Can I Get Away With This?
And other fatphobic shit I’ve said
Modern Homo sapiens (that is, people who are roughly like we are now) first walked the Earth about 200,000 BC. Since then, more than 117 billion members of our species have been born, according to estimates by the Population Reference Bureau. You and I are but two of them.
Isn’t it funny, then, that we worry about something as trivial as the perceived imperfections of our bodies; these amazing meat-vehicles that allow us to see, hear, taste, and touch, and to move and sing and communicate with the world around us, while we’re standing on a spinning blue ball travelling 30 kilometres per second around the sun?
Forgetting all that magnificence, we obsess over the giggly-ness of our tummies, the chunkiness of our thighs, or the softness of our under-arms.
Which brings me to that dreadful question most of us ask before wearing something new, that horrendous 6-word sentence I’ve muttered so many times: “Can I get away with this?” Of course, “Getting away with it” can mean many things, such as:
“Are there any tell-tale signs that I have a big arse, big thighs, and a soft human tummy? Because there’s no way I could let anyone see that.”
“Am I too old for these funky purple four-inch heels that I absolutely adore?”
“Am I too fat to wear swimmers? Or too fat to go swimming at all? And does this stupid little beach shawl thingy hide my arse dimples?”
“Do I look too slutty? Too frumpy? Too try-hardy? Too old?”
As an ex-dietaholic who counted calories religiously, exercised twice daily, and measured my waist, right thigh, and right bicep each morning before obsessing over the scales (yes, I was nuts), I’m tired of asking the “Can I get away with this?” question.
But I still occasionally do.
I’m also tired of the courses that pop up in my Facebook feed to help me “dress for my shape”. My shape? I’m human shaped, thank you very much. If the garment has arm holes, a head hole and leg holes, I’m going to be just fine.
These days, instead of asking whether I can “get away with it”, I try to ask myself how I feel, not what someone else – who I most likely don’t give a shit about – will think. Do I feel comfortable? Do I feel authentically me?
Living in a woman’s body, in a world that has a lot to say about women’s bodies, while focusing on my own opinions is a work in progress. But when you’re just one of 117 billion, and you’re wearing a meat-suit, and you’re hurtling through space on a spinning blue ball, who else’s opinion matters?
Can I get away with this? Never actually spoke these words, but the side to side view in the mirror, the trying to contort my neck to get the back view (even with years of yoga I am still not that flexible), the destroying a petfectly organized closet in less than 5 minutes, the 'I have nothing that looks good on me' when just a couple of days earlier, everything looked amazing, the keeping my jacket on all through dinner because I no longer feel comfortable in what I finally chose to wear, the 'the mirror in this dressing room makes me look fat/too thin', the I am so fat when I look back at photos and I wasn't... done them all, without a single 'thank you body' or 'you are amazing. But no more. I love my imperfect body. I thank it for beating and breathing and moving. And I try to live by example for my daughters. And I know that it is so difficult. They have so much more pressure than I did. Social media is so much worse than 80's and 90's supermodels. May we love these beautiful homes we have. And take care of them. Before imperfections, they are made with love. And being made of love, this is what they need. Thank you Denise. Love how you express such important messages of self worth, acceptance, and love. Ps between me and you, I am still guilty of the side to side once in a while. 😉❤️
I can drown and drive myself crazy when it comes to bodies... endless points of view... also endless frustrations... Cultural, media and fashion studies conditioned me to think in terms of representation, identity, projections, expectations. I lost the ability to simply be and inhabit my body. The more "media" and brands do to be inclusive the more it underlines that we do not yet fully or naturally embrace the glorious diversity of human bodies. I only learned to love mine after a near fatal brush with cancer. Now I live in absolute awe and gratitude for its resilience.