Yesterday I checked out one of my all-time favourite fashion blogs, Daddy Likey, and found a hilarious post/open letter from blogger Winona to snooty vintage store sales assistants. Based on what's in the letter and the experiences of the commenters who commiserated with Winona, I can only conclude that there are definitely sales assistants out there who are catty, mean, and condescending, and as someone who used to work in retail I can't condone their dismissive attitudes or how they're behaving like absolute cows.
However, I was also kind of dismayed at some of the anti-skinny girl vitriol on display in the comments. Here's a small sample:
"Bitches. They're just angry 'cause they're hungry."
"Not everybody belongs to club Bulimia."
"F***k those bitches. They are just supremely jealous of your boobs."
"I am loath to base my self-worth on someone who hasn't eaten a candy bar in at least a decade..."
Okay, so here's where I'm coming from. I'm 5'3" and around 120 pounds with a petite build, and depending on the store, I can wear anything from a size 0 to a size 4. I've been known to scarf down more pizza in a single sitting than a 6'4" ex-boyfriend (much to the amazement of his parents). I have a daily Snickers addiction when I'm at work. This is just how I am.
Now, I understand that society judges people based on appearance and I fully understand that it's wrong to behave badly towards a person for being "overweight." But when did it become socially acceptable to express solidarity with full-bodied women by going to the opposite extreme and bashing someone for being thin? I seriously don't get why expressing self-love for your own curves has to involve putting slim women down. If it's wrong to judge someone for being a size 10 or above, it's equally wrong to stigmatize someone for being on the small side.
I know the more petite among us don't have to put up with as much crap as the curvier gals, but we still get our fair share of unfair judgement. True story: I used to work with a woman in retail who wore a larger clothing size than me. When she went out to get lunch, she'd always offer to bring something back for me. At the time I was trying to save money and knew the eateries around where we worked were expensive, so I'd decline and eat the small lunch I brought with me, then go home later and gorge on a homecooked dinner and popcorn or kettle-cooked potato chips. Whenever she left me to get her lunch, she'd have this questioning look in her eyes that said "Are you sure? I'm worried about you." I think she was convinced I had an eating disorder because of how I looked and the fact that she never saw me eat anything other than my lunch in the store, and that me collapsing from starvation in the store was imminent. This happened a few times until she got to know me better and watched me polish off meals that were bigger than hers.
How's this for a radical idea: We can love how we look without putting down the appearances of others. Hmm? Now if you'll excuse me, it's time for a Snickers from the vending machine.