About a decade ago, a pal received an anonymous complaint from HR that someone in the newsroom was concerned about her “revealing” attire.
She was enraged. So was I. Over drinks we sifted through bodies to single out the culprit. Isn’t that sexist? Dated? Pervy?
Was it a female or male? Was it that conservative cat who is draped in a modest church dress? Was it the Christian cultist who lambasts modern gender roles? Was it the young reporter jealous of her success? Was it the one who tried to play “cool guy” with her but was more fatherly?
You know those dudes who bike to work in shorts so short that their nuts nearly take dips into fresh air? We wondered if any of them ever received complaints.
“It’s not fair,” she said out of frustration. “You and I could wear the exact same thing, but just because you’re a bigger girl, nobody says anything.”
Whoa. Easy, homie. I understood she was grumbling out of frustration, but the comment slightly bothered me.
I’ve always been a big girl. I’m sure I wrecked my mom’s birth slide on my lovely joyride. I grew up wearing men’s shoes and jeans because back then, fashion didn’t fit broads past 5’8. My basketball shoes always ruined my feet because the arch didn’t hit harmoniously. I still wear men’s winter boots because unless I’m ISO stripper heels, drag queen pumps or velcro nurse mates, I can’t be choosy.
I was trying to understand her comment. I know she’s far from fatphobic and if she knew her comment slightly bothered me, she would rue the day. But are people afraid to complain about big broads? Or are skinny girls the only ones noticed more for being “sexy” and “revealing”?
I wear skirts and dresses because pants that fit my gams are hard to come by. I’m 6’1, so my legs Stretch Armstrong and that means more skin shows. My hips don’t lie, I have a rotund burrito belly along with a set of generous jugs. When I wear a V-neck shirt, there will be cleavage because, well, I have to jam those bitches in somewhere and I’m not really into mock turtlenecks.
Was I trying to show off my tits in the newsroom? Don’t flatter yourselves, I don’t want to fuck any of you. Was I wearing what was comfortable, what made me feel stable as a big, tall broad with limited clothing options? Absolutely. I’ve got a sweet set of gams and if wearing a dress boosts my self esteem because it detracts from my gut, so be it.
On the contrary, though, when my tiny pal would wear a V-neck, it would plunge lower because she didn’t have the hefty hooters to hold it high. Was she trying to show off her tits in the newsroom? Absolutely not. Was she trying to be comfortable on the job just like the saggy nutsack bike shorts guys? Absolutely. For a week or two after the incident, she arrived to work in long-sleeve turtlenecks and pants to spite the motherfucker. It was gold.
Outfits shouldn’t reflect on work performance, so keep your perverted eyes off your co-workers’ tits and asses. If my clothing is affecting your work performance, then that’s your problem, you deviant pervert.
The internet is deriding Cosmo’s February body-positive U.K. issue, saying it’s glorifying obesity. A recent press release told me that the rag “prominently declares ‘This is healthy!’ on its cover, illustrating visibly obese influencers.”
The press release asked me if I would like a comment from Mr. Dad, some spokesdude for some Christian men’s health cult.
Tell me, dearest press release, does Mr. Dad know the cover models’ cholesterol levels? Is he aware of their heart health? Does he have a diary of their nutrition and exercise regime? Does he get his period? Does he bloat? Does he have an influx of the stress hormone cortisol? Can he can relate to the journey of an “obese” woman?
Does he have a vagina?
If you answered yes to any of those questions, the answer is still no. I don’t want a patronizing dad mansplaining health to me. GTFO.