In this day and age of social media I find myself utterly disgusted at the way humanity treats females that have extra poundage packed inside of their spanx. No, it’s not because I’m not a size zero with bones protruding out of my skin like an emaciated animal either. I’m happy with my size 12/14 body. Yes, of course there’re days—namely when I try on clothing at a store—that I wish I didn’t have extra flab hanging on numerous unwelcome areas of my body. Granted there are many factors I could blame on the way my body looks, childbirth, the environment, even the daily medicine I have to take. But if I’m being honest with myself, and I will, it’s more than likely the cause of stuffing too many McDouble’s down my pie hole and calling it a “light snack”. Junk food? Yeah it’s a staple in my daily routine. Shut up, I know it’s unhealthy. I’m fully aware that my choices will come back to bite me in the ass later in life. I’m quite positive that my life expectancy dwindles when I even look at a Mickey D’s sign. Some days I happen to glance in the mirror while getting dressed and am truly surprised that my husband even wants to have sex with me. And he’s not a chubby chaser either, so I guess I should feel good about that. But I’m fortunately not thrust into the spotlight where my life choices, good or bad, are judged and scrutinized every day. I get to sit behind a computer, type away on my latest novel, and thank my lucky stars that people still think that writers are supposed to be fat slobs who chug coffee and eat skittles all day long.

Celebrities aren’t so lucky. Okay, I know they ‘chose’ their career paths. They knew what they were getting into most likely and signed on the dotted line with minimal hesitation. Money will cause you to do that. Money will cause you to sell your 95 year old grandma to a bearded Russian man, just so you can have a shiny new car. But we aren’t here to talk about money. We are here to talk about that honky tonk badongkadonk. We are here to discuss being all about that bass. And we are here to chat about baby having back. That’s right folks, this is about body image. You’re probably asking yourself “Why does a writer care about body image?” Here’s your honest answer…Because I am sick and tired of seeing my social media news feeds clogged with bullshit posts about how fat a celebrity has gotten! Come on! Haven’t we moved past this? Most recently I opened a post about how Kelly Clarkson has went from thin American Idol to fluffy singing diva. When she showed up to sing a series of duets on The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon, people were appalled at how big she was. Get over it! When did we give a damn about how a singer looks? Is it affecting her voice? NO! She still belts out notes that most of us couldn’t manage even if someone grabbed ahold of our proverbial balls and twisted them. Give the poor woman some time for god sakes, she just popped out a baby not too long ago. It’s not easy to carry around another human being, eat enough food to make them grow and push them out of your vagina like a soaking wet St. Bernard trying to squeeze through a doggie door meant for a Chihuahua. And so what if she never loses all of her weight. Don’t like it? Too effing bad. That makes you an asshole, not her, for continuing to carry around extra pounds.

I’m noticing a trend lately where the target of our ‘fat jokes’ are aimed at the people who sing out favorite songs too. Mariah Carey, Adele, Jessica Simpson (yes, for you younger kids, she was in fact a singer) even country sweetheart, Miranda Lambert has struggled to keep her weight down. Again, who cares? You’re still clicking the ‘buy’ button on iTunes and giving your money to them. What’s it matter if they aren’t a stick figure?

But down the line all of this goes. It not only shows up in my news feed, but it blasts across those of some 13 year old girl that’s struggling to fit in anyway. Her body started to develop earlier than her peers and she’s already unsure about how her life is. Let’s do her a huge favor and show her, through social media, that all of the misconceptions she already has about her body are true, shouldn’t we? Let’s make her believe that she isn’t normal because her boobs are a little too large, her hips are curvy and she shouldn’t have that puff of skin hanging over her jeans. Oh, we should talk to her about thigh gaps, flabby arms, and the fat skin on her ankles too. We shouldn’t give her any indication that she might be perfect the way she is. We wouldn’t want her to get a huge ego and have her thinking she’s Americas Next Top Model now would we? No, we want her to feel shitty about herself. We want her to stop eating because, in our eyes, she’s just not good enough. Maybe she’ll eat though and throw it all up in the bathroom as soon as she’s done. She might even try to get her hands on some off market weight loss supplement, take it, and end up a vegetable hooked up to machines while her parents cry themselves to sleep at night. Do you see where I’m going with this? If you don’t, again, you are an asshole. We teach our children from a very young age that ‘you can be anything you want’. But in the world we now live in, I feel like we should amend our statement to ‘you can be anything you want…as long as it’s not fat’. We let our kids goes to school and bully each other because of minor imperfections that in reality, make us human. Perfection isn’t something any of us will ever see. It’s not a tangible thing that we can hold in our hands and swoon over. Perfection is a state of mind. If you look at yourself in the mirror and think you’re perfect, then by god, you’re freaking perfect! If you let someone convince you otherwise, you need to take a step back and reevaluate some things.

You can try to deny it all you want, but the fact of the matter is, bigger is here to stay. Want proof? Head to your local department store and check out the sizes left on the racks. What’s left? It sure as hell isn’t the large and extra-large sizes. Those are long gone. So are the larger bra sizes at Victoria’s Secret. At first I thought they just didn’t stock the sizes for giant knockers, but upon my investigation, I found that they did in fact stock them, they just run out of them faster than they do the sizes for mosquito bite bongos. And yes, I’ve investigated this. I sure do have a lot of spare time on my hands.

But alas I am one of those self-depreciating individuals that constantly refer to myself as a ‘fat ass’. I joke about the fact that if my life ever led me to dancing as a stripper, I’d need a telephone pole to dance on. Yeah, splinters on your lady parts wouldn’t feel too amazing. I’ll stick with writing, it’s safer. I know that I could eat healthier, join a gym and stop drinking so many sodas. But those are my choices. I made my bed, I will lie in it with my yoga pants on while shoveling Hagen Das into my gullet. I will never be back down to my original weight and I’m totally okay with that. Society expects me to fit into a chart of body type, well they can shove the chart in their asses. I don’t fit on anyone’s chart. In fact, I’m mother loving off the charts, people. So, go ahead and make me feel bad about myself. Tell me I’m just another fat ass trying to make waves in the skinny pool. I will tell you to go eat a slice of pizza because your collar bones are sticking out so far, I could use you as a coat rack.

Shameless Self Promotion:

Don’t forget to add Saving London to your Goodreads shelf. It will be released on June 9th and you won’t want to miss it! *Shameless Self Promotion over*

Much Love!

Peace, Love and Pages

C.D. Taylor