I have forgotten that the inbox of Twitter doesn't notify you when you receive a message (I understand it's because the tweets themselves serve as personal messages for their users), but I'm just more than happy to have clicked on the 'Messages' link one particular Thursday afternoon.
I cupped one hand over my wide-opened mouth with the 1-liner message I read, which made me shuffle my way to Stacy's cubicle and pseudo-whisper: "SARAH MEIER WANTS TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR OUR BLOG!"
It was unbelievable. The rest of the day was just filled with clouds of pure excitement and joy, because Sarah Meier -- no need for intros here -- supports our advocacy and is gracious enough to share with us her experiences and insights in this very thought-provoking and wittily written article.
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Let me start off by saying that though I am categorically considered a writer, I have not volunteered to cement words on behalf of anything in a very long time. But in the throes of a very fulfilling (yet chaotic) Philippine Fashion Week this past May, the existence of theplumpinay.com was introduced to me, and after weeks of smiling incessantly that women like Stacy and Danah exist, I found myself twitching to say a thing or two to both them, and you.But as a fixture in the modeling and fashion industry, what business do I have talking to you about perception of body beautiful, and self-love? More than you think.I like my body. I think I have lapses in discipline when it comes to my eating, sure, and the prospect of working out is an endless scenario of the angel and devil perched on either shoulder, but ultimately, I am okay with not having a waistline that is 10 inches smaller than my hips. I am okay with the fact that I will never be able to wholeheartedly sing along to club Hip Hop songs about my rear end being impressive (I literally stop dancing when songs like "Baby Got Back", and "Bootylicious" come on).I didn't used to be okay with it all.35, 29.5, 36.It's a far cry from the "model ideal" 34, 24, 34 that I'm supposed to be, and believe you me - armed even with the justifications that I'm 6 feet tall, or that I have a 5 year old daughter; armed even with all the confidence and positive thinking in the world - the fashion industry still has a way of making me feel like a whale. (And they say it to my face too, which I sometimes am not sure whether or not I should be grateful for.)Sarah with her lovely daughter, KayaBut the truth is, I don't want to be the type of skinny they want me to be. And I fight it everyday. I think curves are viciously attractive, for as long as they are healthy, and not a sign of detachment (from concepts of nutrition or reality), or attachment (to food). I think that every woman needs to have something a man can hold onto, and to be completely honest with you, when I was breastfeeding my daughter as a baby, I was torn because she couldn't find anywhere soft to nestle when she was lying on me. (Huge "growing up" moment in realizing it wasn't all about ME after all.)I too, have internal battles about bikinis, oscillating between "I just can't do it" on some days, and flicking a figurative middle finger to the world saying "I don't care what you think" on others. I have considered moving to cities with a colder climate for the mere convenience of not having to wear a bikini so often in the first doggone place, and frankly because in winter, layering is the great equalizer and we can all look like sleeping bags together.But there is a fine line between comfort, confidence, and complacency.You can tell yourself you're comfortable with how you look, and then work on having the confidence to step out to the world and say so. But if this breeds a buffer around you, becoming justification for you eating what you want, and not working out…then you're muddling up concepts.I gained 79 pounds when I was pregnant. For some reason, I guess I had convinced myself they'd all leave my body when the baby did, but she weighed 8 pounds and 2 ounces - which left me staring at the remaining 70 on the weighing scale, able to muster nothing other than a resoundingly depressed "WTF".And when I gained all that weight, I lost the "friends". Some because my confidence was shot, and I probably wasn't the most beautiful or pleasant person to be around, but some also because they didn't know how to handle their famously skinny supermodel friend being not so skinny or supermodel-y. I learned a lot in those months, about people, and about myself, and took all of the hurt and frustration to mind-blowing strength and conviction…at the gym. One year of commitment, it took. And I learned one very important lesson:There are no shortcuts.There are no shortcuts in dealing with prejudice. In losing weight. In learning how to enjoy exercise.There are no shortcuts that work long term, in crash diets, or pills.There are no shortcuts in developing real skills, or habits, or strength.(And when you do take shortcuts, there WILL be repercussions. Always. I guarantee it.)I'm doing a talk this Saturday called "How To Be Awesome 101", and one of my little pointers is to "not fill empty with empty". All this means is that there are voids that sit inside each and every one of us, and what we do to fill them, determines whether or not we drift off into oblivion, or settle down comfortably; stable and at peace.(See, weight can be good for some things too!)--It is what you make of it. It is what you allow it to be.If you let it be an issue, it will be an issue. If you ignore it, it will remain unresolved. If you claim change, you will attract it. If you put it on a throne, it will becoming king.I had just never seen it that way before, because all I had was the peg of what I wanted to look like, (mis)matched with what I was seeing in the mirror.So from one girl whose community says she's too big, to another -Remember - it's all a matter of perspective.I leave you with a hug, and the words of one of my favorite non-judgemental fashion industry people, designer Sassa Jimenez:"Ang tunay na babae, nag-eextra rice."Photo by Celwyn AbasoloLove,-s.
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Thank you Sarah. This seriously means a lot to us. :) (Speechless, still.)
Plump love,
Danah