It’s true. I feel fat.
Well, ok, I am fat. Last time I got weighed (when I went to the doctor, about… um… a year ago?) I was just shy of 90 kilos. That put me one point into the ‘obese’ on the BMI scale… which admitedly is not at all a sensible scale – check out the BMI project. Next time you hear about the ‘obesity epidemic’, we are the people they are talking about. That would have made me about the same BMI as Kate Harding .
That’s not the problem. I’m ok with being fat. I’m ok with being large. I’m NOT ok with the BMI system, but that’s a seperate argument. I’m even ok, in theory, with the fact that I have put on weight. I dunno what I weigh now, but that really isn’t the point.
The point is twofold. One, I feel like crap. I need to get off my butt, because I am stiff and crackly and I feel like an old lady. But it’s cooooold! And I’m laaaazy! Anyway, that one’s gone on the to do list: ‘get off butt and do some sort of stretchy exercise and possibly ride to work a couple times a week even though it is cold and you are unfit and it is further than before and you do have to ride down scary South Road.’ I’ve been making an effort to eat better, too – what with all the renovating and moving, etc, I got into too many bad habits, and then the last week of work at the old place I gave up on breakfast (which I hate) altogether. But I’ve been sitting myself down and making myself eat a proper breakfast, and cook a proper dinner. I intend to continue this. This is not about dieting (I just ate half a packet of jubie lollies and I am NOT SORRY so there) it’s about putting good things into my body and feeling good. Along with the lollies, if I so chose. So there.
The second point is, none of my clothes fit.
Most of my work skirts are hand me downs or op shop finds. As such, when I got most of them they juuuuust fit. Some of them, the high waisted ones, only fit if I only do them up to the waist, and left about 2cm unzipped. But now, when I wear these, they sit funny and they are a bit tight and they are uncomfortable. I sort of only clicked to this a couple of days ago, and then I realised why I had been so cranky lately. Lack of excercise means I am tired, and don’t feel like I fit into my body. It’s like it’s a meat suit I have to carry around. And now that body does not fit into its clothes.
Let’s be clear. It’s not that I don’t fit my clothes. They don’t fit me. I am not the wrong size. My clothes are the wrong size for me.
The first place I put on weight (and lose it) is my stomach. This is why my tops still fit (mostly – I need to have a purge of all the shirts that will never ever fit my built-for-carrying-shoulders properly, but that is unrelated to recent weight gain) but my skirts don’t. I’m still skating between a 16 and an 18 on top, I could probably even wear a 14 if it was stretchy but below, I ain’t getting into anything less than an 18. Or some pre stretched 16s, maybe. I mean, my jeans (16) still fit, and my underwear (14s and 16s) do, too. Yes, you needed to know about my underwear. But anything with a rigid waistband is a bit of a squeeze. Especially after lunch.
Because I am a crafter, I know my measurements. Last I checked (probably about 6 months ago), they were 110, 95, 112. Yes, I have that memorised, shuddup. Now – and I mean RIGHT AS OF NOW, because I just this second went and measured myself in the work bathroom FOR YOU, INTERNET, that is HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU – they are 115, 105, 115. So that’s 5cms added on top and bottom, and 10 in the middle. Which changes my proportions, which changes how and where my clothes fit. And this is the important bit, because for me, my ‘weight’ and how ‘fat’ I feel is not about how much flesh I have on my body. It’s not about my mass. It isn’t, in fact, about my physical presence in the world as a body. It is about how I feel about my body. How I move in it, how my clothes fit me, how I feel in my clothes, how sexy and good and beautiful I feel.
At the moment, that is ‘not very well’.
So. Something needs to change. I’ve been reading fat fashion blogs as well as a couple of straight sized ones. Because I’m fatter (or a different shape) than lots of the fatshion bloggers anyway. And the point is to look nice, not to be thin. And I’ve made a promise to myself to take better care of my insides by feeding them well and stretching them and all that. And now I’m looking at my wardrobe. (In my mind, I’m at work). Some things – like the majority of my skirts – need to go on hold. They need to be taken out of my wardrobe because every time I look at them, I see ‘you are the wrong shape and size’. Which is a LIE. So they can go live under the bed or something, since my waistline has fluctuated quite a bit in the last year or so they might fit again later. Things like my shirts need to be tried on, assessed for comfort, and purged.
Things that ARE THE WRONG SIZE are going. I am staying.
And then… sigh. I am going to have to acquire some new clothes. This is something I dislike doing. Hopefully it will involve sewing, but either way it will definitely involve angst and money. And I dislike both of those aspects. But I also dislike feelig lumpy, and I ALSO dislike wearing the same thing every day. I enjoy picking out my costume for the day, and I want to be able to choose that costume from a wider array of goodies. To wear outfits, not just some clothes I picked up off of the floor. I want to have clothes that I consciously choose, not ones that fit, so whatever, I guess that’s as good as I’m getting.
I can’t do anything about all the thin people who tell me they are ‘soooo fat’ or who talk about ‘obesity epidemics’ or who say ‘oh, you’re good!’ when I have a salad for lunch. But I can do something about my wardrobe.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go home and sew a hammer and sickle banner for a friend’s party.