As I got more into fat activism I started to realise that the problem wasn’t me, it was this construct of beauty, and while it was nice to know it might not all be my fault… it still didn’t feel good to embody ugliness and to be treated poorly because of that. Not everyone has thought me ugly, but those that haven’t (and do not) surprise me!

As a blogger posting photos of their outfits it feels like ugliness still holds me back – because when I look at the most popular bloggers, they all embody and uphold traditional beauty standards and practices. I do not. The other day I was thinking about this, and trying not to blame myself for not being a beautiful and successful blogger, and I realised that maybe embracing ugliness was an answer. I will never have smooth skin. I doubt I’ll ever shave regularly again. I have visible tattoos, piercings, stretch marks, and scars. I am fat. I am not particularly graceful. I laugh loudly. I don’t cross my legs. Yet I still identify as femme, because it’s important to me to embrace a femmeness that challenges my culture’s screwed up notions of femininity and beauty.

Illustration of a fat person in a pink polka dot bra and undies with stretchmarks and hairy legs sitting above a banner that says "Ugly femme pride".

I don’t have to be beautiful, and I don’t owe it to anyone either. It took me two years to fully understand this after first reading Lesley Kinzel’s Uninvested in Being Beautiful. I was so struck by this epiphany today that I decided to draw it. UGLY FEMME PRIDE!

A photo of me from the waist up wearing a black elbow length dress as a top with a lace detail down the front, and a red paisley skirt work on my high natural waist with a black belt.

When I was cleaning out my wardrobe for the Megaherzzz clothing swap I came across a dress I haven’t worn for ages and decided to wear it today. In times past I’ve worn the dress with a singlet underneath because it has a lace detail down the centre front, and being blessed with G cups I felt too exposed and never had a low cut bra to fully do the gorgeous detailing justice. Fast forward to this day in history, post cheap-Cacique-bras-on-eBay revelations, I decided to do it. I decided to wear the dress and show more of my cleavage than I’ve ever previously bestowed on this earth.

A portrait of me in the lace detail dress/top smiling.

When you think about it you’ve probably seen smaller chested people wearing low cut shirts without being hyper-sexualised, it just doesn’t seem to be a big deal; but when those who own big boobs wear similar style garments there’s another set of rules because large boobs are coded as hyper-sexual and slutty. There’s a huge pressure to be modest and hide yourself lest others say snide things or worse, invite themselves to comment or even violate your personal safe space. I wanted to challenge my own conditioning today, to wear a dress with beautiful detailing on my body and challenge that notion that only certain types of garments are appropriate for certain types of bodies.

An oufit photo of me, fat and pale skinned with short blonde hair in a blue scarf, wearing a black lace detail dress as a top with a red paisley skirt over black tights with black cage sandals.

Wearing the dress as a top, because it shrunk in the wash, and pairing it with a maxi skirt worn on my natural waist was another intentional subversion of the Myriad Rules of Fashion. I have a large frontal belly and many people have approached me and asked about my pregnancy. Even when I was smaller than I am now! I started to avoid certain styles of clothing that emphasised my frontal belly, like empire line dresses and high waisted skirts, dressing to “flatter” and “disguise” my body as it actually and naturally is. In the last few years I’ve been unpicking this conditioning because it does nothing to further my acceptance of my body, instead leading me to believe that there is a certain type of acceptable shape that I must aspire to even if I was not born with that shape.

Pregnant or not, who on earth has the actual right to interrogate me about my body? Or you yours? I ranted a little bit earlier today on my Tumblr about this and how pregnant friends have voiced their discomfort and even feelings of violation about strangers coming up to them and asking them about things they have absolutely zero right not know. More disturbing still, many pregnant people have had strangers touch them without invitation. It’s absolutely horrifying for me to think about and I’ve never been pregnant!

A photo of me in my black lace dress/ top smiling.

So I wore this outfit to challenge the “Rules” of modesty, figure flattery and how people have the ill conceived notion that they have a right to comment on or touch people’s bodies. After writing a short piece for another website about one of my outfits and talking to a researcher at Griffith University about fat activism last night, it’s really confirmed for me that my personal style and body is political. I can’t escape it. I think about it all the time and it informs how I dress and why I dress. Fashion may be frippery to some, but to marginalised identities it can be incredibly important and empowering.

