MIGG MAG

I've been in England for a year and a half now, and my time here has brought many things -- both good and bad. But mostly good (the only real bad was contained within the walls of the university I shan't speak of again). One of the most wonderful parts about coming over has been getting to know these two girls -- Paddy's cousins (who are now my cousins). I come from a big family, and am used to having vast quantities of people around most of the time. One of my greatest fears when making the decision to move was whether or not I would be lonely. I knew, of course, that I would be with the person I love. And that no matter what else happened, I would be ok for that reason. But I wondered whether the solitude of the British countryside would get to me.

Paddy's family is small. And the few relatives he does have are spread out across the country. But even the knowledge that these two human beings are only a mere six-hour drive away (though granted, the drive can seem eternal at times) has been a gem. Whenever I have craved the comfort of girlfriends -- the amazing feeling of solidarity and fun that comes from being with young women you intrinsically click with -- I knew they were there. They've become an amazing part of my life. They've become my family.

Lucky for me, Lucy and Olive enjoy vintage shopping just as much as I do. When strolling through Brighton, I wonderfully discovered a Collectif location right before my eyes. Suffice it to say, I had to introduce them. And this resulted in these here pictures (shot, of course, by the lovely Paddy).

We all agreed that the wonder of Collectif lies in its perfect, seemingly effortless blending of vintage fashion with a modern aesthetic. The brand caters to so many ages, and so many styles. We had a blast, as you can see. I almost didn't leave their arms.

And a big thanks to the best photographer and my [cheesy warning] truest love:

THESE McCLAVE'S STOLE MY HEART:

Get the Looks:

Virginia Long Sleeve Shirt/Collectif

Skirt/Forever21 Plus

Olive

Martina Boat Neck T-Shirt/Collectif

Lucy

Flared Dress/Available at select Collectif stores

Things with any kind of glam to them used to feel off limits to me -- like magical, twinkling wonders reserved only for pretty girls. Only for thin girls. Despite having something of a fascination with constructs of princess-hood, I never used to feel worthy of sequins, sparkles or any other such bedazzled thing. I used to tell myself that someday, when I lost weight and became the "real" me, I would allow myself to buy a sequined pink dress, or maybe some glimmering, fit-for-royalty kind of shoes.

As I grew older, I learned I wasn't alone in this. I wasn't the only fat woman who convinced herself she simply didn't deserve to wear that dress or those heels. The notion of being "unworthy" of beautiful clothing permeates the very being of so many plus-size women -- and it's sort of because of that unfortunate fact that I started my "Yes, Plus-Size Women Can Wear..." column on Bustle a few months back.

This month's theme was "sequins," for which I wore an amazing Yours Clothing dress -- a gem I discovered back at Plus North. It's exactly the sort of thing my 16-year-old self would have turned the other cheek to: would have deemed too short, too low cut, too tight to the body and far too loud for someone of my size and shape. These days, when those (quite frankly) boring and absurd notions are usually so far from my mind, it's exactly the sort of thing I gravitate toward. I love how it hugs every curve. I love that its somehow playful and sexy in equal measures.

The "real" me isn't lurking behind some corner or under 50 pounds of fat. This is the real me. And I truly never want to hide again.

Usually autumn is my favorite season. Even though the fall brings the death of many things -- the leaves, the grass, the long, sunlit days -- something about it has always seemed so alive. It's probably the same reason I gravitate toward heroines in dystopian or post-apocalyptic tales.

Death breeds life. It's the main thing I took away from Charlotte's Web when I first read it at 8-years-old, and it's definitely something I try to remind myself of as an adult. This autumn has been coated in a dreariness that I'm unaccustomed to, however. I don't know why. Something about it has just seemed a little darker. A little less optimistic.

With the changing of the seasons comes the changing of fashion. Pastels and neons get replaced by black-on-black everything. I'm guilty of doing this myself. When the weather is gloomy, I tend to put on something that replicates said gloominess. So I though the perfect antidote to the whole predicament would be to finally share these photos I took in Majorca back in September. There's nothing gloomy about this picturesque Spanish setting. And there's definitely nothing gloomy about a princess dress.

When I first spotted this Pinup Couture dress on Pinup Girl Clothing, I did worry that it would be a bit too little-girl-y for me. Though I love Lolita fashion, my own fashion preferences tend to be some kind of hybridized version of vintage and Lolita. That being said, my fears were pretty much quenched when I put it on and was transported back to some of the innocence of childhood. Some of the fun of childhood. Some of the lack of responsibilities and seemingly perpetual (often self-absorbed) woes. It's a very summery dress. But the happiness it bred -- if only temporary -- will definitely make it a recurring item in my wardrobe through the seasons.

Get the look:

Pinup Couture - Aurora Dress in Pink Castle Print/Pinup Girl Clothing

Swedish Hasbeens Gustava Sandals in Old Pink Nubuck/Surfdome

So that was probably the longest absence in the history of absences for me. This last month has been a bit of a whirlwind -- emotionally, geographically and otherwise. For those of you who don't already know, I'm back in New York! The decision to return to the "city of dreams" wasn't an easy one. But it was certainly the best. I could bore you with the qualms of acquiring an international visa to stay in the U.K., but that would require an essay. So I will just say that staying in England was pretty impossible, even if I would've liked to. It all happened very quickly. One day I was biting my nails over my possible deportation [no, it wasn't actually going to happen, but my anxiety told me it would], and the next I was trying to pack the majority of my lifetime possessions into three suitcases [I failed -- and most of my things remain nestled in my bedroom in Hebden Bridge].

That being said, New York has been lovely. I started a full-time position at Bustle as Associate Fashion & Beauty Editor, and it's been rewarding, to say the least. Patrick came with me, of course, and after a few weeks of the most intense and disheartening apartment hunting EVER, we managed to find a cozy, comfortable, mold-free place in Brooklyn [90 percent of the apartments visited had bad, BAD mold]. I was worried that after 18 months of countryside living, being surrounded by humans would be difficult at best, hideous at worst. But it's been OK. It's been fun, even. Perhaps I've just learned what kind of people are good to be around, though.

One possession I couldn't bear to leave behind was my Hell Bunny Sarah Jane Coat, a brand I discovered via the mystical and wondrous Georgina of Cupcake's Clothes. As a child, I had a coat much like this one. Firetruck red with black velvet accents and a hood as the cherry on top. I remember thinking it was my very own invisibility cloak. As long as I was wearing it, no one would see me. I would be safe. It would be magic. As an adult, I have no delusions that I will be invisible in this ensemble. It's big and red and cupcake-shaped. But I'm OK with being seen, now. I'm OK with being myself, and feeling like myself and wearing something loud and "childish" and fun. And in a way, I still feel pretty safe with it on. And when embarking upon a new adventure, in a new [per se, as I've lived here before] city, feeling safe is nothing to belittle.

As body positive as I am (and fat positive at that), there are still certain styles I avoid when it comes to my fashion. I know: Blasphemy. I don't necessarily avoid them because I think I will look fatter. It's more like I avoid them because I think my shape will be lost completely. I like my curves, so... naturally... I want to be able to fit them into clothing that highlights the bits I like most. It all sounds rather petty when actually written out. But I'm only human. And the fact is, I (like so many plus-size women) spent most of my life being told to hide. So I guess now that I don't feel that way, I'm skeptical of clothing that might potentially be too loose.

A couple of months ago, I was able to connect with Aimee Cheshire, co-founder and president of Hey Gorgeous -- an online boutique that sells quite a variety of higher-end plus labels. Within the company's manifesto, I found this:

Nothing about us is shabby, only chic. We will not drown you in fabric to hide who you are or dress you like your grandmother’s couch so you blend into the scenery. We are not wedded to empire waists or color-blocking because we think it makes you look thinner. We will make you two-piece bathing suits. This is you coming home. This is you coming home to the closet that loves you as you are. This is clothing for women by people who love women -- not people who want to change them. Here, you will not be forced to buy whatever fits you, you will be able express yourself through your style. You will get to show the world what you are all about, just as we have told you what we are all about: Making women of every race, size, humor, and style look and feel as awesome as they are.

Suffice it to say, I was intrigued. And more than that, I was thrilled to find views that so closely echoed my own within the retail industry. Because whilst things are changing for the better when it comes to size representation in fashion and acceptance of the plus-size figure, we have such a long way to go that truly getting there sometimes feels impossible. I was also intrigued -- and thrilled -- to find this unique and sufficiently-quirky-for-Miggle Diana Applique Sweatshirt Dress. Everything from the leather trim to the heavy fabric (ideal for a New York winter) captivated me from the start. Everything except the fear that I would be lost within its fabric: My curves hidden beneath a poly-cotton blend.

I will admit that the first time I tried on the dress, I thought it was too baggy at the waist and stomach, and too tight at the hips. Until, of course, I realized that I was doing exactly the same thing I always fight against (in theory, anyway). I was conforming to this idea that because I am plus-size and not ashamed of it, I must always show off my curves in traditionally "beautiful" ways so as to instill that message that a bigger body is a beautiful body. But the thing is, the only rule I believe should be followed when it comes to fashion is this: Wear what makes you smile. And this Line&Label dress made me smile from the get-go.

Just to make the ensemble a little more me, I accessorized with a miniature pearl pouch necklace found in the very bottom of my jewelry box at my mom's. Being home for the holidays has thrown me into the pit of nostalgia, and I've been exploring every photo album, memory box and closet and drawer in my childhood bedroom. Amongst the old school notes (largely consisting of "I THINK I'M IN LOVE WITH [INSERT NAME OF TEMPORARY CRUSH THAT LASTED ALL OF A DAY) and the old Victoria's Secret undies that I bought in secret at age 13, there was this little gem. I'm not sure if it was my mother's, and passed down to me. Or if it was something gifted to me as a child. But I kind of fell in love with how delicate and soft it is, and felt it provided a nice juxtaposition to the leather-look of the dress.

The final touch to the ensemble was my new pair of custom-made DUO Somerset Boots. I didn't know tailored shoes would be this revolutionary, but they are. You can read all about my adventures in that department on Bustle, though.

So I guess the moral of this particular story (or #ootd) is simply not to create unnecessary boxes for yourself. You don't always have to wear a sexy bodycon co-ord set, with a crop top on the top to prove that you love your fat body. Nor do you always have to wear slouchy PJ-esque ensembles to prove you don't care. Basically, the whole "you do you" thing is pretty on point (even if we're sick of hearing the phrase).

Get the Look:

Leather Applique Sweatshirt Dress/courtesy of Hey Gorgeous!

DUO Somerset Boots/courtesy of DUO Boots

Those of you who know me — or who have spent time reading this blog — know my fascination with all things princess-like. I know, I know. Disney princesses have historically been bad role models, but they're improving! And besides, I think my love for all things regal stems from a desire to be pampered more than anything else (What can I say? I love a good cuddle and someone to bake cupcakes for me). Back when the Christmas market was in town, I gifted myself an Avigail Adams tiara that was so woodland fairy I honestly couldn't resist. And in the couple of weeks since, I've been waiting for the perfect dress to pair it with. Low and behold: The Jane Dress by Rum + Coke.

