OK, so as you can imagine after the Fat and Bitter Paris Fashion Week debacle and a 24+ hour flight home from our Italian Viaggio...tired and cranky had emerged as the words dejour to describe myself and my trusty travelling companions G-Star and Madster...
Once again I need to digress and (for visual purposes think thought bubble over little fat Me's head) enter the world of my monologue aka soliloquy...
To premise this entry I would like to pose a question...at what point in human evolution did it become acceptable to engage in any of the following activities:
1. Ram your trolley into the back of the person in front of you?
2. Call a complete stranger fat, ugly, repulsive etc
3. Get completely and staggeringly shit faced and punch, spit, bitch slap, vomit etc anyone, anywhere?
4. Ignore any and all accepted norms of social propriety, manners, courtesy etc etc
5. Look like a low priced street walker with a limited grasp of the English language and verbally insult a complete stranger for showing some level of consideration to other people?
Yes the list could go on an on....but I think in essence you get the picture of my confusion...but, you may well ask, from whence did this stem???
Well, back to our Australian return...as mentioned after an incredibly long (and I mean LONG) flight no-one is looking or feeling their best (exceptions to this rule may be the bastards who can afford to travel first class but for the unwashed masses like my fat little self...it was cattle all the way baby...cattle all the way)....
Having made our way through immigration and collected our now sizable amount of luggage from the carousel, we were heading to customs (being good global citizens we were declaring out box of Parisian chocolates and Limoncello)...The G-Star, Madster and myself were patiently waiting in the line that was being directed by the Customs Officer when a 'charming' piece of trailer trash decided that 'we' were not moving fast enough for her...the fact that the line wasn't moving at all was evidently beyond the mental capacity of said individual but I digress...as a consequence of our 'tardiness' said piece of trailer trash thought it socially acceptable to ram her trolley into the back of the G-Star with the eloquent demand to 'keep movin'...G-Star (who to my surprise was relatively calm) turned around and highlighted that given the line wasn't moving she wasn't going to be so rude as to ram her trolley into the back of someones leg...said unintelligent individual then let some diabolical diatribe of verbal diarrhea spew forth at G-Star (which the G-Star chose to ignore) but given I was, as previously mentioned a little tired and a lot cranky, I turned to said Hooka (I am obviously utilising African American slang which paints a better picture of the said individual we are discussing) and politely informed her that some people have manners and as such show a level of politeness when waiting in lines....well apparently this was a little too much for the Einsteinium individual who then chose to respond with (and I quote)..."What you call manners I call style which some of us have...given you are quite BIG it's no wonder you don't have any style..." Now I must admit, I was slightly caught off guard with being called fat by a complete stranger...this may seem somewhat surprising given I have an entire blog, twitter account and life dedicated to my fatness but being called fat by some piece of white trash hookaesk Neanderthal at the Brisbane international airport did, I must admit disconcert me.... so I guess you are wondering how I responded...minutes later I had ascribe numerous witty comebacks relating to her mental prowess (or lack their of), the fact that she obviously hadn't mentally developed beyond year 2 and calling the poor little fat girl fat and laughing at her, the fact that she obviously charged by the hour - and not that much given her appearance etc etc but alas, still being somewhat dumbfounded at being called fat by this cretinous piece of trailer trash I responded with the following 'This is really a sad welcome back to Australia if you're the first Australian we have come across..." To which she responded "Aussie, born and bred' to which I then responded with 'well that truly is a sad indictment on Australia..."...once again, English obviously not being said individuals strong point (I think it was the word indictment that confused) little Miss Hooka Trailer Trash then proceeded to spew forth the following "If I looked like you I wouldn't even step foot outside of me house....' and some such other equally intelligent and insulting verbal diarrhoea....the G-Star and Madster were both completely oblivious to all that transpired and the scene ended with the Hooka heading off to go through customs in another cue...
So...now you are a little the wiser as to my outburst regarding manners, appropriateness and acceptable sociable behaviour...I am hoping beyond hope that said individual is an exception to the rule and that we should pity her, her lack of education, her lack of earning/career potential, or lack of well any redeeming quality at all really and that people, and particularly women are far more evolved and advanced than this poor example of an 'Australian Woman'....here's hoping...
