Some thoughts on clothes swaps

Here's a thing I'm organising in a few weeks time! This is my first time doing any solo organising in London, so any support is appreciated. There's an event on facebook here which you can RSVP to for further details, if you have any questions, and to keep me up to date with the numbers I'm expecting. As well as clothes, I'm hoping there'll be zines, tea and cake.

If you're not in London, the ace Yorkshire Rad Fat Collective are co-ordinating a swap in Sheffield and Leeds.

I've been involved in organising clothes swaps for a while now, and today I was thinking about them as tools of resistance themselves. It's really hard to divorce fashion from capitalism, and I think fatshion faces a lot of (often fair) critique because of its dependency upon brands and lack of skepticism about consumerism. I've found myself drifting away from fatshion communities over the last year because of this, because I'm not interested in fashion as an industry, and often the divide between blogger and brand isn't there in the way it has been. It doesn't appeal to me as much anymore, because I can't buy buy buy all the time, and also because I want blogs to be *different* from mainstream fashion chat, and brand websites.

Passing clothes among each other is something that happened in my communities growing up - people didn't have much, and to make do we would help each other out. This wasn't really something I had much access to in my family, because there was just two of us, and my friends were all thinner than me at the time. BUT I saw how passing stuff on helped people - when you needed a white shirt for a job interview, someone could help you out. When I was unemployed, the swaps in Leeds helped me in a similar way - they gave me access to new clothes, both practical and frivolous, even though I couldn't otherwise afford them. It's for this reason that I always encourage people to come to swaps even if they don't have much to swap themselves.

There's another dimension to fat swaps too, for me, that comes with clothes that don't fit you anymore. I *still* hoard clothes sometimes, even though mainly I have enough now. I was pretty poor growing up and used to diving for things that might fit me when I saw them - whether I liked them or not didn't really matter. It's an instinct I still have. I've kept badly fitting clothes for the same reason, for *just in case* purposes. Being able to see other people look amazing in stuff that doesn't fit me anymore, or never did, takes away the shame of stuff not fitting right, of those feelings of shame that still sometimes come. It feels amazing to pass clothes on to other strong fat people.

Swaps are a way to play with clothes, to connect with other fat folk and joke about how shit fat sized clothes are. They've been a space to try stuff on and experiment outside of a traditional gendered shop setting - to laugh and explore and support others too. It's a way to build fatshion community outside of the BUY BUY BUY model, and that's really important right now.

The price of everything

I've always felt a bit of an odd fit in the fatshion world, cos I can't afford to buy things. Now I have some disposable income, but even with that I probably can't buy things full price. Over the 3 years I've been blogging, I've worn some of my clothes countless times - I guess until they've fallen apart in a lot of cases. In this time I've been on the dole, on minimum wage, on a pittance of university funding, and generally speaking not particularly well off.

Part of the reason I started blogging here was because clothes have always mattered to me (not necessarily fashion, but clothes themselves) - because they've been a way to express myself and explore who I am, no matter how little spare money I've had, and whether I've been shopping at jumble sales or high street shops. I'm a constant re-mixer, because what I buy has to go with EVERYTHING I own. I've learned to thrift through years of having few other options. I've never had a lot, but I've always had fun making things work for me where I can.

I've been putting the prices on what I buy ever since I started this. That's for a reason too - often what I wear can't be bought again by someone else (because it's second hand, or on super duper last one left sale), but I still want to be able to be transparent about where I find things and how I dress myself. I want to be able to show others who don't have a lot how I get by. Again, I feel like knowing the price of something is something I was brought up with, and dressing on the cheap is something I feel proud about. I also tag all of the items I wear so you can see the ways I've remixed something too.

I'm never gonna be the sort of blogger with a wardrobe of outfit options. My clothes will always be a little bobbled, and yes, I've worn that blouse a million times. I'm not on trend, I'm not invested in fashion as an industry, or in keeping up to date because of any sense of obligation. I'm mainly into finding ways to have fun dressing myself even when I have nothing.

Finding your own voice

OH NO A TEXT ONLY POST. (sorry)

Being creative is really important to me. I find being in spaces where creativity isn’t valued to be really tough going because it’s such a paramount part of the way that I engage with an environment – it’s in my choice of clothes, my approach to work and my hobbies, even the dynamics in my relationships. However, being a creative person is also pretty tough on me – most things I do feel like an extension of me, so therefore I take criticism badly and can often shut off when I fear I might face it, which in turn can have a negative effect on me.

