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But then, the truth was never really the point. Thin women don’t tell their fat friends ‘You’re not fat’ because they’re confused about the dictionary definition of the word, or their eyes are broken, or they were raised on planets where size 24 is the average for women. They don’t say it because it’s the truth. They say it because fat does not mean just fat in this culture. It can also mean any or all of the following:
Ugly
Unhealthy
Smelly
Lazy
Ignorant
Undisciplined
Unlovable
Burdensome
Embarrassing
Unfashionable
Mean
Angry
Socially inept
Just plain icky
So when they say ‘You’re not fat,’ what they really mean is ‘You’re not a dozen nasty things I associate with the word fat.’ The size of your body is not what’s in question; a tape measure or a mirror could solve that dispute. What’s in question is your goodness, your lovability, your intelligence, your kindness, your attractiveness. And your friends, not surprisingly, are inclined to believe you get high marks in all those categories. Ergo, you couldn’t possibly be fat.
"Kate Harding
(Source: rhiannon-random, via chubby-bunnies)
From the article: Have you ever noticed that sometimes, as you get older, you stop liking some of the things you used to like and start liking new things? You just age out of certain things, you know? STORY OF MY EARLY TWENTIES, Y’ALL. There are days where I have no idea what to do, because all my Torrid stuff is ‘fun and young,’ but my Reitman’s/Pennington’s stuff is ‘casual but crisp,’ and I want is an outfit that says ‘HEY Y’ALL IT’S KIM’, but those styles only seem to exist up to a size 14, 16 if the brand thinks they’re inclusive.
SOMETIMES I REALLY MISS MY GOTH PHASE. JUST THE EYELINER ALONE THESE DAYS IS SO FAR ABOVE AND BEYOND WHAT WE HAD BACK THEN.
I STILL HAVE SOME BONDAGE BRACELETS IN A SHOEBOX IN MY CLOSET SOMEWHERE.
I SHOULD LOOK UP MY OLD COVEN AND SEE IF THEY WANT TO GO DANCING.
The many broody faces of Matthew MacFayden.
Best Darcy. To the grave with that opinion.
^He’s my favourite too.
Because like, damn.
*drool* Don’t judge, you can have your Edward or Jacob or what-have-you, just leave me my goddamn Mr. Darcy.
(Source: pemberley-state-of-mind)