Everything's Trash, But It's Okay

by Phoebe Robinson

  But in all seriousness, c’mon! Not only do you not have clothes that fit me comfortably, but you can’t even get Spanx in my size? It’s not as if I rolled up unannounced like Steve Urkel coming over for Taco Tuesday on Family Matters. You knew I was coming here!

  Real quick, for those of you who don’t know the deal about professional photo shoots, it goes like this: Prior to the shoot, the stylist is given (1) your size (both clothing and shoes, and in the case of this one, they had a plethora of shoes, none of which fit, to which I was told, “Beauty is pain”) and (2) measurements of various body parts to get a more exact fit. Measurements that in everyday life are fact but in fashion are often considered a rough draft to be improved upon. A what-if like, “So you say you’re a 10, but what if . . . you were a size 4 like Halle Berry?” Hmm, welp, I would be wildly famous and had to dry-hump Billy Bob Thornton to win an Oscar, which is not a bad deal, per se, but alas, I’m little ole Phoebe Lynn Robinson, not famous, and have been dry-hump-free for well over a decade, so let’s chill on the “what if” and instead deal with the “this is what is and that’s just as good.” But that seems to be the problem, right? That any woman above a size 2 or 4 would see her body as just as good as the body types media tells us should be the ideal, which, according to the person on set, I should be in discomfort in order to achieve. Trash, right? Of course. Yet thanks to conditioning, I fell in line by wearing the painful shoes and squeezing myself into the Spanx that didn’t fit. And when I took them off, the imprint of the elastic band on my waist and legs branded me, as if to say, “Now you know better, so do better.” Don’t get me wrong, the picture turned out amazingly well, but I was not happy, so it wasn’t freaking worth the physical pain.

  Before we move on, I have a PSA to share with all future stylists I may work with: AFTER I TELL YOU THAT MINISKIRTS DO NOT FIT WELL ON ME BECAUSE MY PEAR SHAPE CAUSES THEM TO RIDE UP, YET I DO YOU THE COURTESY OF TRYING ONE ON IN PRIVATE JUST TO APPEASE YOU, PLEASE STOP OPENING THE CHANGING ROOM DOOR WIDE-OPEN SO THAT EVERYONE SEES MY EXPOSED BOOTY CHEEKS CHILLING THERE LIKE STATLER AND WALDORF MUPPETS, JUST JUDGING THE HELL OUT OF BOTH OF US AND THIS IGNORANT-ASS SITUATION.

  * * *

  Whew! The above is just a bento box sampling and is by no means comprehensive of what I’ve gone through in the name of fashion and beauty. It stinks, but it’s not actually about the clothing itself; it’s much deeper and more systemic and has far-reaching consequences that affect all parts of women’s lives.

  It cannot be said enough how things are rough out there for the average woman (according to the International Journal of Fashion Design, Technology and Education, the median dress size for an American woman is a 16) in a sizeist society. Imagery in the media and societal conditioning from birth informs not only how women feel about themselves but also how they are treated, which then further reinforces how they “should” feel about themselves. So while it’s “cute” that the prevailing thought is that being a petite woman is just about wearing the chicest outfit from fancy designers, it’s for damn sure not about fashion. The truth is, being in the single digits means you’re respected, allowed to be heard, deserving of love and a job, and more importantly, it’s acceptable for you to have self-esteem. You are worthy and aspirational. And if you don’t fall in line, then you’re shit out of luck and a cautionary tale. So, no, size is not a matter of frivolity or self-absorption. Size, to me and a hell of a lot of women, is a question of: Will I have to fight that much harder to have the full, rich, delicious life I dream of and work for? Unfortunately, the answer is yes. Don’t believe me? I have the receipts, and they are long AF, like the kind you get from CVS.

  In November 2017, Fairygodboss, an employer review site for women, released a startling report after conducting a survey of five hundred hiring professionals about various hypotheticals when it comes to women in the workplace. One of the studies included showing participants a range of different body types and then asking them questions based solely on the images. And if you’re assuming the results are about to be a landfill of Vanilla Ice CDs set on fire, then you are correct. Let’s take a look at this trash, shall we?