Everything about this is luxurious. The emerald velvet. The high-slits at either side. The sophisticated neck. For my January "Yes, Plus Size Women Can Wear..." column at Bustle, I knew I wanted to focus on slits and cut-outs — and the inspiration for that decision was definitely this dress.

Sometimes I want to feel pretty. Sometimes I want to feel casual. Sometimes I want to feel slouchy. At other times, I want to feel sexy. I feel like we often limit ourselves to one fashion sentiment — maybe because the world tells us we can only be one thing. But this dress kind of makes me feel everything. And that's a rare gem in this crazy world.

The natural decision for who to shoot me in this was obviously going to point me in the direction of Rachel Crittenden— my dear friend and a truly amazing photographer and writer whom I lucky to work with almost every day. She understands my not-so-subconscious desire to want to feel like/be a queen. And she captures that desire through her art. We shot in upstate New York at all these old estates and mansions, and it couldn't have been a better day. Mostly because she's also a princess.

There's a lot of crap that permeates the Internet — and society — revolving around all the things plus-size women can't wear. And though I haven't seen thigh-slits and cut-outs on those lists, I'm sure they're there somewhere. Because we're not supposed to show so much skin. But, alas. I am nothing if not a chunky lady rule breaker.

Get the Look:

Dress/Rum+Coke

Tiara/Avigail Adams

Images: Rachel Crittenden Photography

And because T. Swift soundtracked this entire day:

If I'm being honest, January has been an absolute nightmare. I tend to use the first month of a New Year as foreshadowing material — but I am seriously hoping that 2015's is a fluke. Perhaps all of the really terrible things are getting themselves out of the way to make way for softer, kinder months, especially considering that by the end of 2014, I was actually looking forward to the coming 12 months. But I guess that's what you get for having good expectations. (Moral of the story: Never have expectations other than bad ones.)

I know it's hard to tell how bad January has been based on these photographs — but I can't take any credit for that. The ethereal prettiness is mostly down to Rachel Crittenden's beautiful photography (and, you know, how she is as a human), and also the fact that it's hard not to feel happy when wearing a dress like this. I've been obsessed with red lately, and I think this dress is definitely that obsession's climax. It's a little number by Chi Chi Clothing for ASOS and is basically everything I need from an almost-gown. It flows and swirls. It has intricate lace detailing. And it has that nifty little ability of transporting you to age-5 before the world interfered in your never-ending happy dance.

Nothing about this dress is particularly "flattering," in the way that you hear that word so often thrown around. It doesn't show off my curves so that I look like a bombshell-classic-beauty-with-an-hourglass-figure. Nor does it hide them in a way that would make me pass as anything less than a chunky lady. But I think that's why I love it. It's not trying to be a fashion rule. It's just existing timelessly, as though the rules of dressing for your size never even crossed its mind.

Get the Look:

Chi Chi Plus Longsleeved Lace Bardot Midi Dress/ASOS

Shoes/Vintage

Cameo/Vintage

Images:Rachel Crittenden Photography

There's something incredibly rewarding about doing things you've been told you couldn't (or shouldn't) do. I have no doubt that this is why reaching some kind of seemingly impossible career goal or learning to hit that high note your singing instructor swore was out of your range feels so good. Because the reality is that when we're told we can't do something, we often want to do it even more (shout out to underage drinking).

As I've gotten older, this is how I've started to feel about clothes. I know what I'm expected to wear as a plus-size woman, so I usually finding myself wanting to wear the exact opposite. You're telling me I can't show off my VBO? I'm going to show off my VBO in a red bodycon dress. You're telling me I can't wear stripes? I'm going to wear those stripes.

It's not so much about "seeking attention," (not that that's an inherently bad thing), but I do think there's an aspect of wanting to shock people. Because if certain humans are so absorbed in thinking an entire group of people can't do this or can't wear that, they kind of deserve (IMHO) to feel uncomfortable — to realize that those narrow minded ideologies of theirs won't make you lessen yourself. Won't make you feel small.

I have this weird relationship with the "comfort zone." On the one hand, I love stepping outside it. I enjoy going places totally unlike those I've been to. I like wearing fatkinis that I never would have tried as a kid or teen. But it can also be difficult. Knowing you're doing something that's going to put you on display in some way can be terrifying. But maybe that's all the more reason to do it. We can't grow or learn or experience when we stay inside our little bubbles (no matter how wonderful those bubbles might be).

And that's why it's equally important to do things despite knowing that you might be putting others outside their comfort zones. When it comes to matters surrounding any kind of hatred or discrimination, especially, perhaps the only way to move forward is to make perpetuators of these notions feel a bit weird. I know that a lot of people out there would cringe at the sight of my bottom, but if they're going to live their lives making groups of people feel bad for being somehow "different," then I have no qualms with wearing my chunkini to the beach, where they'll have to see basically every roll.

It's been a while since I've blogged, and I think that's because I've been feeling so "comfortable." In total contrast to January, much of the year has been easy. I love my job. I'm with my partner. I'm in a city I [mostly] love. But I'm going to actively try to remember that discomfort can be beautiful — and things that make us uncomfortable are usually important.

Photos: Rachel Crittenden Photography

Outfit: Zelie For She

ICYMI, body positivity seems to be "trending." And whilst every single part of me wants to jump for joy at the fact that mainstream media and the fashion industry are both acknowledging the need for visibility of all bodies, there's a nagging little voice inside my head that poses the question, "Will this, like all trends, begin to fade?" As someone who spends a lot of her time writing, researching, and contemplating the intersection between body positivity and fashion, I'm aware of the myriad of campaigns and advertisements and models and brands trying to "join the effort," and I'm also aware that many of them don't really seem to care about the activism, but the image — the "being hip" thing. Thus why it's even more special when amongst the sea of body pos "revolutions" happening right now, something stands out as, well, unique.

I was pretty delighted when I was approached by Unique Vintage to be a part of their Style Society. I was even more delighted when they introduced me to their "#IAmUnique" campaign— a movement, in and of itself, whose core echoes mine.

Just take a look at this segment from the campaign's description:

You come in all shapes and sizes, from all backgrounds and beliefs, and from all orientations and affiliations. You are published pin ups, military wives welcoming husband’s home, and high school seniors putting your own unique spin on your formal wear. You are mothers enjoying a vamped up night out, grandmothers with a flair for era fashion, dramatic drag queens making the world their stage, and cancer survivors finding hope and flaunting confidence in the perfect dress. You are all of this, that, and everything in between.

It's my personal belief that if we're ever to see size acceptance and body positivity happen, the "unique" must be celebrated. All the things we've been told are "flaws" or "idiosyncrasies" need to metamorphose into beloved aspects of ourselves. The things that make us different need to also be perceived as the things that make us most beautiful. The freckles, the fat tummy, the chafing thighs, the big ears, the thin lips... all these things are stunning. And it's about time we begin to live and breathe these words rather than post them flippantly online as inspo for our later selves.

The #IAmUnique campaign isn't about pitting one type of woman against another. It's not about fat vs. skinny, Victoria's Secret Angel vs. "Average Woman," right way vs. wrong way. Where so many brands are focusing on creating an even more prominent divide (albeit often with the intention of instilling confidence in a previously under-served customer), this one is about every body, every style, every age, every human.

Everyone's encouraged to hop on board this movement by sharing a photo of themselves on social media with the accompanying #IAmUnique hash tag. I think at a time when "vanity" is still considered a deadly sin, taking a moment to appreciate and recognize your uniqueness becomes even more important. Reflecting on the things that make you you is an invaluable experience — it's part of growing up and accepting all those things you'd previously struggled with. It's part of evolving into someone truly body positive.

There is an infinite quantity of characteristics that makes each individual unique. So honestly, it can be difficult to put into words the feelings and thoughts you come across when contemplating yourself and the type of person you are. I guess I could say the things that make me unique are my social awkwardness or my penchant for sci-fi or my encyclopedic (okay, I'm exaggerating) knowledge of "where drug fiction meets the American Dream (or lack thereof)"— thank you MA degree. But, really, I think the more noteworthy things are usually harder to explain.

Perhaps I am unique because of my sensitivity. Perhaps it's the fact that I cry as easily as I breathe, with no notice and oftentimes to no tactile cause. Perhaps it's the love I feel for my body — even if so many people think I must be lying. When I write or vocalize the fact that I actually enjoy my fatness — that the softness its come with has made me feel so much more feminine (not that femininity should be a "goal," but it is a trait I am drawn to in my own style), and, more importantly, more myself — people are more often than not in disbelief. Humans aren't taught to love their bodies, after all. But I know that what I'm saying is true, and if that does make me unique, then I am irrevocably thrilled.

But I suppose I'm also unique because I, more often than not, evoke a chunky cartoon character. And that honestly makes me smile:

Get the Look:

Unique Vintage Mint Cocktail Dress, $128, unique-vintage.com

Everyone has different ways of dealing with things, and subsequently, everyone's "journey" (for lack of a less cheesy word) when it comes to body positivity will be different. It's never easy, but it's also never the same.

Since Unique Vintage launched its #IAmUnique campaign, I've been thinking heavily on not only the things that make me unique, but also the things I've yet to accept and love for their own uniqueness. Because here is my confession: Although I consider myself a confident, proud, body positive fat woman, I still have my off days. You know the ones — when something just doesn't feel quite right. It's not so much about hating or disliking parts of yourself; it's more about just not feeling like you fit well into your body.

I, like all humans, have those days. There's no shame in them. And they don't make you any less body positive overall. But I'd be lying if I said such off days are never related to past insecurities or weird body hangups. Although I can appreciate the softness of my tummy and the ferocity with which my thighs touch and the squishiness of my double chin, I've always felt a little weird about, well, my arms.

It seems silly written about. And when it comes to deep woes and things that keep me up at night, I can assure you that my arms aren't one of them. But that being said, I've always had this nagging little notion that my arms are disproportional — not "too big," but not quite coordinated with my shape elsewhere. I still remember being a teenager and young adult, and refusing to wear spaghetti straps or strapless dresses unless I could pair them with a bolero or shrug. Back then, I'd think, "Thanks for the buff arms, dad," only to hide them away in "shame."

Fast forwarding the clock to now, well, any notion of "having to hide my body" is long gone. Except when it comes to my arms. No longer do I feel like society is going to personally come after me if I don't (because, you know, in my head, "society" used to be this a metaphysical being with the ability to come after me). But I sometimes do catch myself thinking, "These babies just aren't in line with the rest of my body." Or, "They're just not as cute as the rest of my body." And that's just no way to live, guys!

So in an effort to do away with some of these personal hangups, I thought I'd try on Unique Vintage's Satin & Tulle Swing Dress. Not only is it evocative of Grease's Pink Ladies or Betty Draper circa Mad Men Season 1 (which is obviously a swell combination), but it's also outside my comfort zone. I'm obviously a fan of anything princess-y and ethereal, but strapless? Not often.

