like a SIZE 10!You know?In that tiger crop top?Gross-ah.Our shopping trip last Saturday has made the rest of my week crappy.Really fucking crap. Actually.Didn't you buy the same top as me?What size did you need Becky?"
Such distorted dress size debates,aren't only a popular subject with teen girls,I've heard identical dress size dribble from women too.
These often crave the carved toned body parts of Cameron Diaz,Jenifer Lopez... and so on...
*insert your dream figure here*.
I would be telling big fat porkies if I sat here and claimed that such thoughts never crossed my mind.On THOSE ugly days when my jeggings suddenly feel like their lacking in the Lycra department and the sides of my bra begins to pinch and attack my armpits.Sure I would do anything for a hawwt bod like Zinser,well,anything except for ditching posh kettle crisps.What is that?Some sick joke?
So why did I completely freak out,and get so very annoyed and huffy when a size 12 dress failed me,or did I fail it?(Mmm did somebody have one too many bags of kettles last week?).My own reaction both shocked and disgust me,I wanted to reject the dress and myself especially when for a split second I considered replacing my delish lunch with a liquid diet of ribena and coffee.No,no.NO.What the fuck?I'm not bloody Vanessa Hudgens.GET.A.GRIP.Number cruncher.
'Number it is only a number single digits,double digits every aspect of your life isn't going to be defined by a silly size tag.Which can be destroyed anyway with a quick snip of the scissors.Hang up the hang ups you idiot.'That thought vs,'oohh so why isn't the 12 fitting huh?'For the first time I realised (and pathetic as this confession is)even experienced how so easy it is to become caught up in the cruel number crunching game.

illustration courtesy of Cassandra Rhodin

Now feeling like a sore loser,because I almost allowed myself to get consumed and swallowed up by the fashion media's screwed up body/image ideals.Sky news flash!I didn't slide out my mothers womb 'ideal',I've Italian in my non-ideal DNA.DNA which quite enjoys scoffing spicy spinach pasta with a side portion of soft crumbly garlic bread and a dollop of something sweet afterwards.So the wardrobe(and I) are both going to swallow the size 14 dress.Digest the dress size and dismiss Karl Lagerfeld-esque BS.Rather be a full up,rounder dress size. Than a,no wheat,no crabs,no dairy,liquids only-moody model.Complete with a concave stomach and hollow insides.

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