I wanted to talk about creativity because it’s really central to my own fat activism – I’m passionate about making things, playing with my identity and producing content (both blogging, zines, and academic writing) that creatively counters what institutions have put in place about being fat. Mental health stuff means that being able to do this is very hard on me sometimes, which explains why I am sometimes less present or vocal on here and other places – sometimes what I deal with is just too tough and I need substantial periods by myself to recoup and move on. I’ve not really spoken about mental health and depression on here before, because it’s something I’ve only just acknowledged myself.

Often I’ve felt as if the best way to counter these negative patches is to make my creative output as good as it can possibly be – however, as I’m also a perfectionist, I never seem to reach the lofty heights of my ambition, so what I actually let out into the public realm is very limited. To illustrate this, I thought about starting this blog for about three years before I actually did – I’d been a part of fatshion communities both as a participant and through selling vintage clothing on eBay (which I did alongside my postgrad degree), and always really admired fatshion bloggers, but I wasn’t confident in my own ability so I put it off. Eventually I was unemployed for a bit and I started this space as a bit of a diversion – within a couple of weeks and after a miniscule amount of self-promotion, my first readers (most of whom are still here I think!) passed on my links and images, and I had an audience which began to grow and hasn’t stopped since. This blog has become much more than I ever anticipated it could be, and the support and kindness I’ve received has always massively outweighed the critiques and fat hatred that I also sometimes receive. I’m still very much not a “proper” blogger – most of my pictures are unedited, badly exposed and generally full of questionable facial expressions – but it doesn’t matter (maybe it would if I was trying to make money out of this, I don’t know).

I love the blogging world because it’s accessible to a much wider variety of people than traditional fashion platforms – I’m not saying that anyone can blog, because I also know that it takes a certain amount of resources to be able to do so (computer, internet access, camera, money for clothes), but rather that some of the hierarchies that have controlled the production of fashion culture have been removed. It’s a more democratic space, even if there are still prevalent norms and levels of privilege that often go unmentioned. I think the fashion industry looks down on blogs now, because they’re two a penny and everyone and their dog has one. However, I think this is what I love most about it. To me, I see a connection between this method of communication and zines and other DIY methods of counter culture – I created this space because I wanted there to be a fat fashion space that was also politically engaged and budget/DIY focused, and because I didn’t know many other similar voices out there. I used to have to imbibe substantial amounts of fat hatred to get my fashion fix, but now there’s no need for that, and that in itself is awesome.

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again – bloggers are awesome, but we could be better. If you feel that your voice is missing from the fatshion world and you feel that you have the time and resources to change that, then do it! I’ll support you, and I know many others who will too. You don’t have to be a fashionista to write a blog, you don’t even have to be a particularly capable writer or photographer, and you certainly don’t need to look a certain way, contrary to what you might think. One of the most powerful aspects of blogging to me is the way that it has highlighted difference and variety in body shape, personal style, gender, sexuality, ability and colour – I love seeing how different people make a similar item of clothing work, because it’s such a contrast to the way I see clothes presented in shops and online (on a uniform, non-relatable body).  

I guess that what I’m saying is to myself as much to anyone else who’s gotten this far (congratulations!) – you don’t have to be perfect to have a creative output (whether that’s blogging, art, academic work, craft, music, whatever). I’ve always railed against the idea of perfection in aesthetics (being in possession of what society would determine a flawed body), and I guess it’s taken a while to apply this logic to my own creative projects too. Process is a really important part of our creative growth, and focusing on only the end point makes taking any steps towards it a very daunting prospect. If you feel you have something that needs saying, then find a basic forum to start working on it (whether this is yours or someone else’s blog, tumblr, a zine, a painting or art piece, anything) and just take it one step at a time. 

Make It Work!

How's that for a goofy grin?! So today I went to the printers and picked up my zine, Make It Work, at last! I've been working on this for a while now and it's really exciting to see it in paper form at last. Here are some details for you:

Make It Work is a radical fat positive zine centred around DIY fatshion and craft projects. It contains a mixture of personal pieces, tutorials, craft tips, guides to pattern upsizing, event organising and some fairly bad art. Contributors are awesome people from the fat-o-sphere including me (duh), Charlotte Cooper, Claire, Mel, Bronny, Brenda Jean and Kelsey and more.

