Fat = Beautiful?

This  link is a series of photoshopped images of famous celebrities. However, they are about 75-100 lbs heavier in the images. But are they beautiful?

I had posted a comment on the site simply stating my opinion. I believe in fitness and eating right and that you should take care of your body and not let yourself go. I had said “I am sorry but i think that is disgusting. Being fat is not beautiful. It is unhealthy and not pleasant to look at. No one wants to see that. And those arent “curves”, there is a difference between “curves” and fat rolls.” I got A LOT of heat for that. Sure, call me ignorant or a bitch or an “anorexic twig” (not anorexic and THAT is thin-shaming, which i was thin shamed in the comment threads). It didn’t bother me because they are strangers who do not know me, nor have any understanding of how i think or what i believe. Now mind you, I was only voicing my OPINION. I have overweight friends/acquaintances. Do I condone the treatment of their body? No, but that doesn’t mean I wont talk to them when i see them.
I was called a Bitch, MANY times, simply for having an opinion that wasn’t popular.

In 1967, a group of 5 monkeys were placed in a cage, and in the middle, was a ladder leading up to food that was placed at the top. Every time a monkey went up the ladder to get the food, the scientists soaked all the monkeys with cold water. After a while, when a monkey would try to climb up the ladder, the rest of the monkeys would, well, beat the shit out of it. Later, one of the monkeys was replaced. It tried to climb the ladder and got the shit beat out of it by the other monkeys, it stopped climbing the ladder even though there was no evident reason not to, aside from the beatings. The second monkey was substituted and the same occurred. The first monkey participated in the beating of the second monkey. A third monkey was changed and the same was repeated. The fourth monkey was changed, resulting in the same, before the fifth was finally replaced as well.

What was left was a group of five monkeys that – without ever having received a cold shower – continued to beat up any monkey who attempted to climb the ladder.

If it was possible to ask the monkeys why they beat up on all those who attempted to climb the ladder, their most likely answer would be “I don’t know. It’s just how things are done around here.”

Does any of that sound familiar? It’s a lot like how society works today. Someone calls someone fat and disgusting, he gets ridiculed and everyone is at fault by association, So they beat the shit out of that person for calling the other one fat/disgusting. After a while, it becomes a social norm. Fuck up the person that called another one fat because thats not okay. We substituted “that’s not okay” with “everyone is beautiful” and told people “if you don’t believe everyone is beautiful then you are going to hell.”  (basically). So now, calling someone fat, automatically gets you an ass beating and the words “everyone is beautiful shoved in your face.”

In my case, I did what was natural and a human right, I voiced my opinion. People accustomed to the “fat is beautiful” thing, were (metaphorically) beating the shit out of me. Ask them why and they wont really have any other reason beyond “everyone is beautiful.” It’s what they were taught and it’s what they brainlessly believe.

If that’s the case, what makes us all better than those experimental monkeys? Nothing.

 

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I know you’re reading this, so this is for you…

The first time I knew I was completely and overwhelmingly in love with him wasn’t the first time we met. It wasn’t love at first sight, although, at first sight, I loved what i saw. He was tall, strong, handsome and well groomed, freshly shaven and he walked with confidence up my driveway to my front door to meet me and my family for the first time. We went skeet shooting that day, and I was scared and jumpy and very nervous to say the least, but it was a good nervous. 
The first time I knew I was really in love with him wasn’t the first time we kissed, even though that kiss at prom in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by the other couples made me melt inside was incredible, it wasn’t THE moment. 
It wasn’t the first time we said “I love you” to eachother late one night on IM on Facebook, and meant it, even though every time i say it feels like the first time. 
It wasn’t the first time we made love either. But, i’m not gonna lie (and not gonna give too many details either), I was scared, to let you see and touch every inch of me. Every raised scar, every imperfect spot, every place I’m not confident about, But you didn’t mind.  You thought, and still think, I’m beautiful. And I love that. 
The first time I knew I really loved you wasnt after a big fight when i almost lost you… again…. both of us crying in the car over my detrimentally damaging decisions and trying to fix it. But I know I did love you then… but that wasnt the time I’m speaking of…

The first time I knew I was in love with you wasnt a big moment, It wasn’t a milestone in our relationship and it wasn’t what they show in movies… 
It was a few days before I moved out of my parents house… My family was constantly stressing me out, my brother was becoming so mean to me that it was getting out of hand and I just couldn’t handle it. I was with you when my mom started calling me and texting me and getting mad at me for something minor and making me feel awful. We went to my best friend Lauren’s house. Her “almost boyfriend”, noah, was over (or he was already over, i dont recall anymore), and after a while of talking about it all with Lauren and you, we were left on the back patio under the umbrella. It was raining and cold. The first time I knew i was really in love with you was when you hugged and embraced me so tightly, telling me everything was gonna be alright. We stood there for a bit, I could feel your heart beating against my chest and I could smell your cologne and In that moment, I believed it when you said “it’s okay”. I could close my eyes and seep into your skin, flowing with the way we were swaying ever so slightly. In the moments where you hold me in your arms and make me feel so safe and secure, my face buried in your neck or our foreheads touching are the times I am so in love with you. 

