Photography by Ryan Sherrod
The Canadian Tuxedo. There are 70,000+ pictures on Pinterest. I’m doing nothing new here. Adding an exposed, intricate bra? Again, nothing new. Pairing it with white booties? Nope. It’s been done before. It’s 2018, there is nothing I can do to set myself apart from the thousands of girls doing exactly what I’m doing right now.
If you’re tall, thin, and caucasian, you already have a head start. If you’re full-figured, there’s a market for you, because every body type should be loved and celebrated. I’m here to tell you, my body type is not celebrated.
I’m 5 foot tall and 134 pounds.
There. I said it out loud.
I don’t shout it with pride, nor do I lose sleep over it. As they say, “It is what it is”.
Only I loathe that saying. I think it’s the biggest bullshit excuse that was ever said. It basically translates into defeat and acceptance. You might as well say, “I can’t change it, so I have to live with it”.
Absolutely not.
I’ve spent 34 years running in place, backing down because it wasn’t normal, or it wasn’t ever going to happen. It wasn’t a good idea. 34 years listening to people tell me I was cute, calling me half pint, telling me I was pocket-sized. Asking me to repeat myself because “Your voice is so cute. Like Minnie Mouse!”.
I’m no longer 5 foot tall and 100 pounds. I’m 5 foot tall, 134 pounds, 34 years old, and a mother. A partner. An employee, a daughter, and a woman. I am a 34-year-old, 5 foot tall woman who weighs the most she’s ever weighed. I am a woman who is ashamed of all of the above. Who, at 34 years old, is more lost than she was at 16.
She still doesn’t have boobs, but appreciates that now. She’s still not a cool girl, but has been through enough to loosely, but discreetly, slide into that category. That is, if you don’t know her personally.
She hates her body. She hates her life. She hates her circumstance. She absolutely hates it. Yet she wakes up every single day. She works two jobs so that she can afford to spend hours at her computer every night writing her story. Because someone, somewhere, cares what she’s doing and what she’s thinking. She may not be for everyone, but she’s for someone.
So cheers, y’all, from my non perfect, mid thirties, self-depricating, still chasing a dream self. There may not be a desirable market for me, but I’ve always paved my own way anyway.
PS- Heard of the Whole 365? I haven’t either. I like to think I invented it. For 365 days, I’m writing one single paragraph about my day. Wheather it be how it went, what I expected from it, whatever I’m thinking. I’m going to look back and see what the common denominators were in my happiness and sadness. My triumphs and fails. Because it’s August 2018, and while it’s not January 2018, it’s never too late to start over.