Weight: Ugh. 9 stone 12 / 63kg
Height: ‘Hey, can someone get me that jar of peanut butter up there?’
Cigarettes: None. (an easy feat for a non-smoker)
Alcohol units: Not nearly enough.
Saturday 5th August. I bloody love a takeaway. There’s something so deliciously indulgent about having a helmeted stranger hand deliver food to you, like grapes to the Queen of Sheba. It’s the same feeling I get when I devour a box of chocolates all to myself. When I lift the lid and examine the tiny menu sheet with all the little pictures and delectable descriptions and promptly decide it would be rude not to sample one of each flavour. Now, the fact that I can be morbidly lazy at times may have something to do with me being a Deliveroo devotee. I am only 30% embarrassed (and 70% delighted by my breathtaking ingenuity) to admit that I once ordered a box of chicken nuggets from a McDonalds I can see out of my kitchen window because I couldn’t be bothered to get dressed. Hell, I’ve even got Dominoes to deliver two pints of Ben and Jerrys to my door because the freezer section at Sainsbury’s was ‘too cold’…
The point of this perfectly shameless confession is to let you know that eight months into my ‘lifestyle-changing’ diet, I just ordered a takeaway. Tofu Pad Thai if you must know. And, do you know what? I’m not even a little bit sorry. Apart from the fact that they erroneously sent me Chicken Pad Thai instead (why do bad things happen to good people?)
It has become a topic of daily conversation in my office of late that at least four of the girls in my department are on a diet. One is hitting the gym, one counting calories, one purging carbs and one on Weight Watchers. Sometimes I catch myself discussing the merits of Quinoa over Couscous, or debating whether a celery stick really does burn more calories than the stick itself and I realize how painfully BORING we must sound. It’s also important to point out that not one of the girls involved actually needs to be on a diet. But hey, welcome to summertime inside a millennial woman’s mind.
I think most men would be astounded at the level of pressure we women put on ourselves to look a certain way (although admittedly the rest of the men are too busy perpetuating our image anxiety to notice). I actually had a conversation with my best friend the other day about how we can’t even enjoy certain sexual positions without agonizing about how many rolls of fat could be visible from that angle. How fucked up is that!? And that fact is true of so many women my age, even though we are all fully aware that the only thing our partners are actually thinking at that moment in time is ‘I’m having sex. I’m having sex. I’m having sex’. Perhaps with a little ‘OMG, boobs’ thrown in for good measure.
I do think that this generation is making great progress in teaching women to embrace their individuality and championing their so-called imperfections. You only have to log online to find a slew of body positive bloggers and journalists, making it their mission to change the world one pair of Spanx at a time. I particularly appreciate the plight of some such crusaders who draw attention to the ridiculously whacked out sizing discrepancies from one high street retailer to another. I myself can be a jeans size 8 in River Island and a size 14 in Forever 21 for example. The latter of which can drive me to immediately swear off jeans entirely and resign myself to a life rocking back and forth in the corner of a dark room shouting lines from The Elephant Man, wearing baggy tees and sweatpants. Really I shouldn’t give two shits about what it says on a tag, but unfortunately for many that tag can become a badge of disapproval that labels you a failure. A scarlet letter branded on your lower body that tells you you’re just not good enough.
I also applaud the real women who take to Instagram to wax lyrical about the beauty of ‘hip dips’ or to sermonize the notion that #ThickThighsSaveLives.
However, for every social superhero, there’s also an emaciated female celebrity or influencer who uses the very same platform to indulge in ‘rib cage bragging’, or boast about the size of her inner thigh gap.
I don’t think any of my female peers can honestly say that they will not always want to change something about their body in pursuit of perfection. Whilst what that actually looks like may differ very slightly, I think we all know what we are talking about when we talk about a ‘good body’, or at least what image that conjures up in the majority of people’s minds in today’s day and age. It’s the same image that is being shoved down our throats from every angle on a daily basis. I must also say that it’s not just a problem for women. Men are also under pressure from that six pack toting Adonis on billboards up and down the country, but I would argue that it isn’t as much of a regular discussion around the water cooler as it is with women. That hunky male image is more of a fantasy, whereas with women it’s actually an expectation. Mattel recently announced the arrival of a new generation of diverse dolls including ‘Broad Ken’, ‘Curvy Barbie’ and their multi-cultural friend squad. Whilst it appears to be a step in the right direction from a racial perspective, the cynic in me wonders; is it all just too little too late? It’s 2017, so the fact that this is all happening just now blows my mind. I also think this token offering is more gimmick than game-changer and sadly couldn’t possibly serve to eradicate nearly 60 years of negative representation. I know, I’m such a Debbie Downer. Ooh! There’s a new one for you, Mattel.