And you know what? You know how I felt wearing it? I felt pretty splendid. Like I could take on the world, kitsch baby pink dress in tow. I found that the universe didn't crumble. It didn't suddenly metamorphose into some post-apocalyptic sci-fi nightmare. Everything was fine. I was fine. I felt amazing, and in turn, I was reminded that although no one is ever going to be 100 percent happy and confident and at ease in their skin (because we're not robots, and social conditioning runs too deep), we can do plenty of things to feel better. In taking risks and pushing myself to show off a body part I've never fully embraced, I saw that body part's individuality. No, I don't think my arms have souls or minds of their own (not really, anyway). But I do think they have a presence. It's one I'd never allowed myself the joy of embracing. But now I think I might start.

P.S. If you're wondering who's responsible for the incredible leather collar I'm wearing — something straight out of a mermaid daydream — that would, of course, be the lovely Freyia of Flimsymoon. She's currently in London working on designing her collection, and this gem is sure to feature.

If there's a rare find in the world of plus-size swimwear, it's a bathing suit that's mean to support your curves without hiding them. By that I mean, something that isn't designed with the idea of "slimming down fat girls," but rather, giving their bodies the utmost comfort while letting the beauty of those fuller bodies shine through. With the ever-popular "fatkini" trend, the options have definitely been improving steadily over the course of the last couple of years. But if there's one designer really delivering luxury and structure for a cost that's not going to completely throw you into financial devastation, it's Monif Clarke of Monif C.

As a confident, goddess-esque plus-size woman herself, Monif knows what larger bodies need to feel truly comfy. She knows a swimsuit needs to be built with extra support in areas like the tummy so everything can be kept into place while you're prancing around the beach (or, you know, a Brooklyn rooftop, if you're me). But she also knows that in order to do this, you shouldn't have to force a garment to "slim" or "tuck" or "minimize" the body. With qualities like reinforced elastic, control lining, removable bra cups, and removable halter straps, her swim line is all about stability without compromising. You don't have to compromise the shape of your body. You don't have to compromise your most beloved chunky bits. You don't have to compromise style.

The "Fiji" Sweetheart Ruched Swimsuit I'm wearing here feels to me like a profession of love. When I'm in it, I'm reminded that I adore my body. While it makes me reflect upon all the wasted time I spent not feeling this way, it makes me grateful that I managed to arrive at all. With these strategic belly cutouts, I can show the world that I'm not ashamed of my stomach. I'm not afraid of being seen or wearing something that puts what so many think of as a "problem area" in the spotlight. Because it's not a problem area at all. And we seriously need to stop thinking as much.

So… with swim season basically here (unless you're on the East Coast and dealing with these temperamental weather changes), Monif C. has teamed up with six plus-size bloggers and body pos proponents for the Beach Chic Giveaway. Monif's newest swim line is filled with the stuff bathing suit dreams are made of. Everything from sexy cutouts to experimental necklines to pastel hues to bold prints is there. And I'd absolutely love to introduce as many plus women to the wonders that is wearing a bathing suit that isn't designed to "fix" or "slim" or "hide" your beautiful bod.

So! If you're interested in being gifted a free swimsuit, please enter the raffle below between now and June 18th! All you have to do is:

Comment on this blog post with your swimsuit preference (including size) and contact info.
Follow @monifcplussizes on Instagram.
Spread the word using the #monifcbeachchic hashtag.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

I know swim season has traditionally been this weird source of anxiety for so many women (and men, let's be fair) of all sizes and shapes. It's been a harbinger of body hate and negative self-talk. But it doesn't have to be. Every body is beach-ready. Every body is a bikini body. Every body deserves to feel sexy and beautiful and confident and all-around phenomenal. And that includes when wearing a swimsuit. Heck, maybe especially then.

Images by Paddy McClave — who shot these on an old Polaroid because this bathing suit totes deserves the magic that is analog photography.

As a lot of you probably know by now, I've been a huge supporter of Unique Vintage's #IAmUnique Campaign since the brand first started working on it. The simple message that uniqueness is cause for celebration rather than scorn is one I try to live by in my day to day life, and is a core focus of my work. #IAmUnique is about embracing everything about ourselves, but especially those characteristics (be they physical or otherwise) that have ever made us feel different or marginalized.

For me, that's always been my body. It was my fat that got me bullied through elementary school, my fat that made me stand out in Colombia when visiting relatives, and my fat that made me feel obligated to shun dating throughout adolescent. But these days, it's my fat that makes me feel beautiful.

I don't know exactly how that happened. I've tried to explain it before — to express what it was like to spend huge chunks of time outside of the U.S., surrounding by different notions and not-as-narrow-minded visions of beauty. What it was like to discover a community — a world — of body positive activists, bloggers, campaigners, and designers. What it was like to meet people who got it, and helped me get it, too. But I can't pinpoint my appreciation for my body to anything specific. For those reasons and many more, I decided to start loving myself. And not "in spite" of anything.

A few months ago, I was honored to join Unique Vintage's Style Society— a group of bloggers whose views and stances echo that of #IAmUnique. The other bloggers include: Sammi from Soubrette Brunette, Amber from Forever Amber, Rebecca from The Clothes Horse, and Busola from The Fashion Stir Fry. Ever three months, UV chooses a new group of humans who equally care about spreading body positivism, and who delve into the intersection of body positivism and fashion, all in their own, well, unique ways.

As an interesting little experiment, Unique Vintage asked us all to style the same article of clothing, in a way that made us feel most comfortable and most ourselves. The dress — quite similar to the Nude & White Swiss Dot Garden State Mesh Cocktail Dress— is a strapless little number with polka dotted detailing that makes me smile. I realize you can't see the entirety of the piece, but that's mostly because the moment I saw it, I envisioned accessorizing the look with a tied denim blouse. I don't know when it began, but I've really had a thing for denim tops tied into crops as of late.

Something about pairing the traditionally "girly" color, shape, and cut of this dress made me want to go casual in all the other outfit details. Thus, the Nike trainers. I used to associate the Nike brand with high school bros and suburban mamas, but I have to admit... these are the most comfortable shoes I've ever worn in my life. After putting my feet through the pain of heels and pointed toes and wedges all for the sake of sartorial experimentation (for several years on end), my feet were in dire need of a break. I caved and bought this pair of sneaks after putting them on as a joke. Seriously, heavenly.

I suppose the reason I love mixing genres of clothing so much is down to perceiving it as a way of showcasing that people aren't just one thing. I love pinup and vintage-inspired garms, but I also love loud and kitsch patterns and prints and colors. I'm obsessed with midi skirts and unisex tees, but I also enjoy dressing like a princess sometimes. The great thing about UV items is that they allow for that kind of creative expression. Nothing is SO retro that pairing it with Nike sneakers would feel like blasphemy. And that modern touch makes for a far more relatable experience.

So... we're all unique in our own ways, obviously. But once in a while, it's pretty ideal to have a brand recognize our differences as cause for celebration. Not oppression.

I remember browsing the "husky" section as a kid, and the "women's" (rather than "ladies"— make what assumptions you will about that choice in labeling) section as a teen, and always being met by absolute drab. Everywhere I turned there were baggy, bootcut jeans and monochromatic tops in a vast assortment of blacks, grays, and dark blues. There was no spark — and if there was an attempt at spark, it was usually in the form of a tragically embellished tunic decked out in more rhinestones and paint splatters than I personally cared to sport on my body.

On the rare occasion there was something printed or bright in a plus size section, it was often a floral: Floral dresses, floral tops, floral trousers, floral skirts, floral wide fit shoes. This was back in the early and mid '00s, though, when any plus size-related content in the fashion industry consisted of headlines like, "TK Ways To Flatter Your Figure,""TK Plus Size Fashion Rules To Swear By,""TK Ways To Slim Yourself Down When You're Plus Size," etc., etc. It was also pre-body-positivity-on-the-Internet explosion, when the thought of actually loving your fat was arguably more taboo than confessing you didn't actually have a crush on Lizzie McGuire's David "Gordo" Gordon.

All this is to say that "avoiding bold prints" or anything that could possibly "call attention to your fatness" was a pretty engrained "rule" for a lot of us chunkier folks. I remember finding a dress not unlike this one (sans the open shoulders, perhaps) in high school. It was one of the first fashion items to ever really cause any kind of sartorial inclination within me since I'd been a kid. I might've been out shopping with a friend or a relative — in all honesty, I can't remember. But I do remember feeling afraid to buy it: A repertoire of negative self talk lines swimming through my mind. What if I looked ugly? What if people stared? What if the flowers were so big that I'd just look infinitely bigger right along with them?

Whoever I was with that day confirmed the monologue I'd been having in my brain before I could really make a solid decision: "Big patterns like that will make you look bigger. Since you're already a little bigger than average, you should probably just go for a solid." This probably isn't quoted verbatim, but you get the idea.

Suffice it to say, I was pretty discouraged from the purchase — opting instead for whatever dress would minimize my body, my personality, and the general amount of space I took up in the world. Which is precisely why — 12 or so years later — I was so drawn to this Haute Cold Shoulder Dress by Kiyonna (F.Y.I. there's a 25 percent off sale going on right now — no minimum!). The print is unapologetically loud and a certainly kitsch and absolutely meant to be seen. The massive flowers do in fact call attention to my body, and in some respects probably make me look a little fatter than I would in a standard LBD with a fitted waist and flowing silhouette. Which means that on days when I'm really feeling myself and loving the way the wrap detailing accentuates my myriad of chunky bits, it's just the ticket.

None of this is to say that there's anything wrong with the aforementioned baggy boot cut jeans or rhinestone-embellished tunic. If they're your jam, that's totally OK. Everyone should be able to express themselves through clothing exactly as they so choose. Back in the day, though, the options for plus size girls and women were so drastically limited that those two things were really the only choices you got. They were choices I was personally forced into and that years later, I realize weren't very me at all.

What I love about wearing this kind of dress as a fat woman is that it doesn't do anything to pretend I'm not fat. It hugs my body and molds to the shape of my roll-y bits and chubs. And along the way, it makes me feel pretty empowered. Plus, the open-shoulder detailing is insanely cute.

Get The Look:

Haute Cold Shoulder Dress, $98, kiyonna.com

(Similar) Plus Size Button-Up Chambray Top, $29, charlotterusse.com

For most of 2015, I neglected this blog; my little corner of the Internet, but I'm hoping to jump back in, if that's cool.

Late in 2015, I sat in a body positive panel with Ushshi of Dress Carcass. There, she urged the audience to remember that their dollars matter. I know it's incredibly easy to swipe your credit card at all those fast fashion brands selling five items for the price of one, but only using size 12/14 models in their supposedly inclusive photo shoots, but it's perhaps far more helpful to issues of body positivism to support the independent brands doing things right. The brands that care about listening and giving visibility to plus size women. The brands that aren't just co-opting "body positivity" because it's a buzzword, but that live and breathe all the industry changes we're supposedly fighting for.