  21 percent of the hiring professionals viewed the heaviest woman as “lazy,” and of course, this word was used far less frequently with thinner women.

  21 percent also stated she was unprofessional.

  Only 18 PERCENT believed the heavier-set woman possessed leadership qualities.

  Worst of all, only 15.6 percent would even consider hiring the heaviest-looking woman.

  This was in 2017. Twenty seventeen! Not during the sixties. Not the fifties. But present day as hell. The same present day where Elon Musk watched the original Knight Rider and was like, “Car doors that open up to the sky like a yoga teacher going from a forward bend into mountain pose? #Goals,” and now we have Teslas. The same present day where you can use your bank’s mobile app to deposit a check while taking a dump. The same present day where everyone at Burger King collectively got on board with chicken being French fries? All of these unnecessary luxuries are believable and fully exist, yet it is simply implausible to nearly 85 percent of employers to hire a plus-size woman?! Not only is this trash, but this is embarrassing and reprehensible.

  This ignorance doesn’t just exist in the workplace. It’s everywhere. Science magazine, in 2016, released an article about relationships, and in a section about online dating it stated, “But when it came to body weight, men were less likely to browse the profile of a woman who was heavy-set.” Arizona State University researchers in 2014 did a study about weight and friendship in school settings. Associate Professor David Schaefer said, “We found consistent evidence that overweight youth choose non-overweight friends more often than they were selected in return.”

  But we don’t need studies and facts. We see how plus-size women are treated as a nuisance in public spaces like concerts and movie theaters, we read the vitriol spewed on their social media accounts whenever they post an image of themselves, especially if it’s one where they are showing off their goodies (“You’re promoting an unhealthy lifestyle” is a common refrain), and worst of all, we see (don’t see/choose to ignore) how they are regarded as invisible. I cannot tell you the number of times I’m dressed down at the airport and men will “bump” into me, walk into a line I’m standing in and stand right in front of me, take up more than their allotted space on the plane, and every time, every single time, when I make my presence known, I always hear the same excuse: “Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you there.” Now, imagine if I were a plus-size woman. Or imagine yourself plus-size. Or if you are and you’re reading this, you don’t have to. You have lived with these indignities on a daily basis, and it is complete bullshit.

  Thankfully, the tide is starting to turn, and I believe it has plenty to do with technology. Much like how Black Twitter can move the needle, whether it’s political with #BlackLivesMatter or in entertainment with #OscarsSoWhite, Twitter, Instagram, blogging, vlogging, and many other forms of communication are allowing plus-size women, in particular, to celebrate themselves, provide clothing resources and support systems, and, most importantly, build momentum for the current wave of body positivity.

  Models such as Ashley Graham, Precious Lee, Marquita Pring, Denise Bidot, and many others, as well as designers like Christian Siriano, who is renowned for dressing all body types, are at the forefront. Actress Danielle Brooks launched a plus-size clothing capsule collection last year for Universal Standard. Adele is one of the most successful singers in modern pop music despite early whispers that her not being skinny might harm her career. A new convention called theCURVYcon features fashion shows demonstrating how beautiful clothes designed for plus-size bodies can actually look, as well as panels on dating, business, confidence, etc. And while it is true that, especially in the world of beauty, white plus-size models like Graham have groundbreaking career success that plus-size women of color do
n’t, it still doesn’t change the fact that body positivity is powerful and is shaping a generation of women for the better.

