A Little Soapbox

I don't like super models.

I'm one of those malicious fat girls. Not that I despise thin girls; some of my closest friends are super-model skinny. I just have a rather strong aversion to all those stick-figure girls on today's runways. Those girls who can strut down the catwalk in tiny thongs and barely-there miniskirts make me want to puke. Or better yet, run to the dressing room with a seven-course meal.

Personally, I'm fat and blindingly-white-that-will-never-tan, so you won't ever catch me in less than just-below-the-knee shorts or skirts and a shirt that covers my tummy. You will never see me on a catwalk for Victoria's Secret(c). I have a standard for dressing that goes something like: 'Your percent body fat should be inversely proportional to the amount of skin you may show.' In other words, the more fat on your body, the less skin I want to see. There are probably notable exceptions, but I personally don't know any.

People (especially women) like me are sensitive about their weight. The top three things we hate most are:
3) seeing all these half-starved girls every time we leaf through a magazine,
2) watching some poor pre-pubescent girl absorb the "ideal" body weight from said magazine and sigh wistfully, and
1) hearing some girl who could turn sideways and disappear complain of pudge (ie, that excess fat and skin on your stomach).
I don't know about the rest of the un-skinny women population, but I want to say, "Hey, if you're fat, what the hell does that make me and the rest of civilization who wear size three and up?" Not that I could squeeze myself into pants that small; I'm lucky to get into a size eleven. Girls that thin should realize they are under no circumstances coming anywhere close to something resembling fat.

And another thing: Why can't they have bigger girls as magazine models? I mean the girls who wear above a size six. Sure, you'll see them every once in a while, in some old-folks mag. Why are they labeled "plus-size" models? If that's plus size, I'm in really bad shape. Not to mention that whenever you do see them, they look like one of those Buddha statues. I'm sure that gives the 130-pound 12-year-old a huge boost of self-esteem.

So here's my proposition. Next fashion show I go to, I'll book front row seats and I'm sneaking in doughnuts. That's right girls, doughnuts. I'll be sitting right where you can see me, devouring, bite by succulent bite, one dozen creme-filled, chocolate- and caramel-covered pastries. Perhaps I'll even throw one on the runway, just to watch all you skinny girls take a nose-dive. And still I'll sit, eating my fatty foods and enjoying my fatty life.

See, I told you I was malicious.