I see small brands like Smart Glamour (a one woman show founded and run by Mallorie Dunn), that manage to make sizes XXS through 6XL (not to mention custom sizing), and it baffles me that multi million dollar corporations claim it's just too expensive to extend their ranges. So I made a decision this year when it came to fashion, which was to only purchase from the brands that give a shit about me, and my fellow fat fashion lovers of all sizes, shapes, and styles. When my budget allows, this might mean buying one rad skirt instead of three striped tees and a knit cardigan at H&M. But if I'm supporting folks who believe in equal representation — without exceptions, disclaimers, or subjective plus inclusion — then I'm all for it. I wanted to start with Ready To Stare.

I've had the pleasure of working with writer and designer Alysse Dalessandro at Bustle for about a year now, and she's a constant source of inspiration to me. She wears whatever the hell she wants, she designs whatever the hell she wants, and her fat activism never feels feigned or altered to fit into any mainstream, cookie cutter idea of body positivity. And in November 2015, she broke the Plus Size Internet.

It wasn't a nude selfie or fatkini photo that did it. It was a dress — the Convertible Cupcake Dress/Maxi Skirt. If you want to read a fascinating account about the polarizing reactions this dress caused online, I highly recommend reading her blog post on the subject. My take is sorta this.

For decades, plus size women had very little in the way of available, stylish fat fashion. What we did have usually consisted of baggy, boring silhouettes designed to hide our every curve — but possibly decked out in some oversized flowers or rhinestones seemingly meant to distract from the fact that we had no real options. See below.

The principal sartorial "rule" for plus size women was simply to hide their bodies at all costs, because who in their right mind would want to see those rolls or know there was a fat human in their presence?

But there's always been this other "guideline" of sorts that proves just how contradictory beauty standards are. Fat women should do their damnedest to "flatter" their figures. They must cinch in at the waist, push up the boobs, show off the booties, and look as hourglass-perfect as possible. If we're going to insist on being fat, then we must at least all be fat versions of Marilyn Monroe.

I love that so many fat women, myself included sometimes, show our bodies love through form-fitting, rule-breaking outfits. I love that we rock two-piece bikinis, bodycon dresses, mini skirts, and crop tops in constant acts of subversion. I'm thankful for that, and the bravery I see in so many women who show off their fat despite the fact that we're still living in a time when fat people face biases in the medical community, increased likelihood of conviction, minimal representation in any media, impacted earning potential, and ongoing trolling simply because they don't exist in a body deemed conventionally acceptable and attractive. But sometimes I wonder whether our desire to present unapologetically has meant we've forgotten the importance of variety and choice.

To me, the liberation of plus size fashion has always been about options. In the world of "straight size" style, women between sizes 0 and 12 have what feels like almost unlimited access to clothes. If you want an oversized, minimalist, athleisure-esque silhouette, you can probably find it. If you want a form-fitting mini in a bold print, you can likely find that, too. The same isn't unfortunately true for plus size women.

When Alysse released this dress/skirt hybrid, some people were pretty mad. They accused her of "setting plus size fashion back." And of designing something highly "unflattering." Little did they know that designing an eff you to "flattering" was precisely her intention.

This dress was a symbol. If it had been worn on any runway or red carpet by a thin woman, it likely wouldn't have received the deluge of criticism Alysse got (á la Rihanna's cupcake dress). She created an option — an option for any fat woman who loves baggy silhouettes but doesn't feel like she's entitled to them because they won't shrink or hourglass-ify her body. This was an option for those who love unconventional cuts, but who have never had those kind of runway-weird selections available in their size. She created an option that bridged the gap between straight and plus just a little bit more.

I'll admit that I sometimes have an internal struggle with garments that aren't body-hugging in some way. Maybe it's partially because I'm Colombian, and was taught that highlighting one's curves is life-important. But also, I genuinely care about breaking all those other supposed rules that say fat women should hide their bodies. Subsequently, I feel kind of weird when I wear things that could be associated with the "dark days of plus size fashion" (like, pre-2011) and the very crummy selection we once had — mainly, really baggy cuts. But today's baggy cuts can also be some of the comfiest cuts, and very cute in their own right. It's a weird cycle.

Even after delving into the worlds of body positivism and political fat fashion, I sometimes forget that we're allowed to wear whatever the hell we want, no matter our size.

This dress/maxi skirt (which I'm first wearing as a skirt, obviously, but plan on styling in dress form soon) helped me confront any lingering plus size fashion "rules" I was harboring, and it felt lovely to wear (also, it had pockets!). I've always been someone who loves to experiment with playing dress up in different ways, and it was just the piece to remind me of that.

I paired it with Alysse's "I'm Morbidly Obsessed With Myself" tee. Clinically, I fall somewhere in the middle of regular old obesity and morbid obesity, leaning more towards morbid obesity on a good day, so I know it's not 100 percent factually accurate (not that it would mean anything if it was. BMI isn't the "thing" we're so often taught it is). But the message is one so bold and close to home that I couldn't help but fall in love (plus, it was designed as a direct confrontation to health trolling on the Internet, which I can obviously get behind).

I love the image of the selfie-taking fatshionista who's totally feeling herself. I think women are often scolded for being "vain," but that's always translated to "loving yourself too much" in my mind. We're not often taught to love ourselves. We just aren't. And I think that's even truer for people who are further marginalized for things like size, race, abilities, or identity. To me, being publicly "vain" when you're plus size and showing love for your body isn't about trying to convince the whole world that you're attractive. It's about lifting yourself and other plus size women up. It's about elevating the levels of self-respect that social norms condition us to believe we deserve (because, you know, we're conditioned to believe we deserve none).

Fat women aren't really supposed to love themselves. Not until we lose weight. Not until we're prettier. Not until we're "healthier" and just... "better." In actuality, we're allowed to love ourselves at any weight. We're allowed to love ourselves regardless of beauty standards. We're allowed to define our own standards.

Openly showing yourself some self-love in whatever way feels right seems important to me. Women and girls should know that the "norm" shouldn't be to hate our bodies. The norm should be to love ourselves so much that we decorate those bodies however we want, take as many selfies as we see fit, and treat ourselves to whatever "indulgences" bring us the most joy. There's no shame in being "vain." It doesn't mean you're arrogant, or secretly look down upon those around you. It just means that you've decided to live in peace with your body.

Finally, I paired this look with the Lucy Layered Chain Belt in Gold. I've never worn a chain belt before, but I'm smitten. It's the definition of a statement accessory.

The statements are what I love about all of these pieces by Alysse, and her entire collection TBH. Maybe this cupcake dress isn't "flattering" if we're talking about conventional-beauty-standards-flattering. But why should plus fashion be only that?

I love that this dress wasn't designed to "help" make the wearer look smaller. It doesn't care about "slimming" properties. It doesn't pretend not to have a kitschy, gaudy side. It just wants to break some rules.

As someone who loves glitter, sequins, trippy prints, and a good slogan T-shirt, "basics" have always translated to "boring" in my mind. I mean, why would you wear a plain denim dress when you could wear an all-over sequin jumpsuit? But since working full time, my style has admittedly made room for the simpler things in life.

Before moving back to New York for work in late 2014, I hadn't worn jeans in years (at least more than, like, twice a month), and certainly not plain tees. I'd tossed any dress aside that reminded me a little too much of the department store options in my hometown mall in Jersey. Basically, anything that didn't make me feel glam and queenly and overtly fatshionable was off the table.

But then I started my job, which involves a 90-minute commute one way. And all those grown-up, real-world worries I'd had previously about less time spent with my partner and friends, less time to focus on personal projects, less time to get ready in the morning proved more or less true. It's not that the contemporary work schedule leaves no time for anything outside of your employment. It's more that in the time I do have (which is more limited than when I was a student and freelancer), my priorities have shifted.

Much like "Netflix and chill" has become priceless in the evenings, 30 extra minutes of sleep in the morning are now invaluable. Most days, I'd rather wear something comfortable, cute, and easy that doesn't require a lot of time to put together or think about.

That's kind of why I like a lot of the London Times Curve collection at Maggy London. Many of the dresses remind me of those you might find in plus sections of the aforementioned hometown mall department stores, but I mean that in a genuinely kind way.

There's a city brunch vibe to the pieces that, when combined with bolder accessories, is pretty perfect for a Millennial's day at the office. They're the kind of outfits I can dress up to look more or less bold, depending on the occasion or how visible I want to be on any given day. And most have just enough detailing to avoid blending in and going sartorially unnoticed. I definitely think that's true of this Denim Lace T-Shirt Dress.

The sleeves are my favorite part. They remind me of a lot of things I used to wear in high school, so I can't help but feeling kind of young and carefree in it.

Granted, plus size fashion options were so painfully limited back then that I cringe to think of half the shit I used to wear. But I do know that a staple in my life from ages 15 to 18 was the T-shirt dress. The ones of my youth were always pretty doldrum, though: The kind of things you'd buy for $5 at Costco or BJs because the grocery store was apparently where fat women had been relegated to shop. This T-shirt dress doesn't feel like that. It just feels like the solution to all those mornings when I want to feel like a cutie but can't be bothered with zips or strings or tightness or buttons or any kind of unnecessary constriction.

I paired the look with the Lucy Layered Chainbelt in Gold from Ready To Stare. Designer and writer Alysse Dalessandro fights for the visibility of fat women in everything she does, and her chain belts are the perfect example. They're the kind of accessory that demands attention. They're not the sort of thing you'd wear to "hide" your body or pretend to be "slimmer" in. In this case, the Lucy Chainbelt was just the thing to elevate a more classic closet staple into levels of subtle edginess. I always love to feel like I'm breaking a so-called plus size fashion rule when I get dressed in the morning. And this belt helped me do just that while staying perfectly comfy in the denim dress.

Maybe a month ago, Ariel (Kiddotrue), one of the most poignant, real voices on social media, wrote a status about how it's not uncommon for straight size bloggers to post outfits that are more or less simple — think jeans and striped tees, or the most basic dress. But that it's a lot rarer to see plus bloggers do the same.

For me, posting "simpler" ensembles has always felt challenging. Maybe as a fat woman, I feel like I always have to be "interesting" in order to be more accepted in Cyberspace. Or maybe it's the age-old adage of not wanting to feel like I'm not ~trying at life.~ But the truth is that I don't always want to dress in the OTT looks, and I don't. My real life isn't always tutus and polka dots and platform sweater shoes. Sometimes it's all about a simple dress. And I'm digging this one and the nostalgia feels its happening to evoke.

Musician and designer Beth Ditto was one of the first fat women I ever saw naked besides myself. Her now-legendary covers for NME and LOVE Magazine presented me, and who knows how many others, with images of an unapologetic fat babe who wasn’t ashamed of her rolls or wobbles or cellulite. In 2007 and 2009, respectively, this was a rarity. There were few mainstream voices, if any, telling us that it was OK to be fat. There certainly weren’t many telling us that fat could be beautiful, powerful, desirable, bold, or successful, and doing it all while being visibly and proudly fat and wearing some of the tightest, most metallic lycra jumpsuits you’ve ever seen. Before “body positivity” went mainstream in 2015, before game-changing bloggers like Gabi Gregg or Nicolette Mason or Callie Thorpe, there was Ditto.