Dress: Urbane Woman (I think!) from Myer
Skirt: Made by me
Belt: Yours Clothing
Tights: Asos Curve
Shoes: Spendless
Necklace: ebay
Scarf: Clothing swap

In our Australian culture we may seem to be swimming in sex but there is a huge stigma attached to it. Many second wave feminists claim pornification and sexualisation lead to sexual abuse, but this hurtful theory dismisses the sexual agency human beings have a right to. Police and other government agencies also point the finger of blame at victims, asking them what they did or wore or said to bait assault. Instead we need to turn the finger around and point it at rapists and abusers.

I attended the Slut Walk because I believe all people deserve sexual agency, and that victims are never to blame for their assaults. It is never a victim’s fault. I think that our society’s failure to dismantle rape culture needs to be called out. We have a right to wear what we want to, and go places we like and have consensual sex with anyone. I especially think that consent in sex is essential. I demand that our education system educates children about sex and healthy relationships. This is why I marched.

I recognise that the Slut Walk concept has many problematic aspects. I recognise that I have privileges (white, middle class, western, cisgendered and being in a hetero relationship) that mean I can’t begin to understand what other people have experienced. I want to learn more, and if people want to speak I will listen. I want to give voice to victims of sexual assault who are for AND/ OR against the Slut Walk concept. If you would like to contribute a guest post, please let me know – natalie at definatalie dot com. Anonymity will be respected.

Here are some pictures from Brisbane’s Slut Walk today.

An outfit photo of Nick, fat and bearded, wearing a green polo under a maroon argyle vest with jeans and a flat cap.

An outfit photo of Zoe who is fat and pale skinned with silver hair wearing a black dress and cardigan with leggings and a green scarf.

A photo of Sonya who is pale skinned with short black hair wearing a black top with pointy shoulders and a brown and black patterned skirt. Her bag is tan and she wears black tights with shiny oxford shoes.

A photo of Rex, wearing a dark faery-like outfit sitting in a blue wheel chair, reaching out to spank her husband creature who has a gleeful look on his face.

A photo of someone in the crowd, the back of their tshirt says "Reject rape".

A photo of me standing and holding a sign that says "It's not my fault. Just don't rape."

A photo of one of the Brisbane organisers of Slut Walk standing on a bench and speaking to the crowd.

A photo of Alan McKee speaking to the crowd. Tiara stands to the left, preparing to speak.

A photo of Tiara speaking to the crowd. Her sign reads "This is what I wore when I was raped. I still did not ask for it."

A photo of Fiona Patten, leader of the Australian Sex Party, talking to the crowd.

A photo of the back of my short blonde head, I shaved up the sides this morning.

A photo taken from behind the Slut Walk march down Edward Street.

A photo looking towards the marchers. One sign sticks out and it says "Ask. Listen. Respect."

My acts of omission include concealing where I live, my daily movements and my future plans, because I am a woman who has been stalked. I have hidden my street address in my domain registration (something I can not do if I purchase a .com.au domain unless I have a PO box.) You might think that’s normal and fair, but I think it’s kind of gross because I’ve done it to protect myself from some guy who assumes I am fair game because I post things on the internet. At any rate, that’s one of the steps I have taken on the internet to protect myself from the culture of violence against women.

I also use Photoshop to conceal my skin. You might be thinking, “whoa, way to change the subject on me” but the omission of my scars, blemishes and zits plays into the same culture of violence against women as my omission of my street address and my movements in “real life” (as if writing this blog and posting pictures of myself isn’t real life!) I am involved in so much discussion about the oppression of women and some things are easy to draw a line under and say THAT’S BAD but others fall into a grey zone. It’s hard for me to commit to showing people my actual skin, even though I know it portrays me as someone who benefits from the privilege of smooth(er) skin. Some feminists may say I betray myself and other people who suffer from acne, and you know that just makes me feel doubly shit about myself. Every time I use the Heal tool in Photoshop I ask myself if I am playing into the systematic oppression of women, but then I ask myself what would happen if I posted unedited photographs of myself to the internet. Sure, there are lots of photos that do not need editing (by my personal standards) but many do, and I want to be transparent about this.