That weird girl

“What got you into modeling?”

People ask me this all the time… I never have a direct answer to give someone who asks this, I just say “oh, everyone has told me I need to model so I did” or “my boyfriend convinced me”, both answers are technically true, but before I actually answer it, I’m gonna give some backstory. 
Growing up in a suburb of Houston, TX, I was always the weird kid… In school, in my neighborhood, everywhere. I wanted people to like me, but I also wanted to be like other people, so I mimicked everyone, so much so that to the point that I was no longer original… I did this for years and years up to 9th grade. I hated myself, so I became bits and pieces of other people. My ideas, my laugh, my clothing choices, nothing is original… I’m a collage of different qualities of other people to make a different person. But no matter what i became, who I hung out with, I never fit in, and I was never not the weird girl. I wasn’t even pretty. I was just… weird. I was always too loud, so i became quiet so I would go next to unnoticed… I was bullied relentlessly through grade 9 when I began homeschooling because it got so bad. I had very few friends and an army of people that would stone me in the street if they saw me. It got so bad I thought no one would ever love me, no one wants me, and I began inflicting self-hatred upon myself. It got so bad to the point that I started cutting myself almost every night with whatever razor blade i could find or extract from pencil sharpeners and disposable razors that i used to shave my legs. I was severely depressed.
I knew i wasnt pretty, I knew I had problems, I knew no one could love me…
2 Ex-boyfriends, countless ex-best friends, and 650+ scars later, I recovered. I met my current boyfriend who has gotten me through so much and whom I love very much, and after some convincing on his side, I did it, I became a model. I became what I thought I would never be. 
So the real answer to the question “What got you into modeling?” is 1) My boyfriend, 2) the fact that I feel beautiful.
Still to this day, I feel like the weird kid, the one no one likes, the awkward girl, and the only things that make me feel beautiful are my boyfriend, and being a model… Because then, I feel like everything I think I’m not. I feel gorgeous, I feel envied, I feel untouchable, graceful, elegant… When in real life, I’m clumsy, I’m not the brightest crayon in the box, and without makeup and my hair all tied up, I’m not pretty… I’m just “that weird kid”. Just like I’ve always been all my life. 

So… I’m a Model

Alright, so I think I decided what I’m gonna do with my blog now. 
Sure, There’s probably quite a few blogs about models out there but I still wanna share my story and how I got here…

So back in August on 2013, I was in my local shopping mall and there were these little stands with little signing boxes bolted to the thing with the advertisement “Audition America” and “Your Dream Starts Here”. I had seen them for a few months prior, but when I was walking around the mall with my boyfriend, Fred, He told me that I should write down my information and put it in the box…. he even took a picture of me up on the stage cause he thought it would be funny.

 

He even told me “I honestly did not think that they would call you because there were so many other applicant paper sheets in the boxes, But you had nothing to lose by it.” 
I mean, hell, *I* didn’t even think I would get a call, but a month later when they did call me and said they wanted to see me, I was in awe and I was so excited. I couldn’t wait. 
After passing the initial “first round”, where they had you dress-to-impress and walk the runway, they weeded out the ones with potential from the ones without any (not to sound rude, but, hey, some got it, some don’t), I and about a hundred other people were welcomed into the second round. The second round consisted of a Photoshoot (that cost 150 dollars in total), and they judged you based on your ease of being in front of a camera, your personality in the pictures, and if you were photogenic or not…. Here’s a picture from that.

 

Some pictures came out better than others. If I had had makeup on, it would have been ALOT better, unfortunately.

After that, I thought “wow, this is real. This is actually happening, I really could be a model from this!” and I started doing more to make myself physically look like a model and so I would feel better about myself going out in public, because I was never the prettiest or the most graceful and I had no idea what to do with my hair and I hadn’t the slightest clue of what to do with makeup. 
All my family had always told me I should be a model and, well, here I am. It’s a lot more fun and rewarding than I thought it would be.

Anyway, after they weeded through the photoshoot winners, we were called back for a fashion/talent show. We were given “Audition America” shirts, free of charge, and the talent scouts there said to “make it our own” and to personalize it however we wanted. 
The female talent scout there thought I had major potential and loved my figure and height and gave me the nickname “miss high-fashion” because she had repeatedly said I could be a high-fashion model. I think her name (or the name she told us) was “Miss Queenie” and She had dark skin and short dark hair, she always wore eye-catching rings and bracelets and very very high heels. It was obvious she was a model previously because of how she worked the runway and her stage presence. “Stay here at the end of it all, I wanna see you walk.” she said. So I did. I waited till everyone had received their pictures and shirts and she waved me to the back of the stage. I had thought we would just walk behind the stage to perfect my walk, but No. She walked up the steps to the small runway in her rather large heels and told the DJ to put on some music. “Alright, go”, I was hesitant, but gave it my best shot. I wasn’t very good. I swung my hips too much and i was too stiff. She made it light and fun and told me to just have fun with it, but dont twirl my hips too much and just let loose. If she caught me doing something a runway model would never do, She would call me out on it, sometimes when I’d be halfway down the runway and I would stop promptly, spin around on one foot and penguin waddle back to the base of the stage by her to try again. She had a good laugh at my antics when I would mess up. Whenever I made a mistake or faltered, I tried to be silly to make up for messing up, which, probably didnt help things, but everyone had a good time laughing at me… Even people walking by in the mall stopped to watch me walk the runway. As people started to wander around me, both strangers and fellow participants, I began to think to myself “wow, they’re looking at me, they’re noticing me. I’m not invisible anymore.”
 We did about a dozen runway walks and then they closed up shop and the crowd slowly started to disappear, myself being among them. 