In late 2015, Ditto announced that she’d be launching an independent collection the following year. But in the interim, she released this T-shirt dress in collaboration with Jean Paul Gaultier (a design house that is actually one of the most inclusive on its runways). The image is clearly striking: That of an hourglass, feminine, corseted chest and abdomen.

On the opposite side, we can see the back of the corset, with actual laces that can change the fit of the garment depending on how tight or loose you want it to fall. The boobs are pointed, and the whole thing feels like an image of a femme robot living in fearlessness of its sexuality. But more than all that, I think this plus size piece is a metaphor.

A lot of fat babes are taught that inside them lives a skinny woman waiting to come out: She is happy, she is “healthy," she is confident, she is sexy. So many of us live our lives striving to ~help~ her come out. We diet, we binge, we purge, we buckle, we tuck. But we don’t have to. And that’s what I feel this image represents.

Thinking back to my childhood self, my teenage self, my early adult self, I mourn for all the time I lost striving to be different, not to mention the harm I put my body through, all in the effort of helping Skinny Marie crack the surface. The thing is, there isn’t a “thin woman within us all.” Yes, you can lose the weight; you can shed the “excess,” but at the end of the day, unhappy people tend to stay unhappy. And the number on the scale very rarely changes how we actually feel about ourselves.

That’s one of the infinite things diet culture — and our culture at large — doesn’t tell you, though. Everything is promised to us if only we make those “lifestyle” changes. “When I’m thin, I will travel. When I’m thin, I will lose my virginity. When I’m thin, I will be beautiful. When I’m thin, I will love myself. When I’m thin, everything will be better.” That was the running dialogue in my head for years, and I know it’s the same for a lot of fat humans.

The truth? You don’t need to shed any pounds to start feeling good about yourself. You don’t have to shed any pounds to find romance, have brilliant sex, build a great platform or career, or to deserve acceptance. You just have to make a conscious effort to disregard beauty standards and societal sizeism. You have to look at all the mainstream visuals you’re being presented with — all the entertainment, magazines, movies, television shows, advertisements — that only celebrate one primary body type, and confront the absurdity of that. You have to look around you IRL, acknowledge the reality we live in (one where bodies come in all shapes, sizes, skin colors, styles, races), and question why the hell we only see the white, the thin, the cis, the able. There is no justifiable reason for this exclusion, of course. So there’s no reason to cater to it or mold your life around it.

To me, this dress is a direct confrontation to all the so-called rules and social guidelines that tell me and other fat women that we have to transform. I am fat, I love my fat, and that’s the narrative I want to live in. The petite individual's frame depicted on this T-shirt dress symbolizes the fact that I don’t have to look like her. She might be close to the status quo in terms of mainstream aspirational beauty tropes. But she is not me. Me is fat. And me doesn’t have to be anything otherwise.

I've been finding it difficult to "dress up" as of late. Not even dress up, per se. Just getting dressed in anything that isn't leggings, a striped tee, and my go-to Dr. Marten boots can feel like a challenge. This isn't particularly unusual for me. If ever I'm stressed out or anxious or not feeling the ~life situation~ I'm in at any given moment, my style takes a big hit.

Unfortunately, this is something of a vicious cycle. As someone who loves fashion and beauty, the clothes I'm wearing and the makeup I put on all have the potential of affecting my mood. I think the same is true for a lot of folks. My partner, for example, can't get on with much if he stays in his PJs all day. Relaxed clothing, for him, isn't conducive to much productivity. For me, it's more about a sense of playfulness. My base state is reveling in the kitschiest of prints and loudest of colors — wearing Peter Pan-printed dresses and cupcake bodysuits like there was no tomorrow. And whenever I don't, I miss it.

It's natural to go through ebbs and flows when it comes to getting dressed. This is likely because it's natural to go through ebbs and flows regarding mental health or your career or your relationships or just about anything in this life. But I know that, psychologically and for whatever reason, putting in some kind of effort to feel cute and quirky can make a huge difference in my day-to-day.

Mustering up the initial effort is difficult at times. But 90 percent of the time, it's worth it.

The last few months, I've opted for basic upon basic: T-shirt and jeans combos, leggings and tunics, '90s mom jeans, solid-hued dresses, or loose-flowing silhouettes.

I gravitated toward this Maggy London Times Curve Bib Front Tunic at a time when dresses with any kind of embellishments, zippers, fastenings, or detailing seemed a more daunting concept than losing Jon Snow for good. But what I loved about it from the very get-go was the versatility. The beauty of "basics" is that they can be styled in a myriad of ways: Be it on their own, for an easy breezy look, or with neon-scrunchied baby buns and an old checkered shirt for more of that aforementioned quirky vibe.

I've been trying to take sartorial baby steps in the last few weeks: I put on something simple, like this dress — something that slips on and falls loosely so I don't feel constricted or imprisoned in any way. Then I pair it with some wacky accessories or a statement lip color or a funky hairdo to elevate my mood. And the thing is, it almost always works.

I love this dress because I know it’ll serve me well. I’ll wear it as a cover-up at the beach. I’ll wear it on days when I just DGAF about much and want the quickest, cutest option I can find. I’ll wear it when I need a foundation for something a little bolder — á la this baby buns look. I’ll wear it with a cardigan and knit tights in winter. It’s multi-purpose in the truest sense of the word (at least, the truest sense of the word in my book), meaning it’ll have my back regardless of my mental or emotional state.

My first best friend was fat. We met in the fourth grade, and I still wonder whether we would've clicked as much had our body types not given us something to relate to one another with straight off the bat.

Two young women who'd later become some of my closest friends, and whom I met the year after, were living in similar, round-bellied bodies. In our small, conservative town — where "ideal beauty" was akin to the standard thinness and whiteness typical of Western dogma at large, but with the addition of fake tans and surfer brands — we all stood out. But none of us felt particularly good about that fact. So if we couldn't physically shrink, we could do our best to do so in speech, in personality, in voice, in presence.

These women were all incredible people: They remain some of the kindest, strongest, most brilliant individuals one can hope to meet. But I often wonder how our formative years would've played out if we'd come across some confident, like-bodied women a lot sooner: Fat women who didn't believe that it was inherently wrong to be fat; fat women who wore the clothes they wanted to wear; who knew that they were no less desirable because of their VBOs; who realized that the problem lies not with fat people themselves, simply for existing, but with the folks and institutions that insist on shaming them, simply for existing.

These days, much of my time is spent online: Soaking up imagery of fat, empowered humans who wear the bright colors, who laugh and live loudly, who take up space with no apology, who fight sizeism in both their day-to-day lives and in grander politics. Alysse Dalessandro of Ready To Stare is one of the fat women whose online presence has deeply touched my life.

We first came into contact with each other through Bustle, after she joined my team and produced some of the most fearless, thought-provoking stories I had the pleasure of editing. Although our relationship began under the umbrella of professionalism, I had the utmost pleasure of meeting her IRL earlier this summer when she visited New York for The Curvy Con. Her work had long inspired me — her writing and her designs alike — and we literally ran into each other's arms at first glance.

That afternoon was spent taking photos with my partner, Patrick, walking through Midtown, and eating some pretty scrumptious tater-tots. But most importantly, it was spent talking. The online fat acceptance community is immeasurably important. But having encounters with fat positive people, in the flesh, is of utmost value as well: To spend time with someone in a body similar to your own, who realizes so acutely that fat bodies are subject to deeply ingrained intolerance, and who makes a conscious decision each day to fight that intolerance, is beyond empowering.

When you spend so much of your life being told that living in your body type makes you inferior, meeting someone who so boldly reminds you that nothing could be further from the truth is motivation to keep striving for better. Not just for yourself, but for all those people who still haven't realized that they've been lied to.

Being fat still comes with its fair share of socially-constructed issues. We are frequently denied health care based on BMI alone. We remain the punchline of many a film or TV show. We are told that love does not exist at our size: That sex is not for us. That clothes are not for us. That we cannot start living until ~the thin person within~ is revealed after rigorous, even life-threatening lifestyle changes.

As we await, and fight, for this social narrative to change, re-framing our own narratives through fat positive friendships — both in person and on the Web — can do wonders. Taking pictures that show off your double chin, with someone who has one, too, can do wonders. Eating unapologetically with someone who knows that your meal plan does not equate to your moral compass or "goodness" versus "badness" can do much the same. And putting on those clothes — those bright, flowery, tight, or quirky clothes — can help, too.

And when much of the world insists on proclaiming otherwise, your fat positive friends can hopefully put things back into perspective.

What We're Wearing

Alysse: Plus Size Tropical Floral Plunge Dress, Deb Shops
Marie: Denim Overalls, ELOQUII

For more fat pos friendship, you can read Alysse's post here<3

Almost six months ago, I had a baby. A little girl called Luna. Her embryonic existence went undetected throughout the first five months of pregnancy, largely because I'd been hearing all about my sterility for over a decade beforehand. My Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome was deemed so severe (in terms of the amount of cysts) from the age of 14 and onwards that no medical professional believed I'd ever have a kid. I'm also fat — something I was told wasn't especially conducive to getting knocked up.

More than the supposed fertility issues, I just didn't have any signs or symptoms of pregnancy throughout those 20 weeks. Not getting a period is my baseline of normality. I didn't experience morning sickness or unparalleled exhaustion, and I wasn't having any bizarre culinary cravings. As for my body, it just didn't change much: No weight gain, no new stretch marks, no extra plump bosom.

The latter four months of pregnancy were an entirely different story, though. It's almost like my body was holding off on exhibiting outward changes until my mind caught up to everything going on inside it. Shortly after finding out, the weight started accumulating quickly. And with it, dozens of new stretch marks decorating my stomach, sides, thighs, arms, and breasts. More cellulite appeared on my backside and even the infamous linea negra popped up, too.

By the time my daughter was born, I'd gained at least 50 pounds. My tummy has since softened and is jigglier than ever before, while simultaneously appearing more rounded — not entirely unlike my father's beer belly. My love handles protrude further out than they once did — and five months into new motherhood, my stretch marks remain bright red and fresh. My ass is wider, and my spacial awareness hasn't quite caught up to its breadth. My belly button is deep; expanded. My thighs are like heaps of mini marshmallows squashed together.

I've often looked at my body these last 24 weeks or so in utmost awareness of how much I'm supposed to hate it. And I won't lie... sometimes I've struggled to access self-love as profoundly as I did before having a kid but after finding the magical universe of fat liberationists and their work. I've wondered if I'd be happier in a body less marked in tiger stripes. I've ever-so-briefly questioned whether I should brainstorm some kind of fitness goals centered around "toning." That's what I'm supposed to do, right?

Despite what some folks may believe, I don't buy the idea that the alleged "body positivity revolution" has been fully realized yet. There are plenty of bodies still made to feel invisible or worthless in all manner of harmful ways (from the lack of inclusivity in magazines to the denial of healthcare based on BMI alone). Among the bodies we don't see represented often are post-baby bodies: Relatable ones that haven't "miraculously" shed all the weight, or zapped away their stretchies, or gotten boob lifts, or walked out of the hospital after days of labor looking exactly as they did months before they were even pregnant.

Unsurprisingly, it's even more rare to see relatable post-baby bodies that are also fat in the mainstream.

