Dear Samantha Brick,
Hello. Let me just say straight off the bat that I am not
intimidated by your beauty. No, really I'm not. I acknowledge that you are far
more attractive than I, but I don't hate you for it. My dislike of you in the
past has been for other reasons, but as this is a positive correspondence let
us not talk of that and move on to pastures new.
How are you? Are you ok? I'm sure you're doing great in your
work, getting lots of praise from your bosses for all the traffic you are
bringing in to the Daily Mail with your writing. I bet you're on cloud nine
there in your size 12 jewel coloured dresses. I do worry about you though, some
of the things you write make me feel sad. That is, I assume you write them. For
all I know, you may be a 55 year old cigar smoking male journalist who hires
his cleaning lady to pose for photos and TV interviews. But let's just assume
for the sake of argument - although I assure you this isn't an argument - that
you believe with 100% conviction everything you've written.
I wanted to write this because I felt it was my duty to
reach out to you, girl to girl, woman to woman, sister to sister and let you
know that it's okay, it's all okay. Life doesn't have to be the way you so
eloquently paint it in your columns. Women don't need to spend their time in
fear and dread, spitting venom at each other across the neatly folded piles of
skinny jeans in Top Shop.
I'm going to tell you something shocking now, are you ready?
Women can be friends, real friends; friends who love and support each other
even if they are beautiful, skinny, successful, mothers of 6 or simply blonde.
It makes me very sad to know that you never seem to have experienced that. It
seems to be that femininity is a war to you; a war with yourself and every other woman on
the planet to be the thinnest, most beautiful, most desired. It doesn't have to
be like that.
I have 3 best friends. They are all slimmer than me and - in
my opinion - prettier than me. And this may sound crazy to you, but I don't
hate them for it. In fact, I rarely think about it. When I think of them, I'm
not thinking of how their thighs look in yoga pants, or why their tummy doesn't
overhang their jeans. I think of their smiles; of laughing; of laughing a lot,
until tears flow (and sometimes a bit of wee too). I think of nights where much
wine is consumed along with copious amounts of onion rings, Pringles and
Chinese food. I think of them hugging me, crying with me, holding me up and
telling me in a thousand ways verbal and otherwise how much they love me.
That's friendship.
It's the life I know, where women support each other, build
up each other and never tear each other down with one-up-manship over any aspect
of their lives. We don't spend our time comparing the haves and have-nots of
each other's lives. We're too busy enjoying the friendship we have right there.
It's magnificent, and so far away from the Daily Mail world of nude shoes and misogyny,
and it breaks my heart that this world seems completely alien to you.
Female company can be joyous, carefree and relaxed. So can
eating.
Can I tell you something else shocking? You might need to
sit down for this one. Being fat is OK. Really, believe me. I know you feel
that you can speak from experience because you were "chubby" up to
the age of 13, but hey, what do kids really know? Kids will bully other kids
for being too fat, too thin, too stupid, too clever, too tall or too small. As
an adult you realise that, and learn what and who you want to be and ignore
everyone else and what they may feel about it. Someone seems to have forgotten
to tell you that.
I have been varying degrees of fat all my life. I'm now the
fattest I've ever been, and you know what? It's fine. I don't live my life in
misery. I don't shut myself away, wear sack-cloth and believe the biggest
charity work I can do is not expose my massively jiggly flesh to the world. In
fact, most of the time I'm a pretty darn happy fat person.
What you may find even more shocking is that I'm married,
and not to a massively obese man either. He finds me attractive naked, whatever
size I am, with stretch marks, cellulite, fat rolls and the occasional fart
(okay, maybe more than occasional). I have never had any problem with
attracting male attention and I'm not alone.
Whoever told you that no man or woman will ever find a fat
woman attractive lied to you - FLAT. OUT. LIED. There are women twice the size
of me who have male (and female) lovers who are at this very minute chasing them
round the bedroom, giggling and desperate to get a handful of their gorgeous soft
body to make mad passionate love to them.