The day came for the fashion/talent show and I was nervous…. Really nervous… I personalized my shirt and made it a crop-top and put on some skinny jeans and my spikey boots that were one size too small and a red bandanna rolled up into a headband around my slightly poofy and pulled back hair. 
I put my song on a CD and had practiced it for days beforehand. I was going to sign. Not sing, but sign in american sign language the song “Daughters” by John Mayer that I had translated for my ASL class in the spring before this event. 
3 of my friends showed up, my grandparents, and my mom came to this and there were too many people in this one little area to count. I stood in line for about an hour and handed in my CD for them to play when it was my turn. I stood around talking most the time to calm my nerves. Everyone was telling me how proud they were of me and how great of a chance I have and how lovely I looked. I put on a smile but I was terrified inside. I thought “What if I fuck up, what if they dont like me, What if I trip on the runway, What if my CD doesnt work?”
I tried not to think those things, but I must have jinxed myself because my CD wasn’t working. and I found myself just a couple spots away from presenting my talent. I was freaking out and shaking. I couldn’t think straight and I didn’t know what to do. My friend offered to sing the song for me to sign. I thought it was a horrible idea but I had no choice. Her singing was flat and not very good, but gladly, no one paid much mind to that, they just watched me sign. I was making large movements with my hands and arms like my teacher had taught me and I was keeping up with the song. I had only 45 seconds to perform it, and thankfully I didn’t mess up once and everyone cheered. I could finally breathe a sigh of relief. The talent part was over. Now, for the walk. A guy about my age who was helping the other participants along pointed me in the right direction and, once again, stood in another line to get ready to walk. I didn’t have to wait very long until they called me to walk the runway. I walked up the stage, staring at my feet the entire time to make sure I didn’t trip somehow, moving aside for the other girl who had just taken her walk and I stood at the back and looked out to the crowd for a second and then took my first steps down the runway. I was scared inside, but I put on a serious face and made them think I knew what I was doing… I guess it worked because everyone clapped and my family shouted from stage left. 

 

Walking back to my friends and family, I was congratulated with hugs all around. We stayed to watch a few more people walk and then went on our way home. It was late, and the mall was closing, We almost got locked in (and out) of Dillard’s on the way to the parking lot. 

I waited through September, and then, right when I thought I hadn’t made it, I got a packet in the mail. October 27th telling me I was one of the contract winners. I was given instructions on how to order model cards and such, and Then I’d be official. On November 12th, the B&W cards, Model casting cards, and model ID cards came in the mail. I promptly sent off the requested amount of cards and the signed contract off to the agency and my account was activated within a few weeks. 

I’ll be posting more about my recent photoshoot and such things in the near future. 

So for now, I’ll leave you with a side-by-side transformation (4 years difference between the pictures) 

Its amazing what a difference 4 years, makeup, a gym membership, and a modelling contract makes. 

I can’t believe I’ve made such a difference. I never thought I could do this because the oh-so-low self-esteem issues I had (the story to that will be in my next blog post). 

So, all that being said, don’t be afraid to follow your dream and be what you want just because someone says you can’t. Words are powerful, but if someone says you can’t, prove them wrong. It’s so rewarding when you do something that someone told you for years you couldn’t do. 

 

Bangs to Belly Buttons

What started off as a word play on how “Audi” (the car) and “outtie” (referring to a belly button) sound the same. I said “I’m an innie!” & he replied “I’ve seen.”
Although it should have been overlooked and moved along without a second glance, it made me think…

“I’ve seen that you have an ‘innie’ belly button. I’ve seen the curves and contours of your body. I’ve seen how stunning you are in a dress, and how adorable you look in sweats with a makeup-less face. I’ve seen every inch of you, kissed every part of you, seen each and every scar. I know how your bangs fall & how you act embarrassed about small things. I know you curl up into me when we watch a scary movie, & how you sprawl out on me when we make out.”

He knows so much about me, and more that i don’t notice or think he notices. I overlook things I dont think he remembers… But he doesn’t forget even the smallest things like those.

Sometimes, it’s good to be reminded that the one you love takes such close notice to you, to even mark down the defining direction of your belly button.