Today I put on a pair of mid-thigh denim shorts, a flowy white blouse, flip-flops and left the house to run a couple errands.
Let me pause for a moment to tell you it took some courage to both purchase and wear said shorts because my legs, while tan from swimming and muscular from dancing, are (1) not where I would like them to be and (2) are not up traditional beauty standards (read: Photoshopped) because cellulite.
My second errand of the morning was a drop off at the UPS store. I stood in line between two women. Woman #1 in front of me was about sixty. As I took my place in line behind her, she smiled and complimented me on my tan and my hair. We chitchatted about the weather and children until it was her turn at the counter.
It the spirit of paying it forward, I turned to Woman #2 behind me and smiled. Woman #2 was probably about 30-35, very attractive, about a size 8, wearing a shirt that says “COEXIST”.
She says: “Your hair really is amazing. ::cocks head to side:: “You should probably rethink the shorts though.”
Yeah. Read that again.
My face instantly flushes, not out of embarrassment but anger. No, not anger. Rage. This as my head slowly tilts to the side. If you’ve seen me really angry you know what I mean.
My fists clenched up. I know this because I felt my nails digging into my palms. So many things ran through my head. Because I don’t have time to get arrested today, what came out was this:
“You should probably rethink your shirt.”
I turned around and ignored her until I left the store. I wanted to say more but was afraid, of all things, that I would start crying. All I wanted to do was go home and change my clothes. And THAT made me angry.
Gender doesn’t matter.
Race doesn’t matter.
Religion doesn’t matter.
Sexual orientation doesn’t matter.
Apparently fat matters.
And I’ll go a step further and say it especially seems to matter as an actress. Matters more than talent. Than attitude. Than pretty much anything else. Because fat girls are not believable heroines, ingenues, or objects of sexual desire. But that’s a whole other post.
Plus-sized doesn’t necessarily mean unhealthy.
Plus-sized doesn’t necessarily mean lazy.
Plus-sized doesn’t mean ugly or undesirable or untalented or uncoordinated or LESS. THAN. HUMAN.
You might have an issue with my body. I don’t. And I’ve worked very hard past judgmental family and friends, past divorce, past depression to NOT have an issue with my body. Women. Do not tear each other down.
Celebrate each other.
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