Next week I’m jetting off to New York City for four days of fun and adventure, alone, participating in a conference for beauty bloggers. To say that I’m excited would be an understatement but I’m also feeling a little anxious about it.
I do occasionally post photos of myself to my blog and consider it mostly a function of luck that so far I haven’t gotten nasty comments about my appearance or weight. I’m a big girl. I am not slim or slender. You could probably fit a few fashion models into the width of my behind. In other words, I’m fat.
Usually, I’m okay with this. Yeah, who wouldn’t want to be thin (or even just thinner) etc. and shopping for clothes is a real bitch. But I’m feeling particularly anxious about going to what is in many ways the beauty capitol of the US, feeling like the complete anti-thesis of what is considered modern American beauty. I’m a short, fat, 30 year old who happens to prefer short, spikey hair and brightly colored eyeshadow. Deep down, in my heart of hearts, I am afraid that my happy facade is going to crumble in the face of a world that considers size 0 to be the epitome of fashion and beauty.
I expect the trip will be a blast. But the self-conscious part of me, the part that worries about what others think, is concerned that all anyone is going to see, and care about, when they meet me is that I’m a fat girl. That my whole worth is contained in the size of my body. I’m afraid that people will secretly be laughing at me.
On the one hand, I know that I’ll hold my head high and represent for the fat girls, that we like to look and feel pretty too. But, late at night, I’m scared that I’ll just end up embarrassed and humiliated – will the makeup chairs, when we have our “makeup touchups” be big enough for my butt? Oh god, what if they’re too small? I will crawl off and die.
I wish I was brash and brazen like other women I know. I wish I didn’t care about this stuff. But late at night, I do care. I pray that my trip is as fun and exciting as I hope it will be.