Sincerely, Saskia

The other day, influencer @gracefvictory posted a video of herself wearing a striped crop top with the overlay text reading: “When every “fashion makeover” show you watched growing up would tell anyone over a size 10 to ‘avoid wearing stripes as it makes you look bigger’ so you did. But now you’re 33, living your best life and wearing whatever the hell you want.”

She looked gorgeous in the striped top too, in case you were wondering, and I think she was wearing my favourite pair of jeans — but I digress. In the caption she asked her followers whether or not we were ever ‘personally victimised by those shows’, and my answer is a big, fat yes. 

I, for one, dragged myself kicking and screaming into body positivity, after years of being told the way I looked was wrong. Not only did I feel victimised by people around me but also victimised by those shows I wish I could go back in time and turn off. 

I don’t think there is a fat woman alive who would disagree with the fact that fashion was made with us out of mind.

From Gok Wan to Trinny and Susannah, segments on This Morning featuring the charming Steve Miller of Fat Families, the message was very clear: if you are fat, you cannot and will not look good… in anything. Stay well away from anything that accentuates those “problem areas” while you’re at it because you wouldn’t want people to find out what’s under your shirt now, would you?  

Not only that, but the messages us fat women — because it was mainly women — were given were very fucking confusing. Gok and good old Trinny and Sus would tell us to stay away from stripes, bright colours, anything that would draw attention to the elephant in the room.  Yet, any shop that dare stock anything bigger than a size 14, always had stripes on the rack, ostentatious floral patterns and a God-awful supply of black trousers to pair them with said ostentatious floral patterns because, remember now ladies, black is slimming. Don’t wear skinny jeans because you don’t have skinny legs. In fact, stay away from jeans altogether. Wear some leggings or jeggings if you’re fed up with black trousers because they stretch and you can probably get a smaller size, which is ultimately the goal.

Oh, but wait. Now, all of the thin people have an opinion and take issue with the fact that you’re wearing something meant to show off the attractiveness of the smaller bodied person, not jiggly thighs and fat arses. Embrace your body and love yourself but only if you’re following the cereal diet or SlimFast because, again, you can only love yourself at a size 18 if you plan on being a size 8 by the upcoming summer. 

I don’t think there is a fat woman alive who would disagree with the fact that fashion — for a very long time — was made with us out of mind, and preferably out of sight too.

I do dress with a purpose, and that purpose is a simple one: to wear whatever the fuck I want.

Now, I’m not strictly blaming those “makeover shows” for the fact that it took me about 10-12 years to not hate what I saw in the mirror, but I am blaming them for the restrictions they imparted on all the fat bodies out there – a restriction that I would argue has only recently lifted in the last decade. I’m also not saying size-inclusive fashion doesn’t have a long way to go, but it has a come a helluva long way from the early 2000s.

I’ve always been a bigger girl and I always felt punished for it. That was until I dragged myself kicking and screaming into a state of mind where I control what I wear and not society, not what one high street store decides to stock and certainly not bad TV with fatphobic hosts peddling gross body ideals and passing them off as the norm. 

I don’t really follow fashion trends and I tend to covet one item for longer than its intended wardrobe life, but I do dress with a purpose, and that purpose is a simple one: to wear whatever the fuck I want. I will consciously go outside, in all weathers, with my mid rift on full display. As a big, boobed girly since the womb, sick to death of having to cover her cleavage to make other’s feel more comfortable, I will rock a cleavage like it’s a fucking accessory on any and all occasions. I will get my thunder thighs out when the weather calls for it because I was so subconscious about my thighs at one point that I didn’t even make it to events. I spent nights getting ready having full tantrums, not satisfied with the way a garment was or wasn’t concealing my stomach – you know, the one no one knew I had.

Of course, there are still times when I get subconscious and feel like I’m being “too much” but unlearning doesn’t happen overnight, which is why I’m so aggressive with myself because I refuse to let such misinformed ideals shape anymore of my life than they already have. Wearing waist trainers at 12-years-old (sorry, internal organs), wearing oversized cardigans as an invisibility cloak — boy, was I tired. 

And after all of that, the worst thing about it was, I was doing it for the sake of everyone else. Because if people didn’t exist and I had the exact same body I had then or the body I have now, I would never have had a problem with it — I never really have. My biggest problem has always been the problem everyone else had and I’m ashamed to admit that’s who I was dressing for. 

Luckily, I grew up and out of it and have been proudly dressing for myself for the last 10 years or so, but those little stands I take with my fashion are to heal the 8-year-old who spent countless evenings after school having to endure the barrage of fatphobic rhetoric that made her childhood and early teen years less enjoyable than they should have been. Every crop top I put on my back, heals the little girl who was made to feel subconscious for having her arms out on a hot day. Every time I sport a little cleavage, heals the fact that I spent most of my teen years planning my breast reduction to be rid of what I now consider one of my best assets. Every time I wear a bright orange blazer or floral corset, it heals the little girl I made hide in a corner, so she didn’t take up too much space.

To that little girl, I am so, so sorry. Now, let’s go and do an ASOS haul. 

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