I have recently accepted the fact that I am someone who will just always have to watch what I eat a little closer than your average 28 year old. I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome when I was about 15. For those of you who don’t know it’s a hormonal imbalance that basically means I have a bunch of angry, spiteful bitch cysts on my baby-makers that have gifted me with some biological presents akin to a piece of poo sprinkled with glitter. Symptoms vary from person to person, but can include one or a combination of the following: Irregular or heavy periods, tendency to put on weight at random, the need for a lifetime supply of wax strips and bad skin. Luckily I don’t suffer from the latter but the others get a big fact tick. PCOS is now incredibly common. In fact 1 in 5 women in the UK have some form of the condition. It is sometimes hereditary (thanks Mum) and can potentially affect your fertility, which, let’s be honest, becomes a bit of a moot point when you factor in the other delightful symptoms! It’s not painful or life-threatening, in fact most people just jump on the combined pill and carry on living their lives. My main battle has always been the inability to lose weight. I can be on an incredibly strict diet of superfoods and salads -willpower is absolutely not something I lack - and it would still take me 6 months to lose around 3 pounds if I’m lucky. I’m never going to be skinny and honestly I don’t want to be. I have boobs and a bum and I love that. It’s more about feeling confident.
Last year I gained around 15 pounds of relationship weight for no reason. I actually managed to remain blissfully unaware of this fact until one particular photograph sent me on a downward spiral of self-loathing. I embarked on a mission to get myself back to being me. A more recognisable version of me that didn’t warrant such concerned looks on my parents faces. Channelling my inner Tom Hanks, with the image of that photograph pinned to a mental drawing board in my head, I started to run. I ran every day I could at 6:30am before work and joined a dance class on the weekend. Let me be clear, I am not saying if someone puts on some weight because they were actually enjoying themselves for a year not worrying about whether they have backfat or not, that they should immediately rectify the situation with a strict diet and exercise regime. For me it was actually a psychological realignment.
Though I detest the monotony and self-flagellation of running, the focus and discipline involved gave me back a little of the control I’d felt I had lost. The routine of it also helped me immensely when my relationship abruptly ended and I desperately needed a cerebral retreat from my life. Even if just for 20 minutes of my day, I wasn’t thinking about him. I was doing something for me.
Guilty of being a serial fad dieter, I decided that I was going to change my lifestyle this time, rather than opt for a quick fix. Over a period of about 8 months, I have now lost a total of 20 pounds (just over 9 kg) by cutting down on sugar and working out regularly, which I am incredibly proud of. My clothes fit me better and I feel generally healthier and happier. My fitness levels are up and I’m even a little more flexible than I used to be. I’m going to keep up the exercise as it’s generally good for my wellbeing and I've still got a long way to go before I am back to my former size, but what I am really going to dedicate the most effort to, is not beating myself up if I skip the gym for a few days. Excuse me Stairmaster, it’s Game of Thrones night.
Maybe the term ‘balanced diet’ actually means having a balance of eating healthily and just living your fucking life. A really key part of my success was to realise that if this was a long-term thing, I needed to allow myself some simple pleasures now and again (see aforementioned Tofu Pad Thai). You all know that if you tell yourself you absolutely cannot eat something, it becomes some sort of forbidden fruit that you want more than anything. If you just allow yourself a bit of what you want now and again, it won’t feel so much like a punishment.
I think of myself as a bit of a special case when it comes to the ‘weight’ issue. It’s actually more about the principle of the thing for me. I don’t eat badly, I never have, so I don’t think it’s fair that I should be struggling to button up a dress. As if the fact that I need to wear cycle shorts under my skirts to stop my legs rubbing is a moral injustice. I’ll always fight for the right to feel comfortable in my own skin, but that absolutely does not mean I have any desire to waste down to a size 6 or feel under any pressure to develop a protruding spinal column just because that’s what I see portraying the ‘hot girl’ in the latest blockbuster. In fact, I know I’m going to look back at my young self when I’m in my mid-fifties and be absolutely livid that I was even wearing a kaftan at the beach because I had a banging body and I should have owned it.
Ladies, life is short and it’s about the little things, the moments that make you happy. If devouring a pizza in your pajamas when you’ve had a long day or baking some gooey chocolate brownies when you’re feeling under the weather is what gives you the good feels then fucking go for it. I’m almost certain that the model with the washboard abs has got her own insecurities and is probably sitting at home right now wishing she could grow a pair of tits or cultivate some sexy curves like you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I could have sworn I ordered prawn crackers…
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