Behind the Seams

Behind the Seams

I don’t think there is a single fat girl out there who doesn’t have a trove of secrets going on underneath her clothes.

Whether it be dressing up for a wedding, night out or dressing down for a lazy weekend, we all have hidden extra support to help tuck and fold the flabs in presentable forms of normal-ness. Or help us feel comfortable.

We all want to look and feel amazing, therefore make a huge effort to transform the ugly duckling into the swan.

It’s only after the wedding reception, or the girls’ night out, that we reverse the transformation with much less effort; remembering that ducklings are actually quite cute and royal protected, swan bastards bite, hiss and could kill you without a moments hesitation.

I have recently been gifted with some stunning items from The Other Curator (Norwich). I have a 1950’s style swing dress and a cute little hour glass portrait dress.

The colours are bold and bright and nothing I saw myself wearing a year ago.

With both being a size 18, which would normally put me off, but recently, the ‘fuck it’ attitude is in full swing; I tried them on, fell in love and wanted to wear them forever. And what’s more, the look I got from other customers was priceless.

However, to actually wear said dresses or any other nice items of clothing for normal occasions, requires the following commitments and consequences:

  1. Hang the item up and admire it on the hanger for at least 1 week

  2. Asses your body shape in the mirror every morning: saying to yourself that all the flab has relaxed in the night so give it a while to follow ‘suck in’ demands

  3. Asses your body shape in the evening: saying to yourself that all the flab is done following demands for the day so needs a rest

  4. Research on the internet other women wearing similar items, scrolling through the images with green eyes of envy, cradling a large glass of chardonnay

  5. Walk past the items hanging up, touching them every now and then to see if they will magically fit with no effort required, wondering why you brought the damn things!

  6. Consider cancelling your attendance as it draws closer, nearly making up your mind that you have nothing to wear

  7. Read one of Once upon a Curvy Body’s posts, reminding all women that they are awesome and should celebrate their flab – flab is not bad, but just needs some control

  8. Have a sudden boost of confidence. Give the finger to the items of clothing hanging up, with their smug beauty. Tell them they WILL sit on your body

  9. Purchase the biggest Bridget bloomers you can find. Don’t get too excited that they easily slide up your ankles…prepare yourself. Remember the pull and wiggle movement from my Mrs Blobby’s wet-suit experience? Same applies in this scenario. The bloomers only work if they’re firmly in place, so PULL & WIGGLE, you can do it. Ignore the rolls of flab protesting this movement, persevere. Keep sliding the material as high as they can go; don’t listen to the skin that is now crying under the friction of the pull and wiggle.

  10. There won’t be much room to breathe and the smile on your face will mainly be an uncomfortable grimace

  11. Find your most fitted bra and tuck those puppies in. They will also protest as the rest of your flab has been shifted and lifted! Force them in

  12. You will now feel like the mule in Buckaroo!

  13. Whilst fully aware that everything can pop out in any second, you can now grab that dress and slide it over your head. Hugging your freshly painted lips into your mouth so as to avoid a lipstick smear, holding in your breath, gently does it.

  14. Reassure the item of clothing that ‘it’s ok’, ‘you’ll be ok’

  15. IT’S ON! It has slipped over the boobies, slipped down the bloomer-covered-homemade-tummy-tuck. The hard work has paid off – you look AMAZING!

  16. The next problem will be to bend down and put on the awesome shoes you know you can’t walk in. The main body flab is held in place but it may cause a cut to the circulation around the rest of the body. You may not be able to feel your feet, this may work in your favour. Try and the relevant shoe helper; boyfriend, husband, girlfriend, neighbour, dog…don’t ever risk the revenge of the flab (the dreaded popping out, zip breaking, button pinging nightmare that you know your squished body is plotting)

So, I’m out of the house. I decide to wear the swing dress for my man’s birthday dinner.

It then hits me, I offered to drive as it was his birthday…shit! I now have to walk to the car like a fat packed Barbie doll.

I drove to the restaurant via tiptoe, in the shoes that I can’t walk in but look great!

When we arrived, I had to remember the end result of Buckaroo! Easy does it.

I took short breathes, gingerly moved my legs out of the car, I must have looked like a sack of potatoes trying to be a pack of peaches.

The fat sweats had started. I could feel every ounce of my body buckling, it felt like the reverse of ‘Speed’, I couldn’t move any quicker than a normal human being getting out of a damn car…or I’ll explode!

I could feel the onlookers staring at me. I had made it out the car and closed the door but still needed to walk up the entrance.

I could feel the cool beads of sweat dripping down my inner thighs, my homemade-tummy-tuck was well and truly crying now. It was time to reinforce the pigeon walk.

Tip toe in the shoes, shuffle down the car park. Boobs, full of helium, are about ready to bust out and cause serious crimes around Nowrich.

In the meantime, my man had eaten a 3 course meal and was ready to leave!

The Bridget pants, though they laugh at me, are now a part of me.

I wore them again on a recent shoot with a different dress.

My tummy did not forgive me from last time but I squished in the wibbly, wobbly bits as much as I could…but this dress…this DRESS just couldn’t accept that sometimes tyre tummy rolls need to be hidden.

I pigeon walked on to the set and tried to concentrate fully on the dress, and how beautiful it was. Posing was difficult to say the least.

I felt like a heavy cow, very bloated and sucking in as much as I could. Every time I moved I could hear my tummy mooing!

When I viewed the raw images, it was evident that, no, I didn’t look like a cow…I actually looked like a pregnant bullmastiff.

The homemade-tummy-tuck was not as well hidden as I thought and the flab had moved up to the arms, my neck and second chin.

Having saying that…it worked somehow. The curves were on show, more than they have been in a while and I really felt pretty!

The credit to this feeling comes mainly from the photographers. The photographer I worked with, Lorraine from Visions 2 print, is an absolute star.

Remember to love the body you own, no matter how much it rebels.

Wiggles & Giggles x

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