Pancake bum probs

Have a read of Elizabeth Pugsley’s tickling anecdote…

The ever-fluctuating wave of body positivity and shaming in the media is a perfect analogy for my waistline at the moment. Left, right and centre, women are putting on and losing weight and being shamed for doing so; when it really isn’t anyone’s business. In fact, if I were to describe my body right now, the most fitting phrase would almost certainly be “plump; like a Christmas turkey.” Hours upon hours I slaved away in the holidays, putting in valuable time avoiding reading and essays by hosting informal eating competitions with my father.

Photo: Len Dap/Flickr

The realisation that my jeans no longer fit, I had severe love handles, and an extra two (non-fig) rolls under my bra strap hit when my boyfriend noted that my “bum was looking a little different from normal.” I tensed. I sweat. I sucked in air at a rate that my abs actually surfaced for perhaps the first time in nearly a month. I squeezed, and discovered that I couldn’t actually feel my own butt muscles whilst I hoped to high heaven that the next words to follow from him would be “but better! Definitely better! Rounder, even!” Alas, this was not the case. What followed instead was an entire week of panic-squats.

There is certainly residing within me a need to be “skinny”. Whether through social indoctrination, or a simple want to not jiggle when I walk, it exists. There is an innate urge to be desired and found attractive; and this is justifiable, from a biological stand point, in the sense that all animals are made to mate. But, first and foremost, there is also a want to be healthy. Oddly enough, it took a week of groaning whenever I went to sit on the toilet and attempting to crawl up the stairs before I realised that cracking into Cossack after every truffle I ate probably wasn’t helping, but every workout I googled required going outside (and therefore sweating outside, where the temperature is so low my own perspiration would surely form icicles on my face).

I’m not losing weight for other people, I’m losing weight for myself.

Every time I researched, I ended up promptly closing all my tabs and resolving that I was just going to surf Facebook instead. I decided to be happy with my body the way it is, and it turned out that many of my Facebook friends had decided the same, seeing several posts by friends already suggesting that women shouldn’t be exercising or dieting for the New Year. The posts run along the lines that women should be happy with their own bodies exactly the way they are, Christmas weight and all.

Perhaps even more oddly, this motivated me the most out of everything I’d seen. The statuses guilt-tripping other women into resuming the eating competitions because they shouldn’t have to lose weight for other people were ridiculous – I’m not losing weight for other people, I’m losing weight for myself. I’m losing weight so that I can feel confident in a bikini, and proud that my hard work has paid off.

Photo: Yu-Cheng Hsiao/Flickr

Perhaps I should feel more confident in a swim suit with all my flab flapping free, but until the day that society accepts the female body in all variations, I’d like to be able to walk up the stairs without feeling my fig rolls round my waist and extremely light headed.

At the end of the day, it’s an entirely personal decision to lose weight or not. I made the decision to trim my fat not because my boyfriend commented on my pancake backside, but because I wanted a little more self-confidence. Every human body is acceptable, but if you don’t feel comfortable and confident, then it’s also down to you to make a change. All women (and men!) reserve the right to be happy with their bodies, however plump, curvy, skinny, slender, or, in the words of Gok Wan; ‘pearshaped’, you want to be. Least of all do people have the right to shame others for losing weight, or shovelling pigs in blankets down their gullet until they‘re more bacon than human. (Which admittedly sounds appealing.) It’s your choice, it’s your body, and you shouldn’t be shamed for taking pride in it, and neither will I, icicles frozen to my face or not.