I’m the new Miss Fashionable – or think I am – in my very own right. I have a dream. My dream is to lose  more than a few dress sizes, be the super skinny, bones-sticking-out-of-my-neck girl and still be the next perfect, healthy Miss fashionable. I have a mission. My mission is to walk all of the major runways in the world, now in my twenties and later in my eighties – as the one who pioneered a new phase in global fashion. I have a cause. My cause? Find a way to blow up everyone who’s called me ‘fat mama’ (or maybe it’s just what my low self-esteem heard them call me) so much so they can’t live amongst ‘normal’ humans but in caves hidden away in faraway lands and forests all the days of their really miserable lives. Then I’d go on to help all the ‘big sisters’ lose some weight. I’ll get awards too numerous to own and the world will remember me. Forever. When I lose a few dress sizes. Yes, when I lose more than a few dress sizes. Yes, I can. Oh, I will.

But poor me! Here I’m, sitting in my room, scooping the last piece of ice cream; helpless as ever, with all of the world’s best weight loss books, DVDs and materials at my disposal. Here I am, without my cause, mission or even dream of being the world’s Miss Skinny in sight. How can life be so cruel? And society. What is it about society that isn’t helping???? And why isn’t society helping? What can ever be so wrong in being a plus sized girl-next-door who just wants to have fun and eat everything she can find (especially fatty foods because they are my favorite) and doesn’t feel like working out every other day? What, ever is so wrong in that? I couldn’t think of one thing but society (the community I live in and the one I’m dream about – fantasy land that is) sees a million reasons why I should be that tiny miserable version of my full figured self. Yeah, talking about ‘dreamland’, Disney isn’t even helping. All, or almost all of the Disney princesses are thinned out! Is it so difficult to understand? It’s plain simple: I’m too overweight for my own freaking self to love! And I desire a change!

It is Sisters like Monique and Gabourey Sidibe that give us the courage to dare to be comfortable in our own skin, to be true to who we are. Don’t get me wrong; I’m true to who I am. Am I? But really, honestly, I don’t want to be another Monique (sure, she comfortable with being her but I’m not). I wanna be a Sarah Jessica Parker (even though I agree she seems like a shredded fraction of her own self), Eva Longoria, Christy Turlington or Heidi Klum. I want to walk on the runway, unhindered. I don’t want to own weight loss books anymore – or even if I do, I’d rather own them on some other plus sized sister’s account.

Jennifer Hudson, when she was plus sized

The trimmed-down Jennifer

Movies like Lying to be perfect and Phat Girlz are not what I need! Instead of that feel-good-about-yourself-it’s-the-best-way-to-live, thoughts they intend to deposit in your brain, I just feel stupid seeing those tiny girls. Maybe it’s an excusable reason why I hate (maybe not ‘hate’) Toccara Jones. She was beginning to give me hope when she was plus-sized. We all looked up her as the new Miss Sunshine who wowed everyone at America’s Next Top Model. There was hope. It meant more full figured sisters’ dreams of being the next famous models wouldn’t be easily swept aside. At least I hoped so until she went to Celebrity Fitness Club! What kind of loyal sister does that? And then Jennifer Hudson. was another inspiration to sisters like me. And we loved her. America loved her. I loved her. The next thing we know, Jennifer, after her multiple award-deserving and winning role in the Dream Girls (she got out with more awards than any skinny sister in that film), lost so much weight – about eighty pounds, I hear. Omg! When I saw her, I hated the new Jennifer! No, don’t get me wrong, I don’t ‘hate’ Jennifer. I think she’s a sweetheart. Just so you know, I have all of her songs, every documentary on her. Everything (you never get that many ardent fans like me out there). Just so you know. What I hated was her body. Okay, maybe not ‘hated’. I was envious of her body. The new body. Why couldn’t it be me? Why can’t I jump out of this skin and be in Jennifer’s or ‘miserable’ Sarah Jessica Parker’s.

So I’m seeing Desperate Housewives; season everything, all over again. I hope it helps. And I stopped following up on America’s Next Top Mode. If I can’t be Tyra Banks, why try. Why watch her? I’ll just be me as I continually hope for a change.

Just so you know; I’m a size 6, hoping to be a 2. No, not ridiculous. Just a dream.


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