I took a glance at myself 3 weeks ago as I ran by the big mirror in my office building:
Washed off size 18 denim jeans, check.
Black and white XL t-shirt, check.
My husband’s shirt on top (allows flexibility and gives room for free movement), check.
Purple cotton socks (to absorb all day sweating, and maintain feet smell-free) check.
White cotton veil to cover my hair, check. Used-to-be white, now off white converse (easy to drive and run after the kids with, causes no pain to feet) check.
Metal watch (matches with everything) check.
3 weeks ago, I realized I am not a woman anymore, nor a man… a machine maybe? I am something in between, but when did this happen? Why did this happen? How did I let this happen?
The idea haunted me for days. I would look at myself in that damned mirror and the pattern repeated. It’s like the Gods just do not want to give me a chance at the life I view on Instagram with every single refresh. Those size 0-4 swimsuit girls with their cute little brightly painted toenails and perfectly brushed hair on the beach, showing off their flat, stretch marks-free stomachs. Then there is me, on that desk, calling off orders and making sure the work flow is sooth, and then running around like a headless chicken to fulfill my duties as a mother. I will admit, I hated myself for a day or two. I will admit I thought about quitting on everything for a day or two. I will admit that I lost hope of ever becoming like any of those “fashionistas” everyone is talking about. Then it hit me, if you can’t beat them at their game, create a game of your own.
Operation “Fat-o-nista” is on.
I picked my children up, dropped them off at my in-laws, and drove home. It’s time to take some action against myself. Why am I trying to fit in, when I can just be me? A “me” that I like, that is. If you are currently a mother of a child or more, if you spend more than 60% of your day behind the wheel dropping off or picking up your children, if your jeans size is 14+, if you just do not have any time in your jammed calendar for anything more than taking a shower, or if you are all the above (like me), I tell you, I feel you. Still, I do not excuse you, or myself. I drove back home, headed to my wardrobe, and started filtering and I was amazed. Everything I own are copies of each other except a few pieces that I kept from my early years, and do not wear anymore. It felt like groundhog day, every piece that comes out is a repeat of another piece still inside.
I, for many years, locked myself in a fat suit, and dressed it the same way, every day. I felt bad about myself, on daily basis, and was too stupid, arrogant and blind to do something about it. So with all the power in the world, I donated most of my clothes, and went shopping. Now shopping for fat-o-nistas is not that fun. 70% sale all over window displays, but size 14+ are not welcome. I refused to believe this. I will not be overweight and depressed; I will be plus sized and happy. I walked in the fashionista’s stores, all eyes on me, and I started going through the clothes, picking up all the XL and XXL cool outfits, there weren’t many so it was an easy job. I tried them out, and they fit. A question popped into my head, why was my shopping experiences so depressing before? Answer: because I always limited my self to certain stores that come up with certain looks for plus sized ladies. In 4 hours, part one of mission was done; I now had clothes that match my weight, and my character. They are not dull, dark, or boring.
A fatonista is beautiful. She is a curvy, sexy, beautiful woman; with the power and will to make something out of her life. She is not boring, and she is not a copy of anyone. A fatonista embraces life; she plays around with colors, and accessorizes herself. A fatonista does not need to show off skin to be breathtaking, she can be all covered up, and still look like a model fresh off the catwalk. A fatonista is full of life, not full of herself. Our socity is full of fatonistas, because we, Egyptian women, in general are curvy, full women. Why did we allow the media, and the mediums used by the media to change that? When did becoming terribly thin, or terribly naked a hit? By allowing this, we only objectify women; we make dolls out of them. If you are plus sized, embrace it, my dear. Stop hiding it under layers of dark clothes, and thoughts. If you do not have time to get your nails done every couple of days, then just do them at home; enjoy every moment for yourself. Stop feeling shy, or awkward, and start being a true FAT-O-NISTA, because, my dear, that’s all you need.
Marwa Fayed’s Toy Run