So for these reasons and more, I've asked myself whether the incredible post-baby body I should be seeking is the pre-pregnancy body. A body entirely unmarked by the immense changes it's gone through — a body that would never imply one has grown a whole other human being inside it.

These moments never last long, though. It only takes looking at my daughter — a pretty worthwhile reason for accumulating some stretch marks and heightened wobbliness — to remember that I already have an incredible post-baby body. This body is incredible because it grew a human who is now my best friend inside it — despite the fatphobic misdiagnoses assigned to it. It endured over 50 hours of labor and the kind of agony you don't want to be totally honest about for fear that no one else will ever have children again. This body is incredible because it's mine. It allows me to live and try endlessly at finding some kind of balance between "mom" and "person" and "woman" and "26-year-old." There is no fat post-baby body that is not brilliant, worthy, powerful, or incredible, because there is no body (period) that is not brilliant, worthy, powerful, or incredible.

My body changed, just like it was always supposed to. You can't carry a tiny creature inside yourself for that long without expecting change. You can't get said creature out of your bod without expecting even more change. Any shaming surrounding the physical shifts that occur when one goes through labor and pregnancy is no different to any other breed of body shaming. It's rooted in arbitrary standards of beauty. It's subsequently rooted in nothing.

So here you see me. The new me. The just-as-fire-me. I'm wearing a lingerie set that I designed on Impish Lee, a brand specializing in customizable intimates. Kali — who founded the company with her sister — reached out to me many, many months ago to see if I wanted to try my hand at the process and I was all for it. But it's taken me a little time to take and post photos — because it's taken me a little time to feel as solid in myself as I used to.

I chose to design pieces featuring blue velvet to feel luxurious, gold spandex to feel like an unapologetic queen, and floral mesh to channel my love of vintage aesthetics. An unwired bralette was my top of choice because comfort is of utmost priority to me these days. In addition, there's no truth to any BS "rules" that suggest you cannot wear bralettes if you're also big-boobed. You can wear what makes you happy (end of sentence). I also opted for lower-waist briefs in hopes of spending more time getting to know my new stomach.

In the aid of full disclosure, Kali & Impish Lee were kind enough to gift me this set. The company's current range goes up to a U.S. 24 in bottoms and a 40J in cup size. I normally wear a 44 or 46 cup so the bralette was definitely a squeeze, but still comfy due to stretch. The undies were a size 24, and fit my 55-inch hips very well. I hope to see the size range expand in the future for accessibility to all plus size bodies. The design process was definitely cathartic in a time when I needed that.

Again, I'd be fibbing if I said that posing in intimates wasn't challenging at first. Not because I'm any more exposed than I have been in the past via swimsuits or knicker/bra sets, but because there is simply more of me. There is more of me that is supposedly "imperfect." More of me that's been touched by growth, change, and tiredness. Things far too often connoted with negativity when, really, they're just part of living.

But then I thought that maybe that's why sharing them felt like something I should do. As so many of us know, there isn't nearly enough representation of visibly fat post-baby bodies out there. As with any marginalized, neglected group, however, this says nothing about the bodies themselves and everything about the toxic cultures we live in. Sometimes those things can get muddled up in our brains, though. We blame ourselves for the problems that culture and media and faulty education create.

The simple truth is that your fat post-baby body is a goddamn treasure. All the stretch marks — whether bright red or faded or somewhere in between — all the flabby skin, or the skin tags, or the drier hair texture, or the immense love handles, are goddamn treasures. Try to treat them as such.

Marilyn Misandry is standing shirtless on the front lawn of a house that looks like it belongs more in the stuffiest sector of Newport Beach than industrial Northern England. It's the kind of house that inspires one to fast, lest anything be spilled on rugs that probably cost more than four years of university education.

Her blue eyeshadow, red lipstick, and pearls catch the sunlight as her entire presence captures the attention of wandering suburbanites. This is not a neighborhood that feels especially welcoming of drag queens or nonbinary, transfeminine individuals.

Even so, Misandry — a Manchester drag queen and high femme — doesn't miss a beat. The moment the camera appears, she is ready to perform. She poses dramatically, vogueing, contorting, and smizing for every frame. The lady of the house and a friend sip Prosecco from a room inside, their eyebrows raising through the window when they don't seem to think anyone is looking.

Gently faded stretch marks adorning Misandry's belly add a certain something to the scene. They rest on a tummy that takes up space — on a queen who seems to own the space she consumes with both grace and a sense of righteous confrontation. Yet they also lie on Misandry's core: The area of her body that has been cause for the most discomfort and gender dysphoria for the 24-year-old.

"I always think the things that identify me as being masculine — that make people go, 'That’s a man, Maury!' — are a big, protruding beer belly without the hips to match," she tells me later. "That’s what I call my dysphoria — 'That’s a man, Maury!'— because if I can fit in a really obscure pop culture reference into it, it makes me feel slightly better about the fact that there are parts of my body that make me slightly nauseous and angry."

"In terms of my chest, it’s never kind of filled out the way that I would like it to," she adds. "It's typically moobish, to be essentialist about it. Like you wouldn’t look at my chest and think like, 'Oh, she’s got nice, real tits.'”

Misandry would describe her present figure as a "Coke can" rather than an arguably curvier "Coke bottle." If she had to pick an "ideal" body type, she'd love to have a voluptuous, traditionally bombshell-esque figure, like that of the late Anna Nicole Smith.

While she may have dreams of an "ideal" body type, however, Misandry is still happy to challenge what it means to be femme, or to have a feminine body. "Part of my relationship with my body — and part of the reason I did this shoot — was because I’m quite a big believer in the idea that a lot of what we construct as dysphoria is very political and very socially motivated," she says. "I really like how in all of my outfits, and all of my looks — which are completely tied to performance for me, because everything I do is very performative — I’m very much into this idea that I’m going to call myself very feminine, and you’re going to accept that I’m very feminine, despite what I show you."

"A lot of the stuff I was doing [when I started drag], like corsetting or wearing stuff that was cinching me in, I kind of started to feel like, oh actually it’s fine to be a femme in a large body with mannish tits."

Looking back on her earliest memories of body image, Misandry confesses, "My relationship to my body has always been very linked to what other people have said about it."

"When I was a lot younger, I was quite carefree about my body image," she adds. "I didn’t give that much of a shit about my body until people started telling me to. It was in secondary school where it kind of went from 'you’re fine' to 'hey you’re fat.' And then it was like, 'Shit, I’m fat.'"

Being plus size was but one way in which her body didn't seem to fit into other people's ideas of acceptability. Dyspraxia— a condition Misandry describes as "a hand-eye coordination thing where I basically have no hand-eye coordination"— also made her feel like an "awkward fat-bodied person."

Later, around 15 or 16, came the dysphoria. "When I first started wanting to be desirable, that’s when I first started to become dysphoric," she adds. "Because it was about finding ways that I could be desirable in a context that I enjoyed within this body I had. When that kind of started, it felt a bit like, 'Oh actually, there are things about my body that are making me uncomfortable. There are things I don’t like. There are things that make me feel undesirable.'"

As an adult, Misandry notes that "drag and then being really, really femme" were the two greatest outlets she found for combatting dysphoria and feeling more at home in her body. "Especially with drag, it was that feeling of like, it doesn’t matter if you still look really weird and grotesque because that’s kind of the point. I think that was around the same time that I started identifying with high femme and presenting as high femme. And that was the first time I found a properly concrete gender identity that genuinely worked for me."

These days, Misandry feels one can be a nonbinary transfeminine person, a drag queen, a high femme, or a trans woman without meeting a predisposed standard for body types. What she does need in order to feel comfortable, however, is a hyper-feminine presentation. "I just prefer the way I look when I’m hyper-feminine," she says. "I like piling on the stuff. I like looking tacky. I like bright pink lipstick, blue eyeshadow, and wearing too much highlighter. I like how it makes me look and I like how it makes me feel."

"But I also don’t really see it as an achievement to not need it, if that makes sense," she adds. "I think often — especially with trans bodies, femininity, and transfemininity — we can talk about this idea that it’s somehow a success to not feel the need to present in a way that makes you feel completely comfortable. And I always think that’s something worth challenging. For me, it’s almost saying that the ways we present to make us feel comfortable are a coping mechanism. Whereas for me, it’s kind of the end result of understanding myself and understanding my body."

Understanding her body after 24 years of varying internal conflicts is quite a source of comfort, in and of itself. Even though her aesthetic — one inspired by Pee-wee Herman, Peg Bundy from Married With Children, Pam Grier in Foxy Brown, Divine, and Liberace— and her overall identity are still cause for daily heckling and harassment, Misandry has largely learned to tune it out.

"I would love there to be a world where cis people don’t act like fucking assholes," she says. "But I think when it happens to me, if I’m harassed on public transport for example, I have a lot of ways of dealing with it. If I’m not with people, I’ll always have music on. And I have like massive 'fuck off' headphones. They’re almost part of my aesthetic now."

She feels there’s also a sense of pleasure to be gained from scaring people. "Because I do present in such a strong way, I think a lot of the time, I’m not trying to sound arrogant, but I think I scare people," she laughs. "Which I like. A lot of the femmes who have inspired me scared people, too [...] anyway, I’m just kind of used to bullshit. Unless someone comes at me swinging, I’m not really fussed."

For now, though, it's Misandry who'll be doing the swinging. Her dream goal, at present, is "to become the first fat, trans social media influencer," and she's definitely ready. Misandry is beautifully, boldly, shaking up the shit — one drag show, one photoshoot, one pristinely-mowed, suburban neighborhood, at a time.

Photos by Paddy McClave.

Styling, hair, and makeup by Marilyn herself.

Special thanks to Amanda Richards and Kara McGrath.

And most of all, to Marilyn for being not only an inspiration — an icon — but one of the most patient and understanding human beings I've ever encountered.

Since having my eldest daughter two and a half years ago (Luna), only to welcome another little girl into the world 19 months later (Elia), much of my life has revolved around breastfeeding. This means I've consistently been looking for plus-size maternity clothes that might facilitate popping a boob out at any given moment, while ideally not straying too far from the styles that feel most, well, me.

The thing is, neither of these options really exist. There are almost no maternity or nursing styles specifically designed for plus-size parents. In fact, aside from independent brand Leche Libre, which offers five looks in a 1X to 3X size range, I haven't actually come across any retailer making garments to accommodate my size UK 24/26 (US 20/22) body or bodies larger than my own.

This applies to nursing bras as well — the dearth in extended band sizes feels like an irrevocable personification of the notions that fat babes don't (or can't) have romantic relationships, or babies, or the desire to look and feel cute, whether they are sustaining life or otherwise. As of this season, Viva Voluptuous is thankfully offering the first pretty options in any band and cup size, but these remain a rare gem in a sea of ill-fitting, hospital-beige garments.

While I know there are plenty of things to worry about when babies come into our lives — things that are arguably far more urgent and important than the clothes we put on our bodies — fashion really does mean something to me. Parenthood, so far, has been an ongoing process of determining the things about "pre-baby-me" that I wish to carry into this new chapter, and letting go of the ones that no longer fit.