“Make It Work” has been a mantra within fatshion communities since I can remember, and I’m interested in exploring it as a radical premise of fat positive politics. Fat people have and have always had very limited options in ready-made clothing, and, whilst retailers are starting to produce more on trend pieces, the process is slow and in the meantime, we have to come up with our own radical alternatives – whether it’s making clothes, thrifting, altering clothes or making straight sizes work for us. This zine is about sharing the resources, skills and knowledge that we’ve gained, and for it to provide strategies for people to move forward with.

Half size (A5) with 48 pages total. The zine is hand typed and has a medium pink card cover. Staple binding.

You can buy the zine from etsy here, or, alternatively you can leave your paypal email address and location in the comments below (or let me know it via email at fattyunbound@gmail.com) and I will send you a paypal invoice directly.

'My body is soft. My curves are generous. My clothes are snug, and my breasts are noticeable. My chin is round. My belly is plump. My arms are expansive. Yes, I have a fine road map of stretch marks, and no baby to blame them on. My body reflects my experience and the fine

meals I have shared with family and friends.'

(I am a Fat Girl zine, issue three: 13)

The above was a quote I used when I was writing my MA dissertation. I’d highly recommend the series of zines it came from, which can be found at this etsy shop.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about histories lately. This has come from further self-reflection, spending time thinking about my own body, and the parts of it I show and the parts of it I don’t. I’ve also become interested in fat bodies and marked bodies as corporeal histories, and how this is represented as threatening by society, because as people (particularly as women I guess) we’re supposed to be unmarked - we’re supposed to aspire to look clean and new, as if we’ve never fluctuated in size, taken part in physical activity, fallen over or, realistically, left the house!

I’m a marked person - scarred (both accidentally and intentionally), with stretch marks, cellulite and varicose veins. I’m lumpy and bumpy, and I can’t claim to have a body of smooth feminine lines.

To elaborate a little further with a case study: I have varicose veins around the back of my calfs, just below my knees. I wanted to photograph them for this post, but sadly my laptop is still fucked - in any case, they’re sizeable, bumpy and blue, and they’re noticeable whenever I wear a skirt. They’re something that I’ve known to run in my family, and something I despised when I was younger. I remember first noticing them about the time I was 14 - about the time I began inspecting my body in more detail. They were something I knew well from my relatives, so I knew they were there to stay.

I was really ashamed of these marks. To me, I associated them with coming from a family who worked on their feet - which I know to make them protrude more and colour more. I grew up ashamed of my working class roots, largely because I came of age in a middle class suburb, around friends who never seemed to struggle or have to work or walk anywhere. Now, I’m proud of the estate I grew up on, but back then, my roots were something I tried to hide. I felt that the marks betrayed me, somehow, which I know sounds absurd, but they made me feel more different than I already was, and they connected me, physically, to a history I didn’t want to claim. I dressed for these veins - everything I owned had to cover them. No one ever mentioned them (in fact, only two people have ever brought them up with me, both recently), but because I noticed them, I couldn’t let anyone else see them. They made me feel vulnerable, and different, and I guess to an already insecure teenager with militant defense mechanisms, it made sense to cover them.

Two things changed to make me stop doing this - firstly, I realised that I didn’t care about these marks on other people. Actually, in all truth I realised that I liked them - that I found them attractive in other people, and that as such I was applying double standards to the way I looked at my own body. The qualities that I perceived as weaknesses, imperfections and faults were unique differences on others. This is something I later learnt to apply when I thought about my fat - why was I letting it control how I viewed myself, when it made so little difference when I looked at others? Secondly, I guess I decided that I wasn’t going to let me enjoyment of anything (clothes, spaces etc) be hampered by a set of veins that I couldn’t even see! The back of my leg was not going to control my wardrobe preferences.

Your body is a history - it’s a visual representation of where you came from, where you’ve been, how you’ve felt and who you have become. It’s one of a kind, and those differences are what make it unique. Don’t be ashamed of your experiences. Think of your stretch marks as tiger stripes, your varicose veins and scarring as a landscape. Next time you look at yourself in a mirror, or next time you talk about them, change your vocabulary. Speak about them as part of you, rather than as a dissociative, abject substance. Just as your past has shaped who you are, so has it shaped your body. Don’t be ashamed of this.

