mean girls

January 22, 2018

Fatpants are all that fits me right now

Welcome to the new year, you fat pig. Thanks to your inability to control yourself over the festive period, you are now five pounds heavier and, frankly, a disgusting shell of a human being. (The January ads are a lot crueller than the pre-Christmas ones, aren’t they?)

Anyway, if you, like me, are feeling more Jabba than JLo at this current moment in time, welcome. A little more insulation and a little less self-esteem.

I know what you’re thinking. Another January, another blog talking about weight gain.


But I wish to focus on the fact that despite all my clothes bursting at the seams, I refuse to buy a larger size. Why?

Well, for one, sizes are bullshit. Unlike our lucky male counterparts – who are blessed with exact measurements that mean just that – high-street stores seem to just take the piss when it comes to what constitutes a size 10. I vary wildly in this respect, dancing (or plodding) between a size 6 and a 14, feeling like a sprightly slip of a thing one day and a gluttonous slug the next.

My leggings are a 12. My string tops are XS. My swimsuit is a 14 (fuck you, Speedo). At this current moment in time, I am wearing an 8, a 10, a 12 and a 14. H&M is the devil, in this respect. At best, it’s blatant inconsistency; at worst, it’s damaging to people with a negative body image.

So, I’ve tried (with moderate success) to ignore labels on clothes. Stop looking at sizes and scales because, at the end of the day, if you’ve gained a noticeable amount of weight, you’ll feel it yourself when you have to stretch that arm a little higher to avoid the double-chin selfie.

For me, my five-pound excess was glaringly clear when I ripped my size 10 (I know, kidding myself with this Donald Duck arse) jeans in half upon sitting down too quickly. Like, in half. I could fit my head through that hole. Baby got too much back. My jeans can’t even handle me right now.

Solution? Give up full-fat butter and proper mayonnaise and pasta? Nah. Physically move limbs a bit more? Maybe. Now, I’m not going to be standing inside one leg of my old jeans in a year’s time like those infamous Subway ads but, if I can feel a little less sluggish, I’ll be happy. Seeing as I hate running (like, to the point of tears), I pray that my Free Willy splashing about in the pool will help me wave goodbye to those extra bags of sugar.

A big ask, seeing as it’s still miserable January (too cold for a salad but perfect pie weather) but sure look it.

Anyway, I’m gonna make like my jeans and split.

Lead image: Paramount Pictures

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