So, I’ve finally given in to Em’s nagging and I’m writing a piece for the blog. She offered for me to keep it simple, suggesting that I write about small occasions where I’ve embarrassed myself in the past, I was tempted by this as the stream of embarrassing occasions is not likely to run dry any time soon. She even offered for me to write this anonymously, but no, I’ve decided to write this in all it’s embarrassing glory. I’m Katya, I’m Em’s ‘little’ sister, I’m 17 and yes, I’m what we’d call a ‘curvy girl.’
I never used to consider myself as having a ‘normal’ figure. When I was 12, my body was considerably different to the other girls around me. I was taller than most of them, I had boobs, which really baffled me and a lot of other people around me and yes, I was a tad on the podgy side. Unlike Em, I didn’t get our mum’s bone structure, I got my dad’s and that’s fine for a man, but big shoulders and a gigantic head is not what you necessarily want on a self-conscious twelve-year-old girl.
By the age of 14, I was taller than both Em and my mum, and most other people at school, even the boys. Starting out at a new school was awkward as hell, as between the ages of 13 to 16 is the time when everyone starts to get all overly sexual and weird and I was just over in a corner, towering over everyone and snorting when I laughed at my own jokes. I had the weird part down to a tee but not really in the ‘right’ way. I appeared to have missed the memo that led to everyone deciding to change their entire outlook on life and magically become attractive. I noticed this everywhere I went around school.
I noticed it in sport; it seemed that everyone’s school games kit (which is a very dodgy skort – skirt and short combination – and a see-through t-shirt) hugged all the right places, whereas mine clutched onto my bum for dear life with the shirt riding up on my tummy. I noticed it when I’d go shopping in town with my friends in Topshop, and everyone else would be picking up size 6’s of crop tops and short shorts and I’d be frantically searching for a size 16 jumper in the middle of summer because Topshop’s incapable of correctly sizing a pair of shorts. And I especially noticed it on Saturday nights, when our school ‘socials’ took place. This is basically an opportunity for everyone to peacock their way around a dance floor, not really dancing, just sort of swaying in terrifyingly tight clothes. At this point, I was still desperate to fit in, so every Saturday night I would find myself desperately trying to fit into a pair of shorts that were just not cooperating. Hello Mr. Muffin Top.
But I suppose it was only when I turned 16 that I actually began to really notice what people were doing at these socials. I would notice some girls crossing their arms over their bare tummies, and some who were continually yanking their skirts down and I really began to get annoyed at the fact that no one was even dancing, as the lights would come on, they’d all make their way out of the room moaning about how the entire event was a ‘bit shit’. Well duh! Of course it was?! No one moved, no one was comfortable; everyone was feeling just as much as a nugget as I was in that environment. So why did we all feel the need to dress and behave this way? Was it for boys? Or was it to show off in front of one another? Either way, it makes no sense. Nowadays you’ll find me (happily) at the back of the crowd, in fancy dress, busting some shockingly awful shapes and sweating like a mad woman, but actually having a shit load of fun with other people who are also attending these events with the sole purpose of making an absolute tit of themselves.
School sucks for everyone. It’s not easy for anyone and unfortunately, I think I was a dick to a fair few people, simply because I thought they had everything better than me. But the truth is; everyone’s terrified of being different and so we find ourselves constantly comparing ourselves to others and beat ourselves up over tiny flaws.
Now? I love being different, I truly adore it because there’s so much more to me than just my appearance, and I don’t care if it sounds like I’m boasting, I’m genuinely just expressing my honest opinion. At the end of the day, a smaller waistline cannot be the key to happiness, because everyone’s key is different. The waistline is the media and society’s key and as a result of that, everyone’s trying to jam that into their locks, hoping to find a world of happiness on the other side of the door. But realistically, that can’t happen, because it’s total bullshit.
My key comes in the shape of a flabby tummy and a huge bum. For others, it may well be a scar or enormous feet, it can be anything, anything that you’ve acknowledged as being a part of you that you can love, because that’s how you enjoy yourself, that’s how I’m enjoying myself.
We’re all different; we just have to find our own way of showing it.