Also, for more skin related thoughts, check out the tumblr Our Skin, which is really super awesome. /end rant

Jeans and a casual rant

Wide legged jeans! I can honestly say I never though I'd see the day when I gave up my skinnies. Well, I haven't at all really, but with the 70s silouhettes I'm loving for the summer I wanted another option to wear with my luxurious flowing tops (and because I love dressing like a 70s nerd, complete with flares, big glasses and a tank top. Ohhhh yes.). Dorothy Perkins have £5 off all their jeans in store and online at the minute, and after the style I wanted sold out online but appeared in a branch local to where I work, I jumped on them. These are a size 20/short fitting, which is particularly odd given that I am neither a size 20 or particularly short at 5'9"! I wore this to travel to another archive to prepare some nitrate film for scanning, which is hazardous and potentially explosive, so needless to say I was dressed for comfort and ease above anything else.

Jumper, £3, charity shop

Belt, old vintage stock

Wide leg jeans, £21, Dorothy Perkins

Dunlops, £2, car boot sale

Duffel coat, £12.50, River Island sale (though it was way too hot for this in the end! Yay for sunny weather!)

Also, on a related note I wanted to say how awesome I thought this post on Corpulent was. There is a tension, I feel, in the fatosphere about posting casual outfits. As I have moved back to embracing wider legs and baggier silouhettes, I'm really interested in this debate. Is dressing up a comment on our bodies as inferior when dressed down? Obviously as a person who overdresses frequently, I don't believe this is true (I do it for many other reasons though - to amuse myself, sometimes to engender responses from others and mainly to feel fantastic in myself), however I do feel that there is a pressure on fat bloggers to dress up. This is certainly connected to the stereotype of the fat slob in jeans and tracksuits. It's a tricky balance to strike - by posting pictures of ourselves dressed up, we are refuting this stereotype, but, at the same time, I don't believe that as a fat person, I should be obligated to dress up in order to make my body acceptable or attractive to people who wouldn't otherwise deem it so. Jeans and t-shirts can look amazing on any body, and neither should cultural implications of a particular style of dress make you avoid such clothing. This is why I enjoyed fatshion february so much - it presented images of fat femmes on both up and down days - I felt like it was more of a representation of lived experiences in clothing than more formal blogs.

I post the outfits I wear most days - mainly otherwise they're repeats, hideous mistakes or else I'm sat in my pajamas! This blog is about everyday dressing for me - that's why my photographs and editing are haphazard, and why I sometimes don't post huge chunks of text. I would rather there were lots of outfits updated regularly, which show how I live and what I live in as a fat woman, than more formal photoshoots (though I like these on other blogs also, it's just a personal preference).

I'm always faffing on about this, but the only person I believe you should dress for (as a fat person or otherwise) is yourself. Dressing for me is a way of showing that I like my body, and before that, a strategy of acceptance. Don't dress to make anyone else happy! Wear something that makes you feel fantastic, that you love, and that fits you as well as is possible, and that you feel comfortable in. This could be jeans and a t-shirt or it could be a sequinned ballgown! I feel that wearing the right clothes for you (whatever it may be, regardless of fashion, cultural implications as a fat person or any other social pressures) is one of the most amazing things to do along the way to self acceptance and love.

Self Love and Fat Acceptance

So this week, I've been re-reading Brazen Femme: Queering Femininity on the train to work and on lunch breaks. I had only really skimmed through it for my MA dissertation in 2009, so reading it cover to cover has been a new experience. I'm pretty hardened in general, but it's brought tears to my eyes on a number of occasions and generally meant that my walk to the office has entailed lots of looking at the floor and repeated blinking to straighten myself up for the work day. It's been a week of self reflection, and I've spent a lot of time thinking about my own history, which I'm often a bit scared of doing.

Part of my relation to the stories in the book comes from the growing up and needing to be fiercely independent, and from knowing that I had to support myself because I haven't always had the traditional support net of friends and family that others can rely on emotionally and otherwise. Anyway, I got thinking about fat acceptance and the act of self love (here I mean the act of providing this emotional support and care to yourself), and the ways they are interconnected. The act of radical self love is written about a lot by Bevin of Queer Fat Femme fame, and is something that I feel is the hardest, but ultimately the most rewarding, part of body acceptance.

