On Plus Sized Modeling

The topic of plus sized modeling does not come up as often in conversation amongst my friends nearly as much as I read about it, hear about it, and see it on the news. In fact, the topic never comes up at all. We don’t even talk about modeling much except for those few terrible, terrible weeks before and after the annual Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show, which isn’t a real fashion show (Coco Chanel is turning in her grave) and is more of a telecasted porno. The only difference between that and an X-rated flick is that teenage girls become anorexic rather than nauseas.

Glorified events like the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show bring Regina George-style attention to these models. Some of it’s negative, but more of it’s positive. The negative attention is along the likes of “they’re too skinny,” “they need to eat,” and “someone please give this girl some non non-fat fro-yo.” When stick-thin models are put to shame, the media begins to bow down to plus-sized models like they’re big because they ate a little piece of God while they were still in the womb. I’ve read countless online articles from major and reliable news sources that solely focus on praising size 12 models for being beautiful and doing their thing regardless of their size. Plus sized models are applauded for representing the average woman.

As someone who has been pretty average her whole life–I did away with any shot of having a Victoria’s Secret body by the first grade–I have no right to look down upon plus sized models. While it is important to stay healthy and fit, most runway models look seriously malnourished. I appreciate their dedication to things like kale and hunger strikes but I also think that it makes me feel bad about the way that I look.

SCAN0122

My 6th birthday party. Me = pregnant Kim Kardashian, Athletic Best Friend = Amanda Bynes (after she moved to NYC and decided to become 100 lbs., duh).

I don’t know for sure how I feel about plus sized modeling versus skeleton modeling (seeing as either example will never in a million years indicate how certain clothing will actually look on my body). However, as always, I have a lot to say.

To, primarily, address the elephant in the room (no pun intended, but I’ll go with it), does plus sized modeling encourage an unhealthy lifestyle? Does it give out the message that it is “OK” to look like that? I don’t know the answer. I obviously am just asking rhetorical questions to add depth to the essay. But if I did know the answer, I would say it. I wish I did.

How rude would it be if we totally cut out plus sized modeling from the industry? It’s comparable to stopping the sale of plus sized clothing–everyone has a right to buy clothing their size (assuming there are some people that you just never want to see naked) so then everyone should have the right to see someone their size wearing clothing their size. Under that logic, I am a proponent of the plus.

The most interesting thing about this entire debate to me is this: is it bad that I’m even questioning this topic to begin with? Am I living proof of our warped society for questioning the legitimacy of plus sized models? Our country is at war. Half of the people are complaining about the need to make girls feel empowered about who they are, as they are, and the other half is trying to battle a growing childhood obesity problem one carb-cutting lunch law at a time.

But then again, I could have it all backwards. Is it possible?–could we all be so obsessed with curing modern America from its romance with thigh gaps that the passion for a little chunk here and there is too fervent? It’s like going along with a movement not because you’re so invested in what the movement believes, but because you’re so against whatever the opponent has to say. Some feminists out there decided to get as far away from supporting super-thin models as possible. So, now, they support super-fat ones. Why? Not because they like the larger models, but because they dislike the thinner ones.

Well, after an hour of writing and a whole adolescence of thinking, I’m going to make my own movement. It’s called The I-wish-no-one-cared-about-what-anyone-else-thought Movement. I wish I could say that maybe one day, that will actually exist. I wish that I knew what we were supposed to look like. But for now, it looks like we’re only moving further and further in the opposite direction–the direction in which, ironically, the fight for staying thin and the fight for being anti-thin both lie.


On Packing

I know little about packing for anything. My mom was always super into doing the camp trunks, and my only job in this process was to mold my mouth guards so I could be well-equipped while bench-warming during field hockey and lacrosse. It takes me minimum two hours to pack to go anywhere, and I pack for triple the amount of time that I will spend in any given location. When I go away with my family, I am typically able to tell which sized luggage I should bring with me by looking at the suitcase that my two brothers share together and then I find one twice as large to carry just my clothing (shoes go in a separate bag).

Me hitting my athletic prime at camp

Against my will, however, I have to start getting in the mindset of packing to go to school next year. It will take me a few weeks to adjust to this mindset, and then another week or two to really think about packing, and then at least a month to separate things into a million piles (I always, for some reason, thought that making many small piles made me seem more organized and I ignored the fact that they just took up a ridiculous amount of surface area). The future of my packing capabilities is unforeseeable past the construction of my piles, because at that point my patience wears so thin that I get in bed and cry for a couple of hours until my mom makes me tea and I can get myself together enough to finish.