What did surprise me from a personal perspective was how affronted I was at being called fat...even though I am completely self deprecating and utilise the 'f' word in all of my correspondence and communications it really did shock and somewhat undermine me to be called fat by a complete stranger...I suppose the problem was, on reflection, that in societal terms, in spite of my efforts over the last 4+ months and having lost 13+kg, I am still in essence...FAT and considered to be so by society at large....this started me thinking about what is FAT??? Who defines what FAT is??? Is Fat size 14...size 16 or my current size 18??? Is fat a derogatory term that people (complete strangers) feel it is perfectly OK to spit out at unsuspecting 'fat' people in order to demean and embarrass...has FAT become the pinnacle of insults...worse than bitch....unintelligent/stupid/moronic etc etc
When did the word FAT gain so much social disdain that it hurts so much....
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Fat and Bitter = Paris Fashion Week
OK...picture this is you possibly can...as you are all aware the G-Star, Madster and I set off on our Italian Viaggio in early September still hovering at the fat god demeaning 100kg mark and having embarked on a new prescription medicines regime in the hopes of moving my metabolism into, well a slow crawl would be a step upwards come to think of it...after three plus exciting, food challenging and marathon walking weeks throughout bella Italia we were destined for the exotic, well perhaps not exotic but Parisian shores of gay Pari!!!
Paris was to be our blow out stop...our 'we are rock stars' moment blowing a considerable amount of savings on staying at a 4 and a half star hotel on the rue de Rivoli (which turns into the Champs Elise) across the road from the Louvre and the Tuleries...well you get the picture. So having spent three weeks on beds akin to travetine and marble, the luxury and decadence of Hotel St James and Albany was calling and unbeknown to us...so to was Paris Fashion Week!!!
Please try, for a moment at least, to imagine this...after travelling (not holidaying) for four weeks, living out of a suitcase in a range of average to very average hotels throughout the length and breadth of Italy, having trained, bused, walked, waddled (and yes at times perhaps even crawled) through a myriad of tourist meccas, out of the way villages, monuments, gondolas, vaporettos, taxis and possibly a horse or mule (just kidding but work with me here) we arrived in Paris DURING PARIS FASHION WEEK looking, well...LIKE WHAT THE BLOODY CAT DRAGGED IN!!!!
The fat gods were obviously at their finest during this time because it appears that our hotel of choice was one of the (if not THE) key hotels for the cat walk models, designers, buyers, lapdogs, try hards, wanna bes etc etc from across the friggin globe all there in the Parisian fantasy that is...the world wide fashion industry.
As they say (who they is I am not quite sure but I will go with it)...one 'man's' dream is another little fat ducks nightmare and so....ENTER MY NIGHTMARE!!!
(This segway is a little thought bubble so to speak, a personal monologue for your reading pleasure)...
I have never viewed myself as a bitter person...a fat person yes...at times a cranky person...si si....on more than one occasion a smart arse person..oui oui... but never a bitter person...Paris Fashion week has changed me 4EVA!!! Even my grasp of the English language seems to have been adversely affected...
I had never really given 'fashion' much of a thought previously. Perhaps as a fat person, 'fashion' actually, more often than not equates to finding something, anything that will fit and doesn't look like a mou mou. My 'dress sense' has a few staples, fat people's jeans, fat shirts (one's that hang like a tent but are truly like a warm embracing hug) and business attire - this part of my wardrobe can be summed up in one word...black. Therefore you can imagine my consternation, surprise, disgust, wonderment, incredulity, curiousness at what is the world of 'fashion' alla Parisian style.
Where does one start...with the emaciated models that look like stick insects and are, as the Madster so eloquently put it, glorified clothes hangers, should we start with the concept of an entire industry based on the premise of 'thinness'. The idea that a sack with a chain as a belt short enough to see the model's 'muffin' constitutes 'fashion', the obscene amounts of money spent by 'high class' fashion 'buyers' who will then go forth and...and what dictate to young girls and women of all ages that their bodies are vile and all wrong because they don't fit into a size 000 - which I naively thought related to new born baby clothing... (I did warn you people...bitter!)
Suffice to say, it was a bit of a stand out that the G-Star and myself were not, I repeat NOT part of the fashion contingent that had be felled Paris for the week...the fact that we were wearing the same clothes day in day out, washed in the basin of our bathroom and left to dry atop the towel rack...no we definitely were not 'fashionable'...
