This post should probably have gone out on January 2nd or something more timely, but hey-ho it’s still the first month of the year and nobody is perfect.
Being out of university and in a job meant I had a lot more “me” time during the last half of the year – not to mention (albeit only slightly) more money too. Less time on essays and more time on trying things out led me to discovering some pretty cool things in 2017…
*The photo featured is back from when my skin gave me no shit whatsoever*
When I was 15/16, somebody asked me what I would change about myself if I could appearance-wise. My answer was immediately my skin. I’d been bothered by my skin’s appearance since starting secondary school.
For as long as I can remember I’ve always had sooooo many things I want to do with my life. At the age of 14 it was sorting out my bad skin, at the age of 16 it was starting up my blog and writing posts on the reg, at 19 it was getting fit and healthy after my first year of uni was spent drinking mostly vodka and eating cheesy mashed potato.
Hello and welcome to the whitest titled post you’ll (hopefully) ever encounter on this blog. Sound those church bells because I am back.
Turns out Ferris Bueller wasn’t wrong. After my last post in May, life came at me pretty quickly and my plans for blogging at least once a fortnight flew out the window along with my “I’m gonna go to the gym three times a week” plan. I finished uni, travelled Europe for three weeks, started an internship, moved house and then graduated at the beginning of September. Oosh.
A change in season always feels like I need to change up my wardrobe. However, being a student I can’t exactly afford new clothes every single time the sun decides to show itself. Plus – despite the fact it’s the beginning of May already – the sun is noticeably absent, meaning half the clothes I want to start wearing aren’t really appropriate.
So there I was, continuing happily along in my un-woke, body positive feminist sphere. I was retweeting things about Topshop’s disgraceful lack of anything above a size 18 in their high street shops, calling out magazine’s for their continued use of Caucasian-only models; firmly cementing by belief that “larger women/disabled women/transwomen/women of colour are pretty too!” (whilst still checking my white, cis, slim, able-bodied privilege of course).
But then I came across this article and the below poem by my main bae Rupi in quick succession and suddenly I wasn’t identifying with my body positive sphere anymore. The realisation that I can look at a woman who is a mother, wife, traveler, businessperson, gym-goer and general life-doer, yet the first thing that would jump to mind when I thought of her was how she looked, baffled me.