When you have acne you are everybody’s science experiment. If it is on your exposed skin, and for so many sufferers acne is pretty much front and centre, you are betrayed as someone who seemingly can not take care of themselves. People in their misguided kindness offer unsolicited advice because they just want you to feel better, to look better, so people don’t think poorly of you. The most honest punters tell you that you’re ugly, that you have a pizza face and that you are dirty and undeserving of love and affection. Sometimes professional opportunities are curtailed because you have a skin condition, because the person hiring subscribes to cultural messages about people with acne (the overriding message is that acne sufferers don’t have basic levels of hygiene, which is complete bullshit.) All of these people, the advice-givers and the haters, have been taught that someone with acned skin is not beautiful and people who aren’t beautiful must work very very hard to be beautiful and to avoid the taunts, and to be a normal human being with normal chances for love and employment and basic decent treatment. The onus is always on the ugly person to make up for not conforming. As someone who experiences this daily I can’t tell you how much of a stinking pile of shit this is, I hope you understand. I am not writing this for advice, Maude knows I have received a lot of it. Most of this advice was unrequested and useless, all of it hurt me. If you’ve read this paragraph you might catch yourself falling into the trap of the Nice Person Giving Unsolicited Advice – please, stop yourself.

As a graphic designer, I have retouching skills that most others do not, and I have used those skills for 10 years to edit out spots and blotches that people find so offensive. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I find them offensive too. My critical lens is focused squarely on myself, however, and I find it curious that I am rarely aware of other people’s skin when mine bothers me so much. I do offer empathy, not advice, in conversations about acne and other skin conditions. I don’t want to make fellow sufferers sadder than they already might be! But yes, upon looking at photographs of myself I take a selected few into Photoshop and edit out the things I don’t like. My editing does not morph my large belly into a more acceptable silhouette, and I do not minimise my double chin. My favourite and most useful tool is Heal, and with it I turn scars and blemishes into a smoother and more acceptable surface while removing any shine from my naturally oily skin. I ask myself, “Am I editing out me, my essential Natalieness? Is this skin condition as part of me as the fatness I refuse to Liquify into submission?” Objectively speaking my health, including my acne, is part of me and therefore my zits have to be part of my Natalieness. I feel like I’m lying not just to you but to me. I use the Heal tool regardless of being cognisant of this.

I edit myself for a few reasons, to minimise interactions with people who might give advice; to avoid nasty comments; to feel a bit more normal; and to see what it might be like if I looked just a tiny bit different. To expect those of us with less ideal bodies, hell any minority group, to expose ourselves can be a very negative thing and it’s fraught with issues. Many plus size bloggers experience abuse just because they post photos of their bodies on the internet. Sex bloggers often obscure their identities because we live in a world where sex positivity is maligned; these writers can and have faced absolutely abhorrent treatment from friends, family and workplaces. People with acne, like me, use makeup and Photoshop to embody at least a small degree of normalcy and to avoid hurtful reactions. I don’t think a person’s willingness to edit perceived flaws/ identifiers of minority embodiment out is a betrayal of feminism, in fact it is a sign that our culture is pretty much screwed and all of us, the embodied and the advice givers and the haters, are living within this royally effed up culture.

[Transcript for Killing Us Softly 4 by Jean Kilbourne]

So, like Jean Kilbourne says, this culture of attitudes towards beauty needs to be changed. I will still edit out most of my zits. Not all of them. You’ll still see a degree of imperfection because my standards differ greatly from yours, and most people will see photos of me and see my fat body first and perceive that as my greatest flaw. The question of who exacts erasure is key, because if that person or entity is one with cultural power – that’s when we can identify problems inherent in ideal-making. For instance, when a retouching artist working for a men’s magazine edits out whole portions of a model’s body, even if the model has given permission (is that permission implicit in posing for a photograph?) It’s very helpful to question the magazine’s motivations in this situation because there are layers of cultural power at work and all of them have a woman’s body, and the standard of ideal feminine beauty, in the crossfire. I do not have the reach of a magazine and I am retouching images of myself, but I do think this is an issue that I have to discuss. As a person with privilege (middle class, white, mostly able-bodied appearing) and a platform I want to cast my critical lens not on myself, but on the system of power that wants me to criticise myself and other people, and to participate in and conform to norm-making. A lot of the time I have an explicit awareness of my inability to embody beauty, but this culture I live in wants me to perform it to the best of my ability… just to fit in.

