I hate London right now. As if I didn’t feel shitty enough about my body most days in the states, London is interminable.
UK sizing is about 2 sizes above US. So if, like me, you usually wear a size 12 dress and size 16 jeans (yes, I am pear-shaped), then here you’d wear a size 16 dress (plus-size in the US) and size 20 (!!!) jeans.
And if, like me, you had multiple surgeries and angsted for years in order to leave the twenties of sizing behind, you probably wouldn’t appreciate this. In fact, you might find yourself standing in the workout gear section of Marks and Spencer, crying as you tried to make yourself pick up said size 20 so you can do your workouts and try to feel better about yourself without having to always hitch up your old ragged Target pants.
I scared my boyfriend, who keeps thinking his words will help and telling me how much he loves my body (as if it were his opinion that mattered), and I depressed myself, and am now hovering in limbo between two desires: starve myself or eat the world. Neither, I think, would be particularly effective.
Anyway, I have little to say beyond this: London is too fashion-y and too full of skinny women for me. Most days I manage to avoid looking directly at the problem, but today it ran straight into me like a rude man with a large duffel bag.
UK sizing is about 2 sizes above US. So if, like me, you usually wear a size 12 dress and size 16 jeans (yes, I am pear-shaped), then here you’d wear a size 16 dress (plus-size in the US) and size 20 (!!!) jeans.
And if, like me, you had multiple surgeries and angsted for years in order to leave the twenties of sizing behind, you probably wouldn’t appreciate this. In fact, you might find yourself standing in the workout gear section of Marks and Spencer, crying as you tried to make yourself pick up said size 20 so you can do your workouts and try to feel better about yourself without having to always hitch up your old ragged Target pants.
I scared my boyfriend, who keeps thinking his words will help and telling me how much he loves my body (as if it were his opinion that mattered), and I depressed myself, and am now hovering in limbo between two desires: starve myself or eat the world. Neither, I think, would be particularly effective.
Anyway, I have little to say beyond this: London is too fashion-y and too full of skinny women for me. Most days I manage to avoid looking directly at the problem, but today it ran straight into me like a rude man with a large duffel bag.
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