  Now I’m not writing all this, of course, to be the authority on body positivity or to claim my experiences are so unique or revelatory, as if to say, “Hey, everybody, let’s now all pay attention to how women’s bodies are discussed.” There are people far more equipped than I to be a voice of the movement. What I’m more concerned with is that I had been so preoccupied with my own insecurities that I didn’t pay attention to what my responsibilities are as an ally. That it wasn’t until I put on weight that I was able to have the mind-set of “fuck this noise” and take notice of the responsibility I have to use my privilege as a woman who vacillates between a size 10 and 12 and can still move in certain places and be respected. And I’m not talking about writing a “Slay, queen” or “Yaaaas, bitch” comment on a plus-size beauty blogger’s Instagram profile, although that is nice. I’m also not talking about me giving a middle finger to the Erics of the world who tell me my thighs are too big, although that also feels dope AF. I’m talking real actual shit. Instead of being silently complicit or only speaking up half the time, I’m talking about putting dudes in their place every damn time they think they can fat-shame women who are bigger than me. I cannot tell you the amount of times I’ve heard men, who think they are in a “safe space” with me, reveal what they truly feel about women who don’t fall within societal beauty standards. Let me just say that “disgusting,” “pig,” “never would I ever fuck her,” and many other objectionable comments often make the rounds. Furthermore, I’m talking about how if I can reject society’s expectation of being the “respectable black person” (aka behaving in a manner to assimilate within white society and not ruffle feathers), then I can be just as adamant about rejecting the notion of the “respectable waif” aka a woman who dedicates herself to adhering to what the culture decides is beautiful. It’s a damn shame that it wasn’t until I became a size 10/12 that I truly realized the body-shaming spell I’m under. That we’re all under. That all us women, plus-size or not, are dealing with the daily battle going on in our heads of whether we’re going to comply with how the media tells us we should aspire to be beautiful. Well, fuck compliance. I repeat: FUCK. COMPLIANCE.

  I don’t want any of us to be compliant anymore. That’s for suckers. Be defiant, or if you already are, continue to be so. And for those who aren’t yet, let’s eat, breathe, and sleep defiance until it becomes our daily routine to dare the fuck out of people and ourselves. Dare to reject the haters who tell you you’re unworthy of love and basic human decency and a good pair of jeans because you have some or a lot of jiggle and cellulite on your body. Dare to challenge those who don’t speak up on your behalf. Dare people like me to be the ally you deserve to have, meaning keep telling us some variation of, “STFU, listen, and go read a book” when we’re hurting more than we’re helping. Dare to push away your inner thoughts that want to sabotage you. Dare to expect better from whatever love interest you meet who thinks you should be grateful for compliments or act as if they’re some kind of superhero for finding you attractive. Dare to roll your eyes at this person who thinks that pulling a Mark Darcy and telling you, “I like you very much, just as you are,” should end with them bodysurfing out the room with a fireworks display going off in the background. Dare to do for yourself what Bridget couldn’t do: Look at yourself in the mirror and say, “I like myself just the way I am.”

  Feminism, I Was Rooting for You; We Were All Rooting for You

  Dear reader, ya damn skippy this essay title is inspired by the monologue Tyra Banks delivered to Tiffany Richardson after booting the model-testant from Cycle 4 of America’s Next Top Model. The speech is iconic, and dare I write that, in particular, Tyra’s “I was rooting for you; we were all rooting for you” is one of the most important quotes of our time, right up there with John F. Kennedy’s “Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country,” Michelle Obama’s “When they go low, we go high,” and the classic Ying Yang Twins rap lyric “Ay, bitch! Wait till you see my dick.” . . . Y’all, this is like when Apple hints there’s going to be a big announcement regarding the iPhone, so we all tune in to Tim Cook’s live stream of the product launch, and he’s just like, “The phone is slightly bigger,” and we’re all like, “Dat could’ve been a Post-it note message next to an empty bag of Chex Mix.” Ying Yang, your dicks are like practically all of the dicks that have ever been seen, so calm down. But I digress. Back to Tyra and Tiffany. If you haven’t seen this showdown, please bless your eyeballs with the once-in-a-lifetime clip ASAP. If you don’t have time to find it online, I’ll break it down for you now.

  Like all reality TV, ANTM casting looks for people who can fulfill story lines that producers can easily edit together: the person seeking redemption, the caterpillar who turns into a butterfly, the comic relief, or the drama queen or king (think The Real Housewives of New York City’s Bethenny Frankel, who does all), and, most commonly, the underdog or rags-to-riches hero. Well, Tiffany hit the sweet spot of being a potentially rags-to-riches contender (like the average American, she was not flush with money), seeking redemption (she had competed in Cycle 3 but hadn’t made it as far as she wanted), and having a charming personality plus a knack for being involved in drama, like in Cycle 3 when she got involved in a fight with a stranger in a bar and yelled, “Bitch poured a beer on my weave.” Anyone who has ever worn a weave knows liquid being thrown on it is akin to Aaron Burr glove-slapping a dude to declare a duel, so naturally, Tiffany had to fight back. Anyway, later on, in a confessional, she regretted fighting and was determined to change her life for the better, which was probably music to the producers’ ears, hence her being asked to come back to the show the next season following completion of anger-management classes.