I read a lot of stories online, on communities and blogs and whatnot, ways of coming to accept yourself, and sometimes I feel like too many people begin their acceptance journeys with a lover or an engagement or through someone else's acceptance of their fat. There's nothing wrong with this I guess (I'm all for fat love and fat sex, fat friends and allies), but to accept yourself seen through someone else's eyes sometimes feels like you need the approval of another person (and often these dialogues are heterosexual love stories) in order to accept yourself. It sometimes strikes me as very normative - like getting "socially acceptable in the big wide world" or "LOOK, SOMEBODY LOVES ME" stamped on your hand - I've been there, I know it really helps, but sometimes the most radical form of love comes from loving yourself whether you are alone, in a relationship, surrounded by friends or lonely as fuck. It comes from loving your very unacceptability. It comes from not changing just because your lover would rather you lost a few pounds or wore matching underwear or always shaved, or would rather you didn't wear that dress out of the house, or would rather you were the "marrying kind". It comes from not settling for second best, even if the world tells you that you ought to.

Because, ultimately, loving yourself is a pretty radical stance to take. Society tells you constantly that you need another person - and that person completes you, and allows you to function. Being single is a temporary state, monogamy, babies, marriage and the family unit are the ultimate goal. We don't celebrate our individual selves (beyond birthdays) at any point in our lives, however we celebrate union in endless ceremonies - marriage, christenings, engagements etc etc. We never really celebrate being alone, even if it's good for us. Refuting this, choosing yourself over a relationship that hurts you (something I never did when I was younger, and which caused me a huge amount of self-hate) even when the world tells you that the clock is ticking, is an amazing stance. It works both ways too, sometimes for me it has meant allowing someone to love me or to get closer to me than my defence mechanisms will normally allow.

I guess to me, the radical nature of self love kicks in when I get heckled. I remember once last year I was on my way to a sorting office. A guy walking across the street from me starting shouting "excuse me, excuse me, excuse me" repeatedly. I am still unable to gauge whether this will be an innocent request for directions or a bastard. I have faith in humanity and respond. I can't even remember what he said exactly, but I know the words fat, whore, desperate and suchlike were mentioned. It was a torrent of abuse that shocked me. He was with his mother too, who was embarrassed but I think ultimately still oppositional to me, because she didn't tell him off (which to me is indirectly condoning his behaviour). I told him to fuck off and went on my way.

Also, at one point last year I remember my boyfriend got egged out of a car when we were walking home in Leeds. We lived in a fairly rough area, and he's super skinny, and has long, unruly hair and an equally unruly beard. He dresses in jumpers, shirts, tees and jeans that are older than our relationship, and generally falling apart (I call him a semi-hobo). It's why I love him, and it gets him a lot of shit. Normally if someone shouts something, I'll generally stick my finger up or something, but you can't do that with a flying attack in a car. It's why people who shout out of cars are the biggest cowards - it leaves no chance for retaliation.

Anyway, both instances were horrible, and if it happened to me when I was a kid I would've locked myself inside for days and bawled my eyes out. But these times, I walked away and the first thing I thought (beyond the initial GWARGH WHAT A STUPID ARSEHOLE anger) was essentially to remind myself that essentially I'm fat and awesome (and my boy is the hottest scruff in Leeds), and that I don't really give a fuck about the opinion of someone who needs to validate their existence by shouting at strangers or throwing things out of cars. And that in fact, if people are throwing things at us, then I must be doing something right, because I'm not just blending in. I'm not necessarily acceptable, and that's a good thing. And it is that love that acts are my safety net.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that, for me, fat acceptance has to begin with your self. It begins with a self portrait (as discussed in this amazing post at The Busty Traveller, which seriously, you all need to follow), it begins with seeing yourself through new eyes. It begins with accepting the facets of yourself that you thought you could never accept, until you look at them differently. Fat becomes power, strength, curves, rage, energy, excitement. My body has become my own safety net.

I guess to come back to Brazen Femme, I think the messages that I took from it, the messages which resonated so hard with my teenage self, who was (and still is) a survivor, tough as boots and often angry as hell, was essentially this... Don't wait for someone to love you. Don't rely on anyone, and don't need anyone in order to survive. Don't wait to become who you want to be. Realise that, beneath everything, you already are the person you want to be. Love yourself.

