Beauty is Pain


The shit we do to look good. Despite popular belief… looking this Van Damme fine is hard yo! The way in which I cleverly sculpt my ginger (yep I said ginger!) ‘fro and the effortless way my loud ass t-shirts clash with everything I own, takes a skill of which only true dickheads can harness. We all have a style whether we like to admit it or not. And we all have that one item of clothing we continue to rock which is clearly 28 sizes too small… but you feel the need to squeeze your fat ass into it like some hairy midget contortionist from the circus.

Does my bum look big in this…? Yes. Yes it does.

Why do we do it? I mean you spend the whole day/night at the social event of the year smiling sweetly, even though you have been holding your breath for the past 2 hours and your crippling garment has broken your ribs and smashed your abdomen. And don’t even try it with the whole “ooohh the washing machine must have shrunk my shit!” Stop blaming an inanimate object damn it! Camel toes are NEVER a good look! The washing machine has done nothing but wash your rubbish clothes… it is in fact your fat ass that has ballooned hence the reason your sexy jeans cannot go past your knee cap.

If we all just hold our hands up and admit that although beauty is blatantly about putting your body through ridic life threatening conditioning born from the hell of Gladiators and Krypton Factor, sometimes we just need to admit defeat. Sometimes you just need to stop buying stuff that doesn’t fit instead of deluding yourself that “Ah sure I’ll get into it if I just go on the Beyoncé dirty dishwater diet!” Embrace your body size. Ain't no shame in it.

Granted I say all of this from the comfort of my computer screen as I sit here trying to ‘break in’ some jeans which I’m pretty sure have now prevented me from ever having kids… BUT do as I say and not as I do.

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