My Grandma called me chubby yesterday. Not as an insult, but as a kind of loving remark as she embraced me goodbye. It sucked. I’ve always prided myself, on being the girl that doesn’t order the salad at the restaurant, that can’t contribute to the conversations about spinning or whatever the fuck the next fitness trend is, by being the one that just doesn’t care. Still, my positive body image wasn’t strong enough to take a comment from my sweet elderly relative. On the ride home, I began to wonder what people saw when they looked at me, and if their perception different from my own? I kept showing my mother images of girls asking “is she chubby?”, “how about her?”, forming some sort of scale and placing my recently discovered stats within her answers. Even though comparing yourself to others, I know is never the answer. Was I so oblivious, that I was the last one to find out I was fat by society’s standards? That was my fear, even though I wanted so badly not to give a shit.
I always tread a fine line between embracing my body and the freedom that entails (CHEESEBURGERS), and the desire to be disciplined and healthy, to wear what I want every morning because fat days simply wouldn’t exist. But which is more important, my integrity or my health? Also don’t get me wrong, staying healthy is a priority, but juicing is rarely used with that as a motive if you catch my drift. Health is the alibi, but skinny culture is the true motivation. So what does a girl do? Shrug off the “chubby” comment, order pizza and call it a day, or finish writing this post grab some cereal and go run 3 miles? Does loving oneself, mean allowing yourself everything, or allowing yourself what is probably best for you? I wish I could end this post with a definite answer, with a pizza or cereal, but I can’t. Today I am leaning towards discipline and that has everything to do with my grandma’s comment even though I wish it didn’t. I will be an anarchist of skinny culture that conforms for her own health and happiness, and that is ok. Here’s is the truth, no matter your size, there will always be sweet grandmas or judgemental assholes who will give you their 2 cents about the way you look. I guess the answer really is doing what makes you happiest, not what you believe is pleasing others. That goes for all of you juicers and cheeseburger eaters out there. This way the next time someone calls you chubby you won’t pretend you don’t care, you truly won’t give a fuck. On that note, here are some semi-clothed pictures of me! Ironic or perfectly fitting, I’m not sure, but I guess either way it makes sense. That was way more serious then intended
Ecua-Andino Panama hat, Alexander McQueen scarf, Ray Ban Clubmasters, H&M kimono, Victoria’s Secret bathing suit, Aurelie Bidermann cuff, Rag & Bone shorts, and Hermes sandals.