Things that shouldn’t be seen.

By rights, I should never let a photo like this appear on my blog. My un-dyed hair hasn’t been washed since Thursday. My dress is creased from a day’s wear. I’m positioned in a way that you can see my epic back bulge (I have more cleavage at my back than I do at my front). I’m only wearing a bit of mascara and eyeliner.

There are no accessories. No clashing colours. No mixed patterns. Nothing extraordinary.

I recently saw a question posed to Bethany on ask.fm that said most successful UK bloggers were boring and didn’t deserve their success. It was an emotional day (the day my dress launched) and I came away and cried. I’ve little doubt that I was one of the bloggers implied, and I don’t blame them.

The thing is, yes, I’ve done phenomenal things with this blog – but you’ll never meet anyone who thinks I deserve the recognition I get less than I do. I didn’t start blogging because I wanted success, free clothes, invites to events. I didn’t start my blog because I believed I dressed better than other women, or that I had an innate sense of style. I started my blog because there was a conversation, one that excited me, and I wanted to contribute to it. That’s it.

Over the years, I have battled with myself to not delete the blog. I see that there are far better dressed, more intelligent, more politically savvy bloggers arising, not to mention women who are far more attractive than I. There are many times when I feel alienated and outcast from the community. I recognise that I don’t have anything particularly unique to contribute, and I’ve thought about passing the metaphorical baton to the next generation and stepping into the shadows.

But I do have something to contribute. There is point to this blog. And when I remember it, after a while of the purpose getting lost, it’s so visceral and powerful:

I am contributing to the canon of fat bodies and providing a narrative of someone living their life while fat, in an age when we are denied our voices at any cost.

Not fat bodies and lives in abject misery. Fat bodies and people who, despite the attempts of almost everyone, don’t quite despise themselves. Those of us who should stay in bed, hidden, but who every day wake up and get on with their day the best they can.

That’s why I’m still around, even if I’m not adventurous in my dress sense. I hope that people can find my blog, and through me find blogs of other fantastic people, and begin to feel that they aren’t alone. And, I hope that if someone is starting to feel like they aren’t a good fatty because they don’t have coiffured hair or have gone out in a dirty top or whatever, that they can see me on just an average, slobby day and know that they are totally fine.

Or maybe I should accept that it’s time to close shop.