hello, my name is erin. I'm professional makeup artist and special effects & prosthetics student in toronto, canada. 22, black hair, tattoos, spacers, piercings and boobs. also, here's my body & sex positive side blog: http://knowingmolly.tumblr.com/
was a shitty day, lots of stress, some tears, chipped my tooth on a fucking PRETZEL, but the girl I like that works at the coffee shop told me she thinks I’m cute today. back to being stoked on life.
I have a small rant. I was in the Eaton Centre today, and two teenage girls were sitting on a bench. When I passed them, they started whispering and laughing to each other, and one of them thankfully informed me that I’m “too fat for the clothes I’m wearing.” I look down to see white converse, black leggings and my winter coat. Society has such a ridiculous perception as to what a body should look like; what’s okay, what’s not okay. What’s acceptable, and what’s not acceptable. When I do the math, based on my dress size and my preference of the fit/colour of my clothes, I fall into the “unacceptable category.” See, it’s weird.. I have this thing where like, my thighs actually touch when I stand, and my arms kinda wiggle when I wave. My stomach doesn’t lay flat like the desert plains. It’s called being a human. Girls are expected to wear clothes that “flatter” them. They hide their “imperfections”, that are only “imperfections” because society and the media tell us they are. If you’re a plus size woman, it’s next to impossible to find any sort of variety in clothing. We’re talking dark colours, straight lines, and cuts that flow away from the body. Why? Because it’s expected that you avoid wearing anything that clings to the truth of your figure. You have to hide behind fabric and darkness so that you don’t offend someone else on the street. No stripes, no bold patterns, no neon colours, because God forbid you draw any more attention to yourself. You can’t take up any extra visual space. Absolutely outrageous. Do you really expect me, or any other person to hide? To blend in, because you don’t want to look at me? Am I actually supposed to feel bad about what I look like when I stare in the mirror? Because I really don’t. Not even close. The only thing I feel bad about are the minds of those two teenage girls on that bench. I feel bad about the way they looked at me, the way they frowned at the look of my thighs when I walked by. I feel bad because I am a stranger, and they do not know me. To those two girls: The only thing I will ever frown upon in return is the magazine on your nightstand, telling you how to get rid of cellulite and “safe ways” lose 5 pounds in 3 days. I just happen to love my body, but it doesn’t define me. There is nothing wrong with it. It is none of your business. I am not offensive. You are. I hope if you ever have to raise a daughter of your own, you will raise her so that she knows she will always be beautiful to you, just like my mother did with me.