Lauren strapagiel
‘If someone wants to spawn a hashtag for the particular sentiment of “meh,” I will gladly magic marker it across my flesh’
I’ ll admit to being one of those people who’s walked out of a plus-size retailer, a new purchase in hand, and turned the bag to hide the “14+” logo screaming from the side.
It’s not as if anyone passing me on the street is keenly observing what’s in my hand, let alone from which shop it originated. And even a casual observer would notice I can’t squeeze into a size two. But, regardless, I’ve felt that twinge of discomfort in displaying even a hint at my dress size, even if my physical presence demonstrates the obvious. For all the feminist-driven rhetoric about body acceptance and selfworth I’ve ingested and gleefully regurgitated over the years, I’m more ashamed by my occasional unease than by my body itself. And I suspect even some of the fiercest plus-sized fashionistas supporting the new “Drop the Plus” campaign have felt it, too.
The push to scrub ourselves of the “plus size” label was kicked off by Ajay Rochester, the former host of The Biggest Loser Australia — a show that may be the most exploitative portrayal of people with large bodies to grace television screens. In an Instagram photo, Rochester can be seen with her hand on her hips and the words, “I am a woman” scrawled across her stomach. The message below read, “We are all women. Many shapes and sizes. It’s not us vs. them. We are sisters! #droptheplus.”
She was joined by Stefania Ferrario, an Australian model, who wrote, “Let’s have models of ALL shapes, sizes and ethnicities, and drop the misleading labels. I’m NOT proud to be called ‘plus,’ but I AM proud to be called a ‘model,’ that is my profession!”
Fair enough. Reportedly a size eight, Ferrario can’t actually wear the clothes sold as “plus size.” In this, the campaign accurately points out the absurdity of how models who can fill out something larger than a runway sample size are automatically labelled “plus,” even if they’re not. It’s a fact that further highlights the arbitrary nature of “plus” sizing. Plus what, exactly? While the line has been drawn in the sand at size 14, why not start them at size 10 or size 16?
Peculiarities of the language aside, the Drop the Plus campaign misses the mark in the same way another catchy hashtag in the name of female empowerment did. #BanBossy, started by Facebook bigwig Sheryl Sandberg, with celebrity support from the likes of Beyoncé, wanted everyone to stop calling girls and women “bossy” when they were simply displaying desirable leadership qualities. As Sandberg’s many detractors pointed out, the word itself isn’t the problem since, after all, any woman with a modicum of power knows what names they’re actually called.
Similarly, “plus” isn’t the issue — it’s probably the most benign word imaginable to characterize larger women. The problem is what it has always been: fat.
In a segment on HuffPost Live, Rochester said the way the fashion industry places larger women in a distinct category is unhealthy and damages self-esteem. “It leads to bullying because it paves the way for people to call other people fat,” she said.
Unless the word “fat” is destigmatized — unless a woman’s self-worth isn’t so tied to her physical form — taking away the term “plus size” will not make an ounce of difference to anyone’s self-esteem. What it might do, however, is provide a disservice to the people working on that destigmatization. There’s a wide community of bloggers and “fatshionistas” who have centred themselves on the term, swapping style tips and inspiring confidence at any size.
For more practical purposes, the “plus size” label clearly delineates where to find not only appropriate sizes, but appropriate cuts. Despite the plus-size clothing market raking in billions for those taking part, retailers who choose to keep their sizes 12 and under aren’t going to suddenly start stocking larger sizes because the label on that market segment disappeared.
Largely, though, Drop the Plus is yet another symptom of the endless debate, politicization and hashtagging of larger women’s bodies. Women of all shapes and sizes can tell you how tiresome objectification is, but for plus-size ladies there’s a push and pull between those screaming “drop some weight, fatty” and those crying back “love your curves, beautiful.”
Which takes me back to that aforementioned guilt for feeling a tug of embarrassment for my own closet of plus-size clothing. While I admire those who fight for “fat acceptance,” I’ve never identified with that cause. Nor have I given over to a wholesale hatred of whatever nasty adjectives my body is said to represent. Rather, when I look in the mirror most days, the result is a ambivalence. A resounding “meh.” If someone wants to spawn a hashtag for that sentiment, I will gladly magic marker it across my ample flesh.
Ditching the term ‘plus size’ won’t change anyone’s self-esteem