If This Girl Is A Fat Cow Then We’re All Screwed
I’m writing this because I officially feel shitty about my body. And that is not okay.
I am someone who recently decided to eat healthier, work out more, and become a skinnier, more toned version of myself, largely due to my impending wedding coming up in July. It’s worked so far and I’m doing okay.
It was a stressful day at work. I came home to a semi-stressful conversation at home. And so all I wanted for dinner was beer and Thin Mints (damn you, Girl Scout cookies). And then that turned into a bagel with cream cheese for an entree and then a glass of wine, too.
It’s just not one of those “good” nights.
Then I see this article, which at first came up with a silly headshot of a pretty blond surrounded by bags of potato chips. Awesome, I thought. This is a girl I can get behind. The headline toted a story about a plus-sized model shutting down Negative Nelly’s on Instagram who called her a “fat cow.”
After a few peruses through the rest of my Newsfeed, I finally clicked on it. And the pictures I saw — full photos now, not just headshots — absolutely astounded me.
In what world is this girl considered “plus-sized”?
This blonde bombshell has got a minuscule waist and a killer set of abs. Her hips could put Shakira to shame. Her butt is what half the housewives in the U.S. hire personal trainers for. Her thighs appear to be the perfectly athletic companion to those gorgeous, never-ending legs.
Again: In what world is this girl considered “plus-sized”?
I skimmed the article to find the usual reporting, that she’s proud of her body and she’s shut down body shamers with expert poise. But I just found myself wondering how in the world she has become the definition of “larger.” How do agencies actually view her weight or size as being “above average?”
I think perhaps I’ve hit the nail on the head right there: Newflash: she’s not.
I could only dream to look like this girl. In fact, I think we boast a similar body type, though I’m about half her height and less than half her bust size, so clearly there are some discrepancies there. However, when I look in the mirror and decide what I want to see one day, it’s not ’90’s, rail-thin, coked-out Kate Moss. No, not in my wildest, most perfect dreams. To be truly honest, it really is this chick, this Iskra Lawrence, buxom, confident, big-bootied, healthy-thighed, and ab-ridden.
…and she is labeled as a plus-sized model?
I’m sorry, but something is so incredibly wrong here. Regardless of the modeling industry’s obvious pitfalls, the fact that this woman is anything other than admirable and beautiful is beyond me. “Plus-sized” seems to connote, in our society, that they are a special case, that they should be pitied, that they’re here to please a minority audience. When in fact, they should be here to appeal to the masses.
So I propose this: take away the “plus-sized” model label.
Instead, what if we labeled typical models as “under-sized,” or “petite-sized?”
Because often, when I go to buy clothes, I’m buying a 6 or an 8, maybe even a 10 — certainly not the 0 or the 2 that the model is pinned into.
Because today, I looked at a plus-sized model, and I saw myself. More than that, I saw a goal self. And as a 27, self-secure, diet-conscious, workout-trying, grown-ass adult, it made me sad.
The label made me sad.
Marketers and researchers, if you’re wondering why this matters to you, here’s the cut-and-dry version:
Sad, fat-feeling, insecure girls don’t buy clothes. Confident, lovely, inspired-feeling ones do.
And in said clothes, we flaunt that ass with pride.