Women who did not shave were rare in my teenage years, and they were labeled “hippies” or “ferals” or “lesbians” – always something derogatory, completely hetero-normative and in keeping with the masculine/ feminine paradigm. The femininity of these women was called into question, something shocking and unfathomable to young ladies who were only ankle deep in their womanly conditioning. Women who didn’t shave were also seen as smelly, lazy and anti-social; and in my early teen years even if I did question this bizarre practice of removing naturally occurring hair, I certainly didn’t want to be seen as unfeminine or stinky. Even more telling, self-identified feminists who refused to remove body hair were seen as bad, ugly and undesirable. By the time I got to my early 20s, I was just about fed up with having to shave my legs in order to wear a skirt but I still performed the act of hair removal because I feared rejection not just by romantic partners, but by society.

Recently I attempted to stop participating in the act of hair removal. I knew that it was on the list of Things To Do In Order To Be A Proper Female, and that it was a convention drummed into me by the media and my socialisation within middle class society. Being sensitive to packaging waste, I could see the sheer amount of packaging, handles, razor blades, and tubes and tubs of depilatory cream and wax that I’d ever used in my life would probably fill a small car. It didn’t seem right. I still kept it up. Perhaps not every day, but certainly when I was going out in public. I’d ask Nick if he minded that my legs were fuzzy, and every time he’d say he didn’t. Why was I even asking him? It’s my body!

When I saw a segment about razor blades on The Gruen Transfer (Season 3, Episode 8) I knew I had to find a moment to reflect on my body hair removal conditioning. I’m still so fearful of going out in public with hairy legs that I shaved about six months worth of perfectly natural leg hair off last week so I could go socialise with fashion people without wondering if they were secretly bitching about me being the fat, hairy lady!!

So let’s have a look at an ad that could be why we’re so caught up in removing body hair, even if we don’t want to:

When sleeveless dresses became fashionable, marketers saw an opportunity to make something perfectly natural unfashionable. This ad was published in Harper’s Bazaar in 1915 and according to The Gruen Transfer sales of hair removal products went through the roof – razorblade sales alone doubled in two years. Todd Sampson, one of the ad industry panelists, said it best:

Create the problem and make [people] feel self-conscious and have issues with self esteem when it comes to hair and then we solve that problem with a razor.

Surely, this can’t be a revelation to any of us in the western world. We know that advertisers and marketers create problems within our bodies and our lives, even if they are perfectly natural and normal bodies and lives, and then they offer a magical product to solve our new problems. Apply it anywhere, it’s the same old trick. Hand sanitisers, home scents, any product you see on Australian morning TV… we’re whipped into a frenzy of insecurity that can only be relieved with the topical application of a specific, ridiculous, product. The issue with hair removal is that it’s not ridiculous to us anymore because the tradition is so ingrained. Even if that tradition was manufactured within living memory!

Body hair isn’t unhealthy, dirty or gross so its objectionableness is a pretty laughable thing. Hair protects the skin from the elements, and it also serves as a barrier to prevent friction. Even people who insist that underarm hair contributes to body odor are incorrect. Underarm hair wicks perspiration away from the skin, so the bacteria that do produce odor can not form.