Recently, I’ve been very into posting about hypothetical things because of no particular reason at all. So, without further or due, here is a list of things I would hypothetically pack/do in preparation of having to pack if, hypothetically, I was willing to pack for school next fall.

Humidifier

When I was younger, I used to get an excessive amount of nosebleeds, like, on the daily. Every single time I would go to my best friend Nicole’s house for a sleepover–ugh, poor Nicole–I would get a gushing nosebleed for whatever reason. Maybe she had a humid house. To solve this problem, I got my nose cauterized and my parents put a humidifier in my room to keep the room “moist” and prevent the fragile walls of my nostrils from cracking. I don’t want my roommate to know about my excessive nasal bleeding, so I would pack a humidifier for school just in case.

There are too many good things about this GIF

A Lamp

As a child, I woke up at 6:30 every morning before school to read for an hour. Because of my years of reading in the dark (or I guess you could call it the “blue morning light,” if you want to get fancy), my eyes have become super sensitive to light and are starting to deteriorate. This year, I found out that I have an astigmatism (just like those twins in that contact commercial) so now I really, like actually really, need glasses. Since I’m too lazy to get glasses but still need to be able to see next year, I figured that bringing a lamp to school would be a suitable substitute. Also, a lamp will remind me of my little cute dog and the special lampshade-resembling-hat that she wears when she gets a procedure done at the vet.

Remember this? “We’re BOTH drop dead gorgeous, but only ONE of us has an astigmatism!!!!! Can you tell which?!?!?!?”

Bedding

Bedding is key, and it has to be clean. At sleepaway camp, I was too lazy to change my sheets every week so I thought that sleeping in my sleeping bag on top of my covers for seven weeks would be a perfectly wonderful idea. It was, in theory, but sometimes even feeling like a cocooned butterfly doesn’t replace the euphoria you feel when you get under the covers in your bed. It also doesn’t replace the feeling of cleanliness. Or dignity, for that matter. Residence Hall Linens  has a gorgeous selection of bedding that I actually won’t mind washing. That is, if I am ever able to master the art of a washing machine before the ripe age of 80.

Keurig

I don’t even drink coffee anymore, only herbal teas, but duh.

Slippers

I refuse to walk barefoot on a foreign floor. I could be staying in the nicest and chicest hotel in Abu Dhabi and still never walk barefoot on the hotel room floor. Hence, slippers are a must. Only God knows what kind of hot coals my potentially über-hippie roommate could have walked on during her gap year at an ashram.

Hopefully, she was JC at the ashram with J. Robs.

Technically, I would love to get an adorable rug from RHL, but I really don’t know if I’ll have room for my Hoover turbo-power vacuum in my room to keep it in tip-top shape. You know, with my small piles taking up so much surface area and all. You totally should get one, though!

Not food

Because then I would eat it and get fat.

Happy packing to me!

*this is a sponsored post*


Flavor of the Week: Group Texts

You love them, you hate them, you love to hate them, and you hate to love them. Basically, we are just really really emotional about group texts. Whether you’re savvy with GroupMe, WhatsApp, or stick to the classic iMessage chat like I do, you are involved of at least two of them. You probably have one with your best best friends and then another with your bigger group of friends, and then a few elsewhere, give or take. We heart these chats for so many reasons. Convenience? Yes. But secretly tedious and often awkward? Also yes.

lol duh I’m in

I see it that group chats linger as the nostalgic descendants of AIM chat rooms. Nothing gave me a thrill quite like being in a, dare I say, coed chat room in elementary school. I loved how everyone’s screen name was a different color and how the intensity of a conversation about who had a crush on who make my blood pressure soar like a vanilla chai, not soy, from Dunkin. And even before chat rooms there were three-way phone calls, which I never really figured out. That was more of a Regina George thing, you know?

What is a home phone?

Group texts do kinda suck. It’s awkward when I type a general question to a solid six people and NOT ONE OF THEM responds. It’s also awkward when two people have some type of side conversation no one else in the chat really understands, and the two of them are fully aware that no one else understands, but they continue to discuss it openly anyway. A group chat can, if desired, be used as a weapon of mass destruction in girl world. Cady Heron would find herself Amanda Bynes-status in that situation. Literally, she’d just skip the level of Miley’s little salvia video and head right to throwing things like her African tribal vase and her Lady Smith Black Mambazo tickets or whatever out of her midtown high rise window.

A group text is like a bad boyfriend—always better to have something awkward, rude, and annoying than to have nothing, right?