I've learned that fashion lives in the former category; that clothing, for me, isn't just about practicality, but about a sense of security. Like armor, an outfit that makes me feel powerful, or put-together, or quirky, or interesting, or professional, or glamorous (depending on the mood I wish to evoke on any given day) helps get me through even the most trying of situations. Through the unthinkable, the wonderful, and everything in between.

Feeling like I was losing my sense of style to motherhood was unnerving for this reason. I couldn't utilize my pre-existing armor because most of it did not allow me to nourish my children with ease. You can't exactly raise a form-fitting, high-neck dress over your chest every time your baby wants to nurse, particularly when out in public. Nor can you navigate holding up the weight of a maxi in one hand while holding your child to your boobs with the other. You can't maneuver a bodysuit when your kid is screaming in hanger. Nor can you wiggle out of a wiggle dress when an infant is pulling at your top in frustration and despair.

Luckily, plus-size babes have long been using ingenuity to create sartorial options that no one else is making for us. When it became clear that nursing-wear wasn't going to suddenly energize into my wardrobe, I was forced to examine everyday styles that could potentially be adapted.

Button-down tops and dresses were the most obvious, but I still wasn't comfortable with the thought of being funneled toward one look alone. Tank tops, spaghettis, and camis were my next idea — anything with straps that I could pull down on one side without completely having to undress. The true revelation, however, was the wrap dress: a silhouette offered in a diverse range of aesthetics across various plus-size brands, often featuring unique details in terms of hemline, sleeve, pattern, or material.

This ELOQUII dress was the first thing I purchased for myself in the lead-up to Elia's arrival. It was loud but kind of timeless; comfortable but kind of glamorous. I could wear it with sneakers while running around town with a double stroller, or dress it up with a kitten heel on a date night (should ever I have the energy for a date night). It even had a handy snap button detail at the chest, which I assume was put there so that a wearer might choose how plunging a neckline they desire. It was the outfit I wore on my first trip out of the house with Elia to a post-birth midwife appointment — and nearly a year later, it's still one of my favorite things to pull out of the closet when I want to conjure up those "you got this" vibes.

I don't know if it's the look-at-me boldness of the print, which demands attention in a world that would rather keep fat girls hidden away, or the malleability of the neckline, which means my baby never has to wait long for lunch, but I always feel on top of things in this outfit. The fact that I'm very likely not on top of anything ceases to matter, even if only for a short time, and the ensuing calm is a most magnificent feeling.

If there's one question I consistently get asked about raising kids, it's what my absolute must-have baby items are — that is, the things I really couldn't have survived the last two and a half years without. Or, more accurately, that I wouldn't have wanted to survive the last two and a half years without.

There are endless listicles and hot-takes on the subject out there, all of which are wholly subjective. I believe we each have to learn what our preferred methods of parenting are, and what items might suit those methods (not to mention our financial situations) best. It's not something that can necessarily happen until our babies are here, nor is it something that becomes crystal clear overnight once they are.

There are arguably very few things a brand new baby, or even a toddler, needs outside of love (cheesy as it may sound), care, and basic necessities (milk, food, clothes, diapers). A changing table isn't anywhere near as "essential" as setting aside some uninterrupted time to play with your kid. The latest designer buggy won't scream "I love you" more than shutting off your phone for some legit quality time. And as great as she may be, Sophie La Girafe is simply no substitute for a parent or guardian's embrace.

That in mind, there are material goods that may make things easier for all parties involved. There's no shame in buying shit (if and when you can) that's going to help get you through the day, nor in prioritizing self-care even when you have other human beings to look after.

The below items are the things that have genuinely helped me out along the way, and that I hope will be useful to other carers as well. This isn't a sponsored post — just a bit of a glimpse into the things that make my day-to-day walk in motherhood a little calmer and, inevitably, a lot more fun.

1. Zipper Onesies

You might think you know what to expect in terms of your infant's bowel movements — but, if you're anything like me, there's nothing that can quite prepare you for that first explosive poonami. We're talking an overflowing nappy of liquid poo, usually in a too-bright yellow hue. It drips out of every possible Pampers corner, seeps through countless layers of clothes, and forever permeates your environment with the distinct smell of pre-solid-eating baby crap.

Hopefully, your child won't choose to erupt in the middle of Camden Market, with no bathroom in sight, on a cold March day (we put quite a show on for passerby as we dealt with the disaster on a patch of fake grass near the late-great Amy Winehouse's statue). If and when it happens, however (and it will, especially before your baby is on solids), you probably won't want to be messing about with tights, or buttons, or over-the-head ensembles that'll smear all the poo up the baby's back and into their hair. Zipper onesies, my friends, are where it's at.

With just a quick zip down, you can extract your child from the soiled clothes without making even more of a mess. They won't cry as much. You won't cry as much. It's a win-win for all. My favorite places to shop zipper onesies are Carter's in the U.S. and Bonds Wondersuits (which you can find via Brighter Babes) in the U.K. For some reason that I cannot for the life of me fathom, there aren't a ton of U.K.-based brands making these (I usually stock up when I visit family in the States). My greatest sartorial wish for the world of children's clothing is that this soon changes.

2. A Hand-Held Vac

Holife/Amazon

Children are messy. And dirty. And will very likely tear your house apart mere minutes after you've just finished the rare three-hour deep clean.

They are equally nasty eaters, keen on crumbling every bit of solid food you give them into a million little pieces that will soon decorate your floor. They may throw their Ella's Kitchen packets onto the tiles with such force that the contents squirt across the room, coating everything in squishy fruit and veg compote. Think muffins are a good, quick breakfast solution? Think again — never have you seen such an abundance of crumbs on your baby, on the high chair, across the dining table, and all over the ground you walk on.

If you don't want to be faffing about with a standard vacuum cleaner several times a day, I highly recommend investing in a heavy duty hand-held vac. Our very cheap pre-baby handheld Hoover was ultimately no match for the quantities of food my partner and I found ourselves cleaning up on the daily, but this Holife Cordless Handheld Vacuum Cleaner has been everything we could ever want and more. It's suitable for wet and dry cleaning, comes with a handy-dandy charging station, and gets even the messiest jobs done in a matter of a minute or two. Just don't forget to empty the vac regularly, for the contents can get rank fast.

3. An All Terrain Double Buggy

When you're navigating the transportation of two children of two different ages, the struggle to find the perfect double stroller can be all too real — especially if you want a product that's going to be suitable for any kind of terrain. My family and I live in the countryside and love taking long walks into the hills, forests, and verdant abyss. Because my toddler only has a certain amount of walking in her per day, and my baby can't yet traverse rocky, cobbled, sandy, or muddy ground without face-planting, I needed a buggy that would survive even the roughest of roads.

Buggies are, unfortunately, absurdly expensive. On occasion, you may strike luck and find a good deal on a second-hand one within driving distance of wherever you are, but we did not strike such luck. Not the first time, anyway.

Initially, I opted for the Joie Evalite Duo Tandem Stroller — one of the most budget-friendly options on the market. I actually opted for it twice. The first time, it simply stopped folding up (thus making it completely impractical and impossible to fit into my car). I figured it was a fault with my particular stroller, so I chose to purchase the same product again. This time, I found one on eBay.

And this time, it literally exploded. I wanted to take the girls to a nearby park, so I strapped them into the stroller and made my way down a cobbled road. The stroller struck one particularly raised cobble, and bam. Screws burst out from every direction, my toddler's front seat fell completely off the base, and one of the wheels sprung off and away before I knew what the hell was going on.

Suffice it to say, I decided right then and there (as I was forced to ditch the buggy components next to a nearby bin, only to make the walk back up the hill toward my car while carrying a toddler in one arm and my baby — plus her carseat — in the other) that I needed to invest in something that would last.

Mountain Buggy

Cue the Mountain Buggy Duet Pram. This thing is indescribably magnificent. So far, we've taken it into stony forests, onto fields of tall grass, across deep mud, onto the beach, and literally everywhere and anywhere else. It is not cheap (and is in fact the most expensive thing I have ever bought, which required a while of saving up), but it is still significantly cheaper than many of the other "all terrain" options out there, which can soar well beyond £1000.

Because of this buggy, I feel safe navigating any weather and any environment on my own with the girls. It's also one of the narrowest side-by-side double buggies you can buy, meaning you should be able to fit into any standard-sized door without having to leave your children on the street (a must for us, as we live in a small town with equally small doors and only sometimes want to leave our children on the street).

4. A Comfortable Nursing Pillow (If You Can & Want To Nurse)

I knew throughout both of my pregnancies that I wanted to try to nurse. I work from home, so it wouldn't mean a ton of pumping, and — I don't know — I just liked the idea. I liked thinking of holding my babes close, literally nourishing them with my body.

Nursing is not a prerequisite to being a good parent, and it definitely isn't right for everyone. If, however, you can and want to breastfeed, the Chicco Boppy Pillows might be a godsend.

In the early days of breastfeeding, little ones are often more attached to your breast than not. This could mean hours, upon hours of nursing (with, if you're lucky, enough of an intermission in between feeds to pee or brush your teeth).

Finding a comfortable position to nurse in when I first had Luna was hard, but it became much, much easier when I tried a specifically-designed breastfeeding pillow. It meant she was comfortable, and I was comfortable. Heck, I could even sit on the couch and watch some TV while she dozed into a milk coma.

5. Lulla Doll

The Kid Collective

If I had to choose the hardest thing about raising children, so far, it would hands down be the lack of sleep. The exhaustion caused by days, then months, then potentially years of not getting a good night's rest is something you cannot ever plan for. It penetrates body and mind alike — it impacts your memory, your mood, your ability to find joy in things, or to complete even the most basic of tasks. It's just terrible.

My eldest barely slept for the first 18 months of her life. Whether we bed shared, or tried a near-me cot, or put her in her own room, nothing worked. Well, almost nothing.

I won't say the Lulla Doll will guarantee a restful night, or solve all your sleep-deprived crises. However, it certainly helped Luna sleep for longer stretches at a time. For 12 hours, Lulla will play breathing and heartbeat sounds meant to imitate a carer's natural noises. As we bed shared for a long time, and Luna was pretty used to our noises, she took to Lulla right away.

I purchased Lulla as a gift for Luna on her first birthday, and the calm that struck her little face upon hearing Lulla's soft noises was instant. I only wish we'd found the little blue-haired baby sooner.

Again, these products are things that have worked well for my family and me, but they are by no means "essential" or "required." Above all, you absolutely must "do you" when you're raising little ones. If you find what works for your unique needs and wants, nothing else should really matter.

These days, there are few things I love putting on my body quite as much as plus-size T-shirts. The seemingly simple wardrobe "basic" was one I avoided for a long time. It wasn't a conscious decision, per se. I just liked to feel done-up. Or maybe, as a fat woman, I thought I had to be done-up. I'm still not totally sure which it was; possibly some combination of the two.

