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.

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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.


Flavor of the Week: Vine

Before Vine fades into the darkness and becomes nothing more than a quintessential #tbt, I wanted to make sure I acknowledged its great presence in the social media world by naming it Flavor of the Week.

As you may or may not know, we are very concerned about the longevity of Vine because Instagram, now basically Mark Zuckerburg and his wife London Tipton, decided to swoop in and cross social boundaries by sitting with the Plastics at lunch enabling a video function.

I have many mixed emotions about this, but my immediate response was that this is blatantly #rude #rude #rude of Insta. It’s like an unspoken rule of apps–you find your medium, and you stick to it. Instagram is for photos, Twitter is for complaining, Facebook is for stalking, and Vine is for a combination of stalking and displaying your wealth or your good-looking boy toy. There is a cuh-lear separation here that Instagram decided to ignore.

I have a Twitter BFF, @LindsayBrandes (def follow her–she’s sometimes obnoxious, always funny… JK, she’s always obnoxious… JK lolz again, love ya Linds), and she was basically having a panic attack over the video app crossover. This was how our conversation went:

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In other words, we are having serious white girl problems.

If you were wondering, I decided to stick with Vine for vids and Insta for pics. And, BTW, after taking an antibiotic twice a day and Benadryl three times a day for the past week, my rash/spider bite is finally on the mend!


On Muploading vs. Instagramming

I’ve written about muploading before, and in great detail at that, but I feel as though I didn’t dig deep enough. There is an infinite amount of potential expanding to do about the topic of taking photos on your iPhone–if you have a Droid, you can’t sit with us–and I figured that since I refuse to leave my bedroom today as I am physically glued to the new Justin Timberlake album, I may as well expand upon it.

In our nation’s history there have been many great debates: Brown vs. The Board of Education, Roe vs. Wade, the uprising of college students against the Vietnam War draft, and, of course, the current battle of Essie vs. OPI. During my most recent meditation I discovered that there is a very subtle issue that often goes unheard of and can probably be added to this catalogue of 21st century #firstworldproblems. How do you know when you should Instagram a photo as opposed to muploading it???????

Last week, I dissected a cat in Bio. I thought that this would be the perfect opportunity to test out these waters. I took some pics of our deceased cat, which I named Joaquin (pronounced WAH-KEEN for those of you that don’t keep up with trendy baby names), and then I took some selfies. I went through each of the 200 resulting photos and tried to decide which ones I wanted to mupload and which ones I wanted to Instagram. Fine, I was exaggerating. I went through the process with the resulting 86 photos. Fine, 75. 75 I swear. After this trial, I appointed myself Supreme Court Justice of the iPhone megapixel camera and came up with a solid list for when one should Insta-G a photo and when one should mupload it. Here is my organized research:

You should Instagram a photo if…

…you think it would look absolutely perf with a little bit of Hudson, X-Pro II or some Amaro up in that shiz.

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…you can’t tag anyone it in. For example, your Starbucks latte does not have a Facebook account, so you cannot tag it on Facebook, so it will not show up on the news feed unless you mupload it by itself, which would be super weird, and since it will not be on the news feed, no one would like it, so you will seem like a total weirdo loser. If you Instagram it, however, you will get minimum 11 likes–just enough to make you look popular–so you’re set.

…it will make people jealous of what you are wearing, what you are eating, where you are vacationing, etc. That way you can be subtly obnoxious, but not overly obnoxious.

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Example: this could have made people jealous that someone gave me a bouquet of red roses (which look pink due to my poor filter choice).

…you are doing something illegal. No explanation needed. If you feel like you need an explanation for this one, then you shouldn’t have an Instagram to begin with.

…you take an attractive selfie. It will get lots of likes, and make you look drop dead gorgeous amongst light, sun-soaked tones.

You should mupload a photo if…

…you really, like, really, want people to see it.

…you look good/better than the other people in the photo. Duh.

…the picture is funny. Instagrams are meant to be glamourous, i.e. Kim Kardashian’s account (JK LOL), or cute, i.e. Soul Cycle’s account. If it’s funny, Facebook it.

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Facebook’d.

…it will make your ex-boyfriend jealous. Because it will. (Also, only boys like Scott Disick and Justin Bieber’s swag coach Ryan Good really utilize Instagram in the same way that we do, so your photo probably won’t reach your ex that well. Then again, if a guy is your ex chances are he’s of the Scott Disick-type. Then again (again), if you Instagram it, girls that are friends with your ex will see it. This one is kinda debatable but not really because muploading is probably the answer. Muploading is always the answer.)

…you take an unattractive selfie. It will get lots of likes, and make you look cute and funny.

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I muploaded this photo of my friend Louis and myself from our cat dissection.

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This is the conversation that ensued when I asked Louis for permission to use his face on The FYD.

I think that one day, I would like to write an iPhone bible. I say this especially considering my experiences with Facebook, Twitter…….. and, how could I forget, Tinder!!!?? (Read this for elaboration on all of the aforementioned.) For now, though, I am going to get back in bed–just kidding, I never left bed–and listen to this 10-minute JT song for the sixteenth time.