The 12 Stretch.

Like the majority of women in the world, I'm not that body confident. I do look at other girls wishing I had their legs/bum/tum and pick faults with myself when I'm looking in the mirror. But - you have to tease me into the gym. Yep, I'm one of THOSE people. The only types of exercise I regularly indulge in involve doing laps up and down the high street, the occasional persuasive lunge to squeeze myself into a pair of jeans within the strict boundaries of a changing room, or the somewhat contortionist yoga movements involved in unleashing yourself from a top that you realise, only after putting it on, is far too small for you.

 More recently I’ve found myself doing reps of a new kind; a stretch and hold exercise guaranteed to lengthen and tone the arm….I call it the ‘Size 12 Stretch’.

Image: Pinterest

I remember a simpler time; a time where I could leisurely feel around behind the 8s and 10s before finding myself a size 12 and heading on my merry way to the till. No more. Nowadays I have to weave past the 4s, avoid eye contact with the 6s, fight through the fleet of 8s taking up half of the rail and ask the size 10s for directions before reaching the tops flirting with the back wall…my beloved size 12s.

I’m not here to argue on behalf of the ‘real girls’. In my opinion, a girls weight doesn’t determine her existence. I’m sure to all of those born petite or for those exercising their way to the front of the clothes rail…being excluded from the 'real' gang just because of their weight must be pretty hurtful. However, I can’t help but notice a decline in anything above a size 10 being properly stocked in high street stores, making way for the petite parade.

4,4,4,6,6,6,6,6,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,8,10,10,10,10,10,10,12- BINGO!!

With all this excessive stretching, my issue is no longer finding a size 12….it’s finding a size 12 with a sleeve generous enough to accommodate my Popeye-lookin’ super muscly right arm.

Maybe I’ll just stick to online shopping ’til I can bump myself up the rail to the 8 Reach or the 4 Grab…

x

Stop, drop and roll...

Like I've mentioned before, one of the best/worst parts of my job is all the clothes/shoes/websites I'm exposed to. Sometimes I'm just sitting minding my own business when BAM! An email with so and so's new A/W collection comes through. And while I know I should stop, drop, and roll the hell away from it... I never, ever do.

I thought I'd share a couple of my finds with you - first up is Sheinside.com. Think a mix between Asos and eBay, but without the bidding. They do Free Trials with a few different items every week - all you have to do is like their Facebook Page and share the Trial Item on Facebook, and they pick a winner! Worth it for some new threads, right? 

Aside from the freebies, the rest of the website has a lot to offer. There's a good mix of copycat fashions (think Zara coats and Asos denims) and individual designs - all at shamazing prices. I tend to go for the free delivery, which can take 5-15 days, but you can also get Express delivery in a few days for about a fiver. They're really good at keeping you informed with when the item has been dispatched and give a tracking order incase you get antsy about when the beautiful little package is getting dropped on your doorstep. Finally - as if I've not sold it already - every time you make a purchase, you receive She Inside points which eventually land you a VIP status on the website. I'm not sure what that means yet, but c'mon guys! VIP! 

Next up is a sentence I thought I'd never say. I am a Nasty Gal. 

Oh yes, that's right! Well no, it's not right actually. I am a self-proclaimed nasty gal due to my strong love for fashion website Nastygal.com and all there completely un-nasty pretty, pretty clothes. Admittedly, the name put me off before I even browsed the website (I'm a bit of a snob like that I guess) but man am I glad I looked anyway (even if it was for purely judgemental reasons at first). It's like Asos with all the catalogue-y crap cut out, and because it's a UK version of an American site it's different from stuff you'll find on its UK counterparts. Plus a lot of the staple items are slightly cheaper! I've not bought anything from the site yet (oh Pay Day, where for art thou?) but as soon as I do I'm sure there will be a post about it - I predict many a purchase in the future!

x

The Missing Sisterhood.

If there's one thing that I learnt in Australia (apart from: DO NOT sleep anywhere near a dingo, of course) it was that women can be complete cows to eachother. I realise that I didn't need to travel across the world to come to this shock realisation, but it did inspire me to write about the bitchy middens that we are.

Image: Pinterest

As I melt into my seat on the train at Flinders Street, contemplating whether the stifling heat deems partial nudity on public transport acceptable behaviour, I fan myself with the free newspaper that was thrust into my arms on the way to the platform. I’m feeling dangerous, so I attempt to move my bare leg from the leather seat beneath me, only to realise upon ripping it off that any skin making contact with the seat is now closer to velcro than any sort of human matter it may have resembled earlier this morning. My hair has frizzed, my hands are clammy….my makeup has slid so far off my face my nipples are almost wearing mascara.

Just then, the doors of the train swoosh open, and on struts a beautiful, tall, DRY young woman. Not a drop of moisture on her, I look on in awe as she gracefully makes her way through the train carriage. Thinking back now, it all happened in slow motion. There was a lot of hair swishing. Like some sort of shampoo ad. That’s a severely dazed, sweaty, dehydrated account of what happened though, so don’t quote me on it. As she gazes through the crowds with her big baby blues looking for a seat, it is only then that I take a second to look around at my fellow commuters and realise a pattern; men are either gazing at her open mouthed or silently battling it out with one another to be crowned the most eligible train companion. Women, on the other hand, are unimpressed, hostile, judgmental, even jealous?  I admit it, this broad left me feeling like no treat, but did I hold it against her? No! So it got me thinking…

Confidence is a funny thing; its what we’re told we should have, the thing that some people lack…sometimes confidence is even considered unattractive. Confused? Me too.

We all have days when we feel like we’re not good enough, or even just that we’re not as good as some others. Am I right? But maybe our inner perceptions of ourselves are whats really holding us back. If I’m having a thunder thighs thursday and encounter a tall leggy girl in cut off denims with her legs out to the world, I’m immediately conscious of the size of my legs…quick to criticise my unsuspecting victim in an attempt to lighten the blow my ego has just taken. What kind of logic is there in that sort of thinking? The majority of us seem to have fallen foul to this horrible habit that’s crept up on us and made itself feel right at home in our sub-conscious, only revealing itself when we happen to cross paths with someone we feel inferior to. What if that seemingly perfect woman you were just glaring at was looking right back at you, admiring your hair/clothes/figure/eyes/general loveliness, albeit with the same bitterness you feel towards her. Would you be able to see what she sees?

The media drown us in stories of confident women- the (s)heroics of those who love themselves just enough to be admired, but not so much that they are found intimidating. Where is the fine line? Can Beyoncé be confident because she balances her bootylicious-ness with a strong hatred for her knees? If I’m feeling particularly foxy one day, should I voice how I feel about my bad skin to prevent myself from sounding full of it? With a calculated, but conflicting, pic’n'mix of celebrated curves, eating disorders, fad diets and ‘big is beautiful’ articles narrating popular culture, I find it easier to live my life as a confi -don’t.

x