Fatty Scavangers

Okay, so I'm operating on not too much sleep and a bit too much cherry yoghurt, but I wanted to get some thoughts down here on being a fatty and a thrifter. I just spoke with Charlotte Cooper for her super amazing phd research, and, when I was talking about my background I realised exactly why scavanging and thrifting form such a huge part of my identity.

I grew up in a pretty poor household, as previously discussed, and when I was younger we never really had the money to shop in "proper" shops. This used to irk me constantly, as where I grew up (bar the estates in the town) was generally an affluent town. This meant that the kids that I went to school with never really seemed to want for anything, and always got given money to shop with (I had a ever dwindling paper round that paid me about £10 a month).

At the weekends, my dad Steve and I used to go around all the charity shops in town. There are about 8 within a fifteen minute bus ride. We'd get a day ticket on the bus, and travel between all the hot spots for second hand shops, and then also sometimes big markets with budget clothes resale stalls. Also, on bank holidays there used to be an awesome car boot sale in a Waitrose car park (it shut because it "degraded" the area! Oh Surrey, how I don't miss you). These were the only resources I had available to me, and so I would spend hours in them. Whenever we went to a new area, we'd hunt out new shops, and start rummaging.

Mostly it'd be full of mediocre things (they still are), but sometimes you'd find a gem at the bottom of a 50p bin. I wish I had my family photos with me now to show you some of the horrible things I acquired and treasured - a zig zag patterned fleece jacket, neon green trainers, orange dungarees. Everyone at school thought I was a weirdo (I guess I was one), but finding these obscure unusual items gave me a way to escape from my background. I could be anyone I wanted, as long as I could fashion a "costume" from a 20p bin. It was a challenge that started my obsession with clothes, and which spurred what later became my body positivism. I think this is why I find it hard to write a guide to thrifting (which a few people have suggested I post) - because largely what I find, I've found through being incredibly stubborn and willing to root through bargain bin after bargain bin, and to hunt even after hours of disappointments - because realistically that's all I could do given those circumstances.

There are other things I found as well, books, for instance. I remember my library used to sell off their old books in a 50p a carrier bag sale (whatever you could fit in all came to 50p!). They did the same with VHS, which is how I discovered world cinema as a slightly precocious 16 year old (well, that and going up to the Prince Charles Cinema in London for £1.50 matinees, which I could travel to for free as my dad works on South West Trains). I found a copy of Shadow on a Tightrope for 99p in a charity shop, for instance, and later Fat Is a Feminist Issue. I found Blondie and David Bowie LPs, and fashioned myself as a second hand glam kid ultimately (after a bad period spent in goth-land). Later my scavanging became online scavanging - hopping from place to place, forums, blogs, communities and profiles to scour for new friends and resources. My feminism, my fat activism, my friends, my boyfriends, my band, my heroes and my support network grew out of being an internet nerd, and through this online scavanging as an extension to my physical scavanging.

This evolved into vintage shopping, ebay hunting, clothes swapping, bookmooch and online trading. Most everything I own comes from an obscure source - a flea market on holiday, a vintage store in a tiny nook of London, a charity shop I visited when seeing an online friend in real life, and so on. Every item comes with a story, and can be shaped into a new story. In turn I pursued a career in archiving because of these stories, and because of these amazing objects that connect to so many different histories and people. I guess thrifting for me is a way to create spaces, people, stories and identities that I never really had access to - and in doing so to deconstruct them perhaps. This is why I love clothes, and why I'm constantly changing/trading/swapping mine - because in doing so, I can play with a new self, and I can connect with so many different people.

I guess I love that through thrifting or scavanging, in any format, you can find yourself in a million other people's possessions, stories and blogs/communities, and also you can find the space to create a new self or identity through the remnants of others.

And on the note of clothes, here's a quote by Iris Marion Young, in her essay 'Women Recovering Our Clothes', that makes me think about how innovative and revolutionary this sort of fashion play can be:
"One of the privileges of femininity in rationalised instrumental culture is an aesthetic freedom, the freedom to play with shape and colour on the body, to don various styles and looks, and through them exhibit and imagine unreal possibilities. Women often actively indulge in such theatrical imagining... Such female imagination has liberating possibilities because it subverts, unsettles the order of respectable, functional rationality in a world where that rationality supports domination. The unreal that wells up through imagination always creates the space for a negation of what is, and thus the possibility of alternatives."
from On Female Body Experience; "Throwing Like a Girl" and Other Essays.