In any case, the older I've gotten, the less concerned I've become with always wearing dresses and skirts and pearls and kitten heels. Don't get me wrong: I still enjoy all of these things very much. I've also just happened to learn to feel equally cute, professional, or ready for the day ahead in more low-key garments — my favourite of which is the ever-easy-to-wear tee.

I was extremely excited when LA-based designer Heather Lipner re-launched the formerly-named Clashist into Clashishin late 2018 (you can check out her Instagram here). These T-shirts are a most whimsical source of pop culture references, trippy prints, and otherwise bold designs (just look at the Private Parts Tee currently for sale). The brand has even launched kidswear! If ever you've dreamed of dressing your toddler in a shirt covered in fanny packs, look no further.

The adult Two-Headed Teddy Tee I'm wearing here is definitely my current fave on the site. I absolutely love that, from afar, one might think I'm simply rocking some run-of-the-mill plush bears on my bosom. Upon closer inspection, however, it will quickly become clear that this is not the case. No, no. These bears have two heads!

They are grotesque and adorable all at once, which is right up this former emo kid's alley. In addition to being a big fan of T-shirts, I am forever a lover of wearing indisputably weird things. I probably feel most myself when doing so, actually. If I were to dig deep into why this might be the case, I'm sure it has something to do with reclaiming the term "weird" after years of childhood and adolescent bullying on the basis on my perceived oddness.

I paired the look with some punky check trousers that I picked up at M&S last winter (similar ones are still available at M&S or Boohoo) and wide-fit, chunky yellow trainers from ASOS. The outfit pleased my '90s-bred sensibilities, and is just incredibly comfortable to wear through the day.

Comfort has become pretty important to me since having children. I know I'm going to be chasing after them all day, cleaning up their myriad messes, and wrangling them in and out of the car multiple times. I need to be able to move easily, and that's where the classic tee and trouser look usually has my back.

Comfort doesn't have to be boring, though. By rocking a T-shirt featuring a quirky AH design, I can achieve the feeling without sacrificing my more peculiar sartorial preferences.

Size Note: Although Clashish doesn't yet have a specific plus-size line, I have found that the unisex XL and XXL sizes are very stretchy and can accommodate a decent range. For reference, I am wearing the XXL (I wear a size UK 24/26; US 20/22) and I'm certain it would still fit at one or two sizes larger.

When I first began investigating options for ethical plus-size fashion— that is, plus-size fashion made in an environmentally-conscious way — I was, frankly, unsurprised to learn that very few options actually exist. Among the most cherished ethical brands out there, such as People Tree or Nobody's Child, the maximum size available is often a UK 16 (or US 12). In other words, a standard size Large: two sizes smaller than the average American woman, and only just about the size of the average British woman.

For those of us wearing larger plus-sizes (let's say a 3XL or above) and actively trying to reduce our consumption and/or attempting to consume more thoughtfully, this reality of the market doesn't make things especially easy. Shopping secondhand is probably the most feasible, budget-friendly choice many of us have — but, from my experiences, IRL charity and vintage stores very rarely stock sizes above a UK 20/22. Upon recently trying to make a substantial donation of my old clothing, one local charity shop actually told me my size wouldn't sell. So, yeah. Depop and eBay it is.

In all of my searching, I did find independent designers on Etsy and beyond trying to do things as ethically as possible (bless the indies, always) and also as budget-conscious as possible. Among my favourite finds was one Romanian gem worth celebrating.

Loud Bodies, the woman-owned brand founded by Patricia Luiza Blaj, is a rare size-inclusive, ethically-conscious company. Producing garments in sizes XXS through 5XL (and open to discussing custom orders), Loud Bodies is undoubtedly setting an example for what could be.

As I learned from Loud Bodies' About page, Patricia pays her two employees nearly twice Romania's minimum wage, eschews plastic wrapping for recycled paper, saves all textile waste (with a plan to convert the fabric into pillows to then donate to animal shelters), and always keeps the environmental impact of her production process in mind. From a feminist, fat-positive perspective, it is also incredibly refreshing to see a range of diverse models on-site who represent the brand's size range.

What's more is that Patricia's designs are just my cup of tea. The dresses, T-shirts, skirts, and bottoms blend classically feminine aesthetics with a kind of contemporary boldness. There are ruffles and pussy-bows and flute sleeves and floaty hemlines, but there are also deep V necklines, high leg slits, and fitted silhouettes. You might call many of the pieces "vintage-inspired," but absolutely nothing feels stuffy or outdated. Timeless might be a better word.

I'm completely besotted with my 'Emmeline' Dress. In it, I feel dreamy and magical; powerful but soft; confident in the contradictions that make me who I am. It may sound like a lot to put on a dress, but sometimes, you just find the right kind of dress.

(P.S. you may notice some purple marker on my arms and legs. My toddler decided I was her canvas on this particular morning. I thought about washing it all off before shooting — but, hey, sometimes this is a reality of being a mum!)

Pixar Animation Studios/Walt Disney Pictures

On March 31, 2020, Disney Plus will launch in the UK. With it, decades of content will be available at our fingertips for approximately £7 a month. Now that my eldest daughter is 3 years old, I'll probably be investing in the streaming service. She's already a fan of Frozen, Moana, Up, Coco, and Brave, and I'm obviously going to be all over The Mandalorian.

In the lead-up to the release, however, I've been considering the titles that I wouldn't want to show my daughters. Every time I do so, there is one film that tops the list: WALL-E.

For those who haven't watched the movie, a quick synopsis might raise some confusion about this. For starters, its protagonist is an awkward, anxious, and adorable robot — and who among us isn't a sucker for a lovable droid?

Through WALL-E, who has been built to help clean up the world, the film tackles the global waste crisis. We learn that Earth is wholly inundated with trash, largely as a result of the mega corp Buy N Large, which produced just about every possible product, and encouraged people to buy just about every possible product, in astounding quantities. As a result of human beings living really unsustainably and covering everything in junk, toxicity levels rise and the planet becomes uninhabitable. Everyone has to move to outer space to save the species.

Pixar Animation Studios/Walt Disney Pictures

Just a little relevant, right? A recent BBC article estimated that, across the world, we produce over 2 billion tonnes of solid waste per year (or enough to fill over 800,000 Olympic-sized swimming pools). Photos of landfills or the Great Pacific Garbage Patch should be enough to make anyone want to recycle more. Climate change is such that parts of the world are literally on fire. Orangutans, and plenty of other animals, are on the fast-track to extinction. Twelve years after its release, talking about environmental collapse (and teaching kids about it) is arguably more necessary than ever.

Here's what isn't necessary, though: equating the downfall of humanity to fatness.

Thirty-seven minutes into the movie, we see human beings for the first time (until this moment, the story has focused on WALL-E and another droid called Eve). Two men fly past the screen in hovercrafts. They are chatting via a holographic tablet that appears directly in front of their faces. This way, they don't actually have to move those faces to speak to one another directly.

The characters are fat.

Pixar Animation Studios/Walt Disney Pictures

Seconds later, the panorama opens to a greater picture of the space station. Hundreds of people zoom past in hovercrafts of their own. They are all glued to holographic tablets, too. Their fingers move to control the buttons on their seats, their mouths move to command droids to bring them food (like liquid "cupcakes in a cup"), but that's just about all the movement they are capable of.

All of these characters are fat as well.

Pixar Animation Studios/Walt Disney Pictures

When one man soon falls out of his chair, we see him writhing helplessly on the ground like a newborn infant awaiting rescue.

Unsurprisingly, he too is fat. Everyone is fat.

Pixar Animation Studios/Walt Disney Pictures

We learn that these are the descendants of the humans forced to evacuate Earth 700 years ago. A very brief throwaway comment suggests that bone loss and weight gain will be consequences of living in micro-gravity, but for the most part, the characters' bodies quickly become a metaphor for the wastefulness we observed earlier back on their home world.

The message is clear: These people have "let themselves go" in much the same way as they let the planet go. It might have been their ancestors who were responsible for the destruction of Earth, but their wastefulnesses, gluttony, and superficiality (framed through the size of their bodies, their addiction to technology, their inability to read or write, and their general complacency) have been inherited from the actual culprits.

Pixar Animation Studios/Walt Disney Pictures

When was the last time you turned on a film or television show only to be met with an entire ensemble of fat characters? The answer is likely never. Even in 2020, size diversity in media is usually limited to one or two token characters on any given program. I'm still shocked when I see a plus-size body on my screen, and doubly so if their character is a redeemable one — so rare is positive fat representation.

When every single human character in a movie is fat, it's obviously been an intentional choice. In the case of WALL-E, it is an undeniably fat-phobic choice. WALL-E's fat-shaming is a little different to the norm, however, because there is no single verbal fat joke. No one berates anyone else's "cheese thighs." No one moos or oinks at a fat woman walking down the street. No one uses terms like "blimp" or "whale." No one bullies anyone else at all.

With its striking visuals, what the story does, instead, is correlate fatness (and subsequently fat people) to the death of the planet and de-evolution of the species. In its depiction of all fat people as wasteful, inactive, superficial, and generally lacking in intelligence, WALL-E reinforces stereotypes that already exist in the actual world without ever needing to vocalize those stereotypes.

Pixar Animation Studios/Walt Disney Pictures

IRL, fat people are routinely blamed for draining the NHS. Fat people are attacked on Instagram for not promoting ethical fashion and sustainability (as if ethical brands were even making our size). Should we actually need to utilise mobility devices or show any sign of ill health (neither of which is remotely shameful), we are always mocked or blamed for our situations. We, with our greed and disregard for wellness and unruly, ugly bodies, are constantly told we are bad people, bad role models, unfit parents, unfit humans.

There are no depictions of parenting in WALL-E, but we do see a group of chubby babies in front of a screen. They're in hovercrafts, too. How they were born, I do not know (given we're led to believe humans have become disinterested in, if not entirely incapable of, any form of physical activity). What I do know is that they are parentless; nurtured only by another screen.

Pixar Animation Studios/Walt Disney Pictures

When the ship's captain realises that 700 years after humanity's relocation to space, Earth might actually be able to sustain life once again, he says, "I can't just sit here and do nothing. That's what I've always done. That's all everyone on this blasted ship has ever done." Although the quote is meant to signal positive action, it signals something else, too: the idea that fat people are fat because we do nothing. We are nothing. We aspire to nothing. We have nothing to offer.

This is not the kind of message I want to pass down to my daughters. Some might argue that children are too young to put all of this together. Some will say kids are more interested WALL-E himself than in the humans around him. As someone who was fat throughout much of childhood, however, I simply don't believe this is the case. I know this movie would have further ingrained the ideals that were already causing me so much self-hatred. Even if I didn't process it as such at the time, it would have been yet another voice ridiculing, and underestimating, people like me.

Pixar Animation Studios/Walt Disney Pictures

The film culminates with humanity's re-evolution. People learn to walk again. They learn to farm again. They learn to run and play outside and make open fires. Into the end credits, we see them shrinking over time. The thinner they get, the better the world becomes. Thinness — and all that is assumed to come with it (cleverness, determination, forward-thinking, physical activity) — saves the day.

WALL-E may not feature any verbal fat jokes, but it is the perpetuation of this narrative that makes it so dangerous.

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