Speaking of so called 'fashion'...I had little to no luck in purchasing any additional clothing (other than shoes because as we all know tits and toes people...tits and toes...is where the weight has disappeared from!)... I think, whether fortunately or unfortunately, I have gotten to the point where attempting to buy clothes from anywhere other than Myer's Fat Peoples (read fat womens') section is a bit beyond my chubby fat comfort zone...so in essence...I don't even bother...once again I reiterate people...FAT AND BITTER!!!
So, Paris Fashion week was really the week that wasn't for fat little old me....my bitterness is only now subsiding 3 weeks AFTER my return from my Italian viaggio and Paris fiasco....but wait the next entry my rage reaches a whole new level....welcome back to Australia fatty....
Paris was to be our blow out stop...our 'we are rock stars' moment blowing a considerable amount of savings on staying at a 4 and a half star hotel on the rue de Rivoli (which turns into the Champs Elise) across the road from the Louvre and the Tuleries...well you get the picture. So having spent three weeks on beds akin to travetine and marble, the luxury and decadence of Hotel St James and Albany was calling and unbeknown to us...so to was Paris Fashion Week!!!
Please try, for a moment at least, to imagine this...after travelling (not holidaying) for four weeks, living out of a suitcase in a range of average to very average hotels throughout the length and breadth of Italy, having trained, bused, walked, waddled (and yes at times perhaps even crawled) through a myriad of tourist meccas, out of the way villages, monuments, gondolas, vaporettos, taxis and possibly a horse or mule (just kidding but work with me here) we arrived in Paris DURING PARIS FASHION WEEK looking, well...LIKE WHAT THE BLOODY CAT DRAGGED IN!!!!
The fat gods were obviously at their finest during this time because it appears that our hotel of choice was one of the (if not THE) key hotels for the cat walk models, designers, buyers, lapdogs, try hards, wanna bes etc etc from across the friggin globe all there in the Parisian fantasy that is...the world wide fashion industry.
As they say (who they is I am not quite sure but I will go with it)...one 'man's' dream is another little fat ducks nightmare and so....ENTER MY NIGHTMARE!!!
(This segway is a little thought bubble so to speak, a personal monologue for your reading pleasure)...
I have never viewed myself as a bitter person...a fat person yes...at times a cranky person...si si....on more than one occasion a smart arse person..oui oui... but never a bitter person...Paris Fashion week has changed me 4EVA!!! Even my grasp of the English language seems to have been adversely affected...
I had never really given 'fashion' much of a thought previously. Perhaps as a fat person, 'fashion' actually, more often than not equates to finding something, anything that will fit and doesn't look like a mou mou. My 'dress sense' has a few staples, fat people's jeans, fat shirts (one's that hang like a tent but are truly like a warm embracing hug) and business attire - this part of my wardrobe can be summed up in one word...black. Therefore you can imagine my consternation, surprise, disgust, wonderment, incredulity, curiousness at what is the world of 'fashion' alla Parisian style.
Where does one start...with the emaciated models that look like stick insects and are, as the Madster so eloquently put it, glorified clothes hangers, should we start with the concept of an entire industry based on the premise of 'thinness'. The idea that a sack with a chain as a belt short enough to see the model's 'muffin' constitutes 'fashion', the obscene amounts of money spent by 'high class' fashion 'buyers' who will then go forth and...and what dictate to young girls and women of all ages that their bodies are vile and all wrong because they don't fit into a size 000 - which I naively thought related to new born baby clothing... (I did warn you people...bitter!)
Suffice to say, it was a bit of a stand out that the G-Star and myself were not, I repeat NOT part of the fashion contingent that had be felled Paris for the week...the fact that we were wearing the same clothes day in day out, washed in the basin of our bathroom and left to dry atop the towel rack...no we definitely were not 'fashionable'...
Speaking of so called 'fashion'...I had little to no luck in purchasing any additional clothing (other than shoes because as we all know tits and toes people...tits and toes...is where the weight has disappeared from!)... I think, whether fortunately or unfortunately, I have gotten to the point where attempting to buy clothes from anywhere other than Myer's Fat Peoples (read fat womens') section is a bit beyond my chubby fat comfort zone...so in essence...I don't even bother...once again I reiterate people...FAT AND BITTER!!!
So, Paris Fashion week was really the week that wasn't for fat little old me....my bitterness is only now subsiding 3 weeks AFTER my return from my Italian viaggio and Paris fiasco....but wait the next entry my rage reaches a whole new level....welcome back to Australia fatty....
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