If there’s one thing worst than melting in the middle of a Great British heatwave, it is having to deal with all the people with Opinions™. If it’s not being bitchy about what people should wear (whether they be too fat, too thin, too pale, too leathery, too made up), it’s what they choose to do to keep cool. Honestly, can you just fuck off?
You might love the beach but some people are ginger and that means practically vampyric. Does the sunlight really seem like a good idea to you? Also, the beach is deathly boring and I’d rather be under a tree in the park or even better, at home on my bed under a fan wearing nothing but a smile – that’s how I deal with my Summer.
If I have to go out I’ll seek out the shade and I’ll wear what I want thankyouverymuch. If my eyeliner runs, that’s my business. If I want to go to the cinema in the middle of a scorching day, I will. If I want to wear black, guess what? Black it is.
Bellies out, arms out, ten Twister lollies in a day, shade, no shade, indoors, outdoors: whatever it is, it is.
The thing is, this heat is not typical for us, none of our houses are equipped to deal with these temperatures and we need unsolicited advice from others like a hole in the fucking head. We should be doing anything we can to get comfortable.
So this year, if you feel like sharing your thoughts on how others are doing Summer: just don’t.
I feel like I spend most of my summer months obsessively people watching. Watching girls to be precise. I can take or leave men in summer or any month of the year – but women in the sunshine are something else.
The best outfits come out in the Spring as we tiptoe cautiously into the warmer months and I start to think about all the sartorial possibilities. Hey, if she can rock a blue and yellow print midi skirt with a plain navy tee, then I can, right? Hot pink? Why not? Stripey shirt that looks like a pajama top and mom jeans? I’m in.
I love it, it feels like hope and happiness to me. While the sun itself is sometimes my arch nemisis (ginger, what can I say?), I do like what it brings out in other people and I love witnessing women feeling themselves. They inspire me.
And it makes me think about age again but in a more positive way. Of how I don’t think I’ll ever be middle-aged in my mindset or attitude, how even when my body is heading south and my bones ache, in my heart I’ll still be as hopeful and dreamy and dorky as I was when I was 12. There’s very little difference between the girl I was and the woman I am. Except I couldn’t have dreamt I’d have Wonder Woman tattooed on my arm.
I think about how I’ll still listen to pop music, probably the same ten songs I’ve listened to since I was a girl as I walk to work. How I’m happy to grow up but not too much – and how certain things make me feel ten feet tall: jumpsuits, red lips, my rainbow umbrella. Less material things too: kisses and inside jokes, post-orgasmic chills.
I’m in a good place here, things are blessed. Sometimes they’re hard and sometimes I’m tired but I’m always open. To new possibilities, to new people. I’m surrounded by love and good companions, new and old. Young and my age and I’m learning for them everyday. Through them and through myself I am working out who I am and how who I am is okay. Honestly, more than okay.
All this introspection comes with the sun and with watching the girls go by and maybe to me that’s the best part of Summer.
I don’t really know what I’ve been doing lately and although I’ve been posting regularly, I do feel as though I’ve been coasting along on here somewhat. Was that my plan when I asked for guest posts, I wonder?
Not really! I guess I’ve just been more of a doer lately, which is virtually unheard of in my world. I’m a huge fan of procrastination as well as navel gazing, and that combination, friends, leads to almost nothing getting done.
I mean, it’s not like I’ve achieved much, I haven’t worked out where white dog poo went or anything groundbreaking, but I am working on stuff. You know about The Podcast, I’ve been thinking about that a lot and doing my homework, which is basically watching films. (It’s great).
We’ve been brainstorming names and that, frankly, has been the hardest part (so far). We have a shortlist though and are nearly there. We’re recording our Pilot episode on 6th September which is so close you can almost touch it!
What else has been going on?
I devoured BBC 3’s Fleabag in one day (excellent btw and I think it’s supremely lazy to label its writer/star Phoebe Waller-Bridge as ‘the British Lena Dunham’ just because she’s not frightened to talk about sex), got too much sun, hung out with some gorgeous fellow gingers. You know, all the usual things.
Summer’s been quite a bright one, some days just have been too much. I never signed up for actual sunshine, come on. Where’s Autumn?
Anyway, good stuff is coming. I’m getting back in the groove, hopefully you’ll see some of it soon. Guest Posts will start up again too – and all will be right with the world. I promise.
Last week at some point a horrible woman wrote a newspaper article about fat people. I won’t link to it, nor will I utter her name because frankly, I feel like contributing to any publicity for her is what she wants, even if it is negative. At this point I can’t even bring myself to slag her off.
As my nasty ex’s great-grandmother used to say, you just have to feel sorry for people like that.
But. In her article, said woman calls out three “size 18, at least” girls for having the audacity to stand in front of her at the airport and not be ashamed of who they are. Oh, did I not point out that all three were “fat, not chubby” and seemed “unconcerned” about their apparent hideousness? I think they might even have been – whisper it – laughing together like they were happy.
Not one of them had the common decency to be covered from head to toe in black, instead choosing to rock a colourful Summer wardrobe.
The Fattist let’s call her, for she is a ‘self-confessed Fattist’, seems to think that the world should fall in line with what she deems attractive. This to me is like throwing shade on every man and boy with a naked chin.
Apparently, TF has a weight and size restriction on the things she will tolerate and anybody who doesn’t fall in line with this will pay the price. By being slagged off in a national paper (if indeed you can call it that).
Anyway, she’s obviously just ‘being honest’ and speaking out of ‘concern’ for these poor, disgusting creatures right?
The thing is, she could be talking about me. I’m a size 18. Sometimes smaller, sometimes bigger but I’m that size generally. Should I be covering up for fear of upsetting poor souls like TF? Am I that revolting that I should be considering hibernation?
I hate the whole thing. Yes, it is okay for you to have your own personal tastes. Your opinion is yours. If you really feel that way and think that these abominations are seriously harming their health by eating badly and not exercising, fine. But keep it to yourself.
For a start you don’t know what these girls eat (besides the ‘I kid you not’ bag of crisps they munched while waiting to check in their luggage. On a holiday! The horror!). You sure as shit don’t know what exercise they do on a day-to-day basis. Not all fit people are thin and vice versa.
I’m hardly the template for healthy living but apart from cake too many times a week, I watch my calorie intake and workout at least twice a day for 30-40 minutes. It’s ignorant to assume things when you don’t know.
What seemed to perplex her so much more than the ‘dimpled thighs’ and ‘rolls of fat’ hanging over the tops of their vests was the fact that all three girls seem to be living life without being self-conscious. Again, how dare you, girls? Come on, now – self-hatred is the only obvious state for you, duh.
Personally, if the world were full of more people like those three and less like TF in her size 8-10 dress, I think it might be a better place.
And, while we’re at it, I’d give up the notion of ever being thin for genuine self-acceptance. I think we can all learn from these beastly rule breakers in their Summer gear, pissing off strangers without even realising it.
Now, hand me the motherf**king crisps, bitch!
Please note: I may have paraphrased a tad throughout this post but you get the gist.