This to me, is what is so exciting about a life spent scavanging. Kx

Fat histories

My brother and I, aged around 8/9 and 10/11 respectively. (Check out our double chins and nerdy glasses!)

I've been thinking a lot lately about histories and fatties.

I work in a regional film archive, and I really love what I do and the collection I work with. I've spent nearly a year and a half working with national and regional collections, and what it's taught me is the many different histories that can be brought to life when access and interaction is encourage with objects. This doesn't have to be physical access - it could be via online availability of films (something which my archive struggles with, due to limited resources and funding) or a flickr account which encourages people to add their own histories in comments to enhance our understanding of an object.

However, inevitably, there is a huge amount of politics concerning what is made available in archives - whose histories are available, and whose remain hidden and relatively inaccessible (unless you're a seasoned archive visitor and know where to look). For instance, my archive holds home made and commercially made films of interest to the South East - however, as film making technology was largely available only to white, middle class families (and the films were largely made by men), the viewpoints we have are intensely biased, and often little understanding of what it would be like to be of a minority identity living in this region - luckily this is something that my colleagues are aware of, and as such our projects seek to target oral histories through different methods, so my hope is that as projects progress this is being actively challenged. Sadly in my role, which is technical, I have little say in what happens in this respect, which I hope one day will change!

What I wanted to talk about today was an incident that happened on my first day here. It has stuck with me ever since, and got me thinking about starting a project of my own. The record office in which our vaults are based runs regular screenings of films, and a senior member of staff remarked to my manager that he was fed up of "films of fat kids on the beach at Bognor Regis". As it was my first day I said nothing, but it got me thinking about the availability of images that I could relate to, to the wider public. When you grow up fat, you're made to feel as if you are an anomaly - that your fat alienates you from others, and that you are so different to everyone that surrounds you. Your fat is used to separate you, and dieting is held up as a way to return to this normal state - by dieting, you can fit in at last - both physically in certain spaces (through turnstiles, into the right clothes, into seats and so on).

The truth is, in my experience anyway, tons of people are fat. THERE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN FAT PEOPLE. Fat is not an invention of the obesity epidemic - it's not a contagion which is slowly causing people to expand. I have no statistics to quote here, but isn't the average size for a woman nowadays more like a 16? We're more common than you think. I grew up in a largely fat family (my dad was skinny, but now he isn't, my step-mum is a size 26/28, and my other dad has been dieting since the day I was born.) I come from a line of stocky, well built, working class women. Here's a picture of my grandmother and my birth mother, for instance:

You're NOT an anomaly. You belong in history as much as every other person. Your image, your ancestry and your heritage is just held back because it is perceived as inferior - after all, what else is the image of happiness apart from the white, middle class, thin, heterosexual nuclear family? This is what is held up as normal - and what we are all encouraged to relate and aspire to. My origins are so different from this - I grew up as a fat kid, always bigger than my friends, with a working class trans man as my parent (and often, my entire family). For my identity-forming years, we lived in a middle class suburb (but in a housing association house) and, even though we always had food on the table, were considered the pinnacle of poverty by everyone who surrounded us, because we were so oppositional to their beliefs and ideals. I'm proud of my upbringing, and the person it's made me, and I'm proud of my ancestry, and the line of people from which I was born.

Your image is not in visual culture, history and heritage, because if it were, then the concept of the obesity epidemic would have to be destabilised. If fat people existed as anything other than symbols, then dieting could not be held up as a necessity. You are made to feel different to uphold social norms - you're made to feel like the opposite of what you "should" be instead of just part of the spectrum of size and shape. The lack of visual references to aspire to, relate to and feel connected to makes it necessary to change in order to become part of society.

Anyway, to stop ranting, I've been thinking about starting an archiving project outside of work - this in my head would be a flickr group moderated by me to which people can submit photographs of their histories as fat people. This could be fat family photographs, it could be related to fat activist events, or it could be photographs or scans of fatties in notable spaces, places and positions. It could also shift exactly what is meant by fat activism - the definition could be stretched beyond those who consciously identify as an activist to include the amazing people that have influenced us, and to define activism as something which is both conscious and unconscious.