It's a bit depressing that you wipe the sex life of these
millions of people off the face of the earth because you've been told by
hateful, controlling men (and women) that they simply can't exist. For many men
fat isn't an issue. It's not a plus, it's not a minus, it's just a fact like
brown hair or one of those weird bendy thumbs some lucky folks have. And yes,
for some men it's a bonus - a whopping great squishy, delicious bonus to see a
woman whose body ripples with curves and bumps and mysterious crevices that can
be touched and kissed.
If you were in need of a bit of comfort, what can be more
welcoming than something soft, yielding, warm and welcoming like the bosom or
tummy of a larger woman? It's tactile and glorious, and sexy as hell.
And even if it wasn't, would you want to be loved by someone
whose definition of love is so strict that you can never change. A man who
threatens to divorce you if you change in a superficial way, isn't a man who
loves the bones of you. He loves what he sees, what you represent, but who you
are? Someone who loves you as a whole being wouldn't care. Perfume in a candle,
in a lotion, in a spray or bottle to be dabbed upon your neck all smells as
sweet. The packaging doesn't matter.
Of course, it's understandable that Joan Collins would want
to stay thin to keep the work coming in. That's her choice, and a lot of it is
related to the type of roles she is offered and seeks. But the idea that she's
still successful is down to her figure is troublesome, because you know who
else is still successful? Pauline Quirk and Dawn French and Judi Dench and
Brenda Blethyn and Allison Steadman and Kathy Burke and Kathy Bates and... Well,
I could go on and on.
These ladies are successful - like Joan - because of their
talent, their charisma, their intelligence and their grace. Waist size really
has nothing to do with it. And despite what you may believe, that is the way of
things in the real world too.
Women's successes are judged on their abilities and their
hearts and not what end of the clothing rail they reach for. As a writer, you
should be aware of the success of your peers. Harry Potter wasn't a massive
success because J K Rowling can slip into M&S size 10 jeans. Fay Wheldon,
Hilary Mantel, Toni Morrison, Val Mcdermid and a million other female writers
haven't sat at home biting their fingers and refusing to write a word until
they've lost that elusive 10lbs.
Of course, there are some deeply unpleasant people out there
who WILL judge you on size, but they are wrong. And it's wrong to give their
opinion credence, time or even thought.
Fat isn't a sign of failure. Living your life in misery in
order to satisfy someone else's idea of beauty and success is failure.
Neglecting the million and one joys in life to be experienced because you're
not thin enough or pretty enough, is a failure.
So, I extend this hand of friendship out to you, a hand you
seem to have never been offered before. Come and live life my way. Throw out
your casual-wear that extends only to pleated slacks and boat neck jumpers and
indulge in some jogging bottoms, or pyjama bottoms, or a onesie. Come and spend
a Saturday night in with my friends and I. You can bring some of that lovely
French wine, with some cheese and bread and a whacking great big jar of
Nutella. We can talk about art or films or what's your opinion on the very
important topic of how to fold socks (we once spent 2 hours on that topic). We
even have common ground, you and I. We both have husbands with a fondness for
guns (admittedly my husband's are all virtual and live in the XBox) and
handlebar moustaches. We can talk about the silly things they say. Maybe we can
spend some time with the works of French and Saunders, Katie Brand, Sandi
Toksvig, Meera Syal, Victoria Wood and you can see their success didn't connect
to how far the scales swung around under their earthly weight.
You can eat what you like, say what you like, burp, fart,
puke, cry and laugh. We won't judge you. And if you stick around we could watch
the whole series of My Mad Fat Diary where you can see a fat girl be awesome,
beautiful, funny - and loved by a very
hot guy. Maybe you'll hear and believe the epic line: "People can either
accept you for who you are, or they can fuck off".
Come and join us in a world of wonderful, witty, warm women
where fat isn't a failure. Fat is just fat.