  Things were looking up for her during Cycle 4. To me, she was one of the judges’ favorites. She was consistently killing it week after week with her photos, and she seemed more charming and likable than ever. The competish was hers to lose, which is why I think it was surprising that she was not only eliminated but kicked off in such a dramatic fashion.

  On the episode that she got the boot, there was a challenge where all the models-to-be had to do an exercise as if they were reporting during Fashion Week, an exercise that required them to read from a teleprompter and pronounce various designers’ names. Most fashion plates know that many of these designers’ names can be tricky to pronounce when encountered for the first time, so the fact that the contestants weren’t nailing them was to be expected. In fact, the contestants jacked up almost all the names. It was kind of like watching Nomi from Showgirls saying “Ver-sayce” instead of “Versace” on repeat for five minutes. It was adorable and funny. Except Tiffany wasn’t laughing. She felt defeated because she messed up. The judges reassured her that everyone messed up and that the point of the exercise was to see how the women could roll with the punches and still have fun. Didn’t matter. She was OverIt.Edu/NoneOfYourCreditsWillTransfer and made that clear to everyone.

  Well, Tyra wasn’t having it and launched into a stream-of-consciousness speech (punctuated with the “I was rooting for you; we were all rooting for you” line) that was engrossing, soul-shaking, dramatic, and should have won a Peabody Award for Extremely Wild and Incredibly Pertinent to African-American History and Iconic Television. Seriously, it’s that good, and that’s partially because, despite the reality TV genre’s claims, we all know these shows rely on heavy scripting, cast manipulation by producers, and editing to create episodes and watercooler moments, which is why when an authentic one (or as authentic as one can be in reality TV) like the one Tyra offered up goes down, it truly is shocking because reality TV is finally accomplishing what it rarely does: capturing people behaving naturally as if the cameras aren’t there. But more importantly, the real reason Tyra’s monologue resonated with so many people, and especially other black women (myself includ
ed), is because it showed the outside world how many black moms read their chillrens the riot act when they get out of line.

  To some, this may seem extreme or over the top. And, sure, is it occasionally true that reprimanding a child passionately can unintentionally veer into “No . . . wire . . . hangers” territory? Yes, but usually the rant isn’t maniacal; instead, it’s rooted in love and concern. Black mamas (and papas) know the chips tend to be stacked against them and their children, that their kids will have a tougher time getting their foot in the door than their white counterparts, and, furthermore, that they’ll have less room for error once they get beyond the door. So even though Tiffany and Tyra aren’t blood relatives, Tyra was, for a generation of black models-in-training, their “mother” who knocked down barriers (she was the first black woman to be on the covers of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, GQ, and the Victoria’s Secret catalog, just to name a few), thus creating an easier path for folks such as Tiffany. This is not to say that ANTM isn’t fun entertainment—it is—but I’d argue that Tyra also had skin in the game when it came to Tiff and her future success, hence the blowup.

  I imagine Tyra reacted the way she did because people such as herself, Beverly Johnson, Iman, Alek Wek, Roshumba Williams, etc., worked tirelessly to open up opportunities for girls like Tiffany. Thus, when Tiffany was intent on rejecting herself before anyone else could, it must have been like a slap in the face to Tyra. Furthermore, Ty-Ty knew that Tiffany’s public display of self-pity was a luxury she could not afford, especially in an industry that, like many others, will, because of her skin color, mistake a common moment of weakness as a reflection of her character. Tyra, like all black parents, knew that the stakes, no matter how unfair, are much higher for someone like Tiffany than for a person from a different economic and racial background. So in that moment when Tyra yelled, “I was rooting for you; we were all rooting for you,” everything I just described was probably racing through her mind, along with the realization that she perhaps wanted this for Tiffany more than Tiff wanted it for herself. And while Tyra might be the pop culture face of that realization and iconic statement, the truth is, that isn’t just a black-mama feeling; it’s a universal one we’ve all experienced.