Even though I had a lapse, I’m going back to letting all the hair on my body grow naturally. It was actually a really interesting experience living with body hair. When I wanted to wear a short skirt or dress, I’d put on leggings to cover my leg hair. I was aware the shame wasn’t actually my own, that it was being projected on me by external factors, but I still felt the need to cover up. On windy days when I was bare legged, I felt the breeze actually lift individual hairs. It was curious and it was disturbing because in all my years of performing femininity I’d never experienced such a thing. I feel a little funny even writing about the experience so publicly, because I’m sure many women would find it unfathomable and gross. But no, I didn’t feel gross, it was very much like I had extra parts of my body with which I was able to sense and experience. Over 15 years of shaving had meant I’d never even noticed such a thing!

How do you feel about your body hair? What keeps you in the habit of removing it, or if you don’t, have you ever experienced being de-feminised? Is this topic an uncomfortable one for you? (It is somewhat discomforting to discuss it so publicly for me!)

One sits quite comfortably within the spectrum of fashionability if one is young, slim, of average height, with no visible disabilities, socially well-connected, and can afford to look fashionable. The fashion industry caters to the spectrum and seeks to make people within it feel welcome and included. Fitting in is not just easy, it’s taken for granted, and that’s part of the privilege people within the spectrum enjoy. It may not be so apparent to those people that there are people outside the spectrum who might find it difficult.

As a tall plus sized woman I might think it’s fairly obvious that I sit well outside the spectrum that the fashion industry caters to. In my mind, it shouldn’t take a great deal of observation to see that I am sized out of straight size fashion. My clothes look different, for better or for worse, and my possibilities for self expression are narrow. However, I’ve been utterly amazed by the amount of people who deny that my access to fashionable garments is limited. It’s not usually vicious either! An acquaintance whose partner runs a vintage clothing store recommended I check it out, and when I mentioned that vintage clothing to accommodate a 52” bust was scarce, well, he was surprised. Those who are catered to by fashion assume that pretty much everyone has the same degree of access – and that’s simply not the case.

Those outside the spectrum on the fringes are Othered and essentially excluded from enjoying the benefits of existing within the spectrum: for those with a disability, clothes may fit poorly or inhibit movement; garments could well be out of one’s price range; language, even a strong accent, may be a barrier to establishing social networks; or one may simply just not fit into fashionable garments due to being too tall/ short, plus sized/ petite. To many operating from within the spectrum of fashion, they might not be aware that many are just not comfortable socialising within the spectrum due to occupying the space of The Other.

Being othered by fashion affects one’s chances of networking further within the fashionable spectrum and in most everyday social contexts too, beyond complaints of clothes not fitting and being too expensive. If fashionable garments are not available, one has to make do with what is available. As a fat lady, I’m painfully aware that I have a handful of clothing options in Australia and online options in the UK and US. Plus size fashion usually lingers a couple of seasons behind the local fashion industry, so the outfits I roll up to events in are likely to draw a few questionable glances, and let’s be honest, a bit of “OMG what is she wearing!“. And that’s what I’m used to. It doesn’t make me feel welcome or included – it makes me feel like I oughtn’t be there. So by not ticking many boxes that gain me inclusion within the fashion industry I’m disadvantaged, but by making do with what is available and still turning up – I attract more derision which in turn makes me feel even more of a fraud! Many may choose not to get to know me further just because what I wear doesn’t meet a fashionable standard, or because my body doesn’t display clothes in a fashionable way.

It might be true that human beings make sense of the world by exercising judgment and grouping human beings together by characteristic, but that doesn’t mean it’s ideal or helps contribute to a better, more inclusive world. Fashion has a long way to go before it is democratised. It’d be great if fat people could wear amazing clothes, shit it’d be a good start if my husband could find a collared business shirt that fit his neck! While some fashion industry participants might be ignorant of barriers to involvement, I know a lot of the decisions leading to othering are financial too. I think we need to talk about that, as a community of human beings that are required by social convention to be clothed, because if we’re going to have standards just so human beings on the fringe can be looked down on – that’s pretty horrific and unjust. By blogging about the problematic parts I hope to contribute to a wider discussion of the issues, because I see democratisation as a pretty nice goal – but it’s certainly not happening right now just because a couple of bloggers sat in the front row of a runway show.

And at the end of the day – I still don’t have anything fashionable enough to wear to the Chambord Shine finals. It’s pretty bloody frustrating and upsetting.