skinny on the my new life
After losing almost 70 pounds, CARRIE FISHER is leaving the past behind and is ready for romance
For the last four years, my fashion state ment was basically, “You wouldn’t have this in a larger size, would you?” There were days I could barely struggle into a size 46 6 or 48, months of larges and XXLS, , and endless rounds of leggings with h the elastic at the waist stretched to o its limit and beyond—topped with h the fashion equivalent of a tea cosy. sy. And always black, because I was in mourning for my slimmer self.
But I’m glad to report that my grieving days are behind me. Not only can I fit into mediums and— d— yes, I swear—even smalls without any problem, I can risk wearing the more- orethan-occasional colour.
People see me and they squeal like tropical birds or seals stranded on n the beach. Both friends and strangers s say, “Look at you. You look amazing.” (And they don’t even want to borrow money from me or ask me which Star Wars film was my favourite.)
Wow! I must’ve looked really awful. Maybe they’re being nice to me now because they know I’ll be fat again by fall of next year and on Dancing with the Stars by spring, being flung around televised dance floors in my glittering tea cosy.
No, as it turns out, I really like being congratulated on my weight loss. I like it so much, it’s tragic. I believe the technical term for this is “post-fat, flab, and fashion”. Or F3, as it’s commonly referred to in the business.
I wander around in a miraculous new body. A body much like the one I had before gaining something scarily close to 70 pounds. The body I forgot I once had—that one on-screen in an infamous metal bikini. It wasn’t until after that enviable body of mine went missing that I realised I’d ever had it at all. It turned out that I’d been some kind of geek centrefold. And I could go back to being hot, maybe not like I once was—you know, “in a galaxy far, far away” hot—but something almost that far out.
Gone forever are the days when there was more of me to love than humans inclined to give me that love. Now there might even be a human out there to love me the most. So, what now?
I kind of missed out on the whole dating thing because I didn’t want to give men the right to say that they’d had sex with Leia Organa. But since I’ve lost the weight, I’m more confident and I’m looking forward to dating. I’m ready to go out there and find my one and only, the hero to my heroine, the prince to my princess.
I’m now inches away from actually being the thinner woman who can join a dating web site, a site where I can type in my bra size without shame. (Not that asking for my bra size is even remotely appropriate on any application, with the exception of a form at the Playboy Mansion.) What I do realise now is that when people tell me I look great, they’re not just big liars or trying to be nice. And that’s worth a lot to me.
The best thing about potentially dating at this lower weight is that my so-called suitor has a choice. He’s no longer restricted to being able to like me for only my mind—no sirree, Bob. Now he can like me for my mind or my alternative, or both. Because I believe in the right to choose, don’t you?
Unfortunately, I have yet to find myself a human who I’m then able to provide with that option, which is one of the reasons I’m doing this article. I’m not quite on Facebook yet, so I thought that in the meantime, I would write about what it’ll be like when I eventually do date. And that will happen when my next (and final) husband reads this. Let’s get this party started.
Left: Fisher in 2009. Right: Showing off
a slimmer figure in 2011.