If people are without scanners or digitisation facilities, I would happily intercept pictures and scan them for people - perhaps I could coerce others in different countries to help with this too. The group would be moderated only to monitor what was being submitted and commented upon. I would have no strict guidelines as to what determines fat, as obviously this shifts across cultures. Comments would allow people to tell the story of the photograph, and for other people to interact with it also. We could tell a fat history across the fat-o-sphere. Instead of waiting for visual culture to change, we could make a new one ourselves - one founded upon DIY ethics, .

Anyway, um, I'm starting to think seriously about it, and by talking about it online and in real life, I'm hoping to kick my arse into gear and actually do it! What do you all think? I'd love some feedback, constructive comments and any willing offers of collaboration!

Kx

Today I caught up on some well needed sewing repairs. As well as the gigantic pile of ripped seams and so on that I've left for months, I also did some alterations on this 60s paisley kaftan. This used to be floor length, but I thought it would work better knee length as it has some fantastic draping that ends around there. Anyway, my picture is rubbish because of my being-out-in-public awkwardness, but it has super awesome batwing sleeves and the draping sort of makes it look like a tulip skirt. This is a perfect house dress, but I think it could also be made to be much more of a statement piece with some heels and a clutch. In any case, it's flouncy and fantastic.

Dress - pilfered from my last lot of vintage stock, £free to me
Shoes - ancient, New Look.

I feel like the kaftan/muu muu/house dress/whatever horrors of former fatty apparel is definitely in need of some reclaiming. Whilst I can't stress how happy I am that there are now outfitters that can actually tailor clothes to my shape and that this isn't my only option, there's something amazing about items of clothing which drape the fat body in such a fantastic brash pattern. I definitely don't think they deserve to be forgotten - in fact I think that wearing one acknowledges a history of apparel that is often dismissed. I also think there's a lot of problematic talk about the "right" way to dress a fat body - and brash, shapeless, bold items like this are pretty against the grain of tailoring and hip skimming dresses, even if originally they were designed to disguise the body. Whether belted, altered or simply flounced about in as is, I definitely think everyone should own at least one.

And just because you're all proving to be such nice readers, here's a picture of a cat for you:

Grumpy cat, courtesy of the house down the road from my old house, who I sadly don't see so often anymore. Broody (for a cat) boyfriend = priceless.

Cycling fatty

Meet Gertrude. Gertrude is a Raleigh Urban 2, recently inherited from one of my Dads who decided she wasn't the most suitable bike for him either. She's quite simply the worst bike for someone of my size, and to say the least, we have issues (I'd quite happily abandon her for a nice Dutch/town bike). However, I really do adore cycling and so we deal with it. This is my first bike for about 8 years (!) (I did have one more recently that got stolen after my first cycle ride, sob) and I'm getting used to urban cycling. Where I grew up most places I needed to go could be reached without going on busy roads, or roads at all in fact, so I'm a very nervous urban cyclist. Also, Yorkshire is very hilly, particularly compared with Surrey, so much harder to cycle around! However, I'm definitely enjoying it so far.

One thing I've noticed about cycling as a fatty is that I seem to inspire a lot of pretty horrible comments. Just cycling up the road to Headingley village this afternoon, I got hooted at and also someone shouted that they felt sorry for my bike. I'm trying not to get too angry/sad/affected by these comments, but something about the last stung me. I'm happy with my fat, and I'm happy to be active again. When someone makes that sort of comment at me, it makes me feel like they want me locked away somewhere - out of sight, out of mind. Does my weight deny me the right to be active, to be outside, to be in view by others? I sometimes wonder this myself especially given how hard it is to find reasonably priced cycling shorts, and other activewear above a size 20, generally.

Anyway, I won't stop cycling, and I won't make my body invisible for those it offends.

I also didn't really come to post about this either. I wanted to show off my latest ebay score! This navy/white summer dress was £5.19 excluding postage. It's really fitted with a pleated skirt and sweetheart neckline, really well tailored given that it's from George and generally speaking plus size tailoring is pretty awful. I'm looking forward to teaming it with a cardi in the autumn.

Dress, £5.19 from Ebay (originally by George at ASDA)
Belt, vintage (pilfered from my old shop)
Shoes, ancient flats £22 New Look.