I get it, I'm overweight. When I sit down my tummy touches my thighs (partly because of posture, mostly because of Pepsi). When I shop for clothes I feel my bottom lip stick out a bit because the tops and dresses and skirts I really like are in the cute girl section, and I'm over in Floral Print City, hangin' with the other Big Girls buying blousey tops and super-support bras. But I can handle that. I was once a healthy weight; no muffin top, no cellulite (I still don't have cellulite, for the record, but it's assumed that I do because I've broken chairs just by sitting in them...true story). But being a Big Girl isn't something that troubles me, really. Jonas still follows me into the bedroom when he knows I'm going to be changing clothes. I still check out my own ass in the mirror at the tanning salon. I wear my Bigness, it doesn't wear me.
Having said that; the insecurity I've been fighting since puberty is one that isn't often talked about. I have a vivid memory of Christmas 1996: Titanic was just released at theaters and I went to a local Cinema to see it. Sitting there, sipping my BFF Pepsi waiting for the previews to end (when the lights are still on) I scanned the spectators around me. It was the usual bunch; pre-teen DiCapriaddicts, reluctant parents. Then I spotted them. A few rows down, just to my right, two feet propped on the chair in front of their owner. Planted at the end of her athletic legs were two tiny pink and white Nike's, slightly worn. I studied her feet, and the ratio of length to width. They were...what's the word...normal. I looked down at my banana boats and felt that familiar sting of jealousy.
Let me explain; as a Big Girl I have been the subject of some harsh ridicule. At work I was having a conversation about the wintery weather. I said, casually "I'm not built for this cold!" to which the vending guy immediately responded "Yeah ya are." Burn. As a Big Girl there are clothes I'm not comfortable wearing; tube tops (no one should, BTW), tight-fit button down tops (gaps), anything see-through. As a Big Girl I pretend not to notice when fellow patrons of the buffet try to beat me to the desert bar in fear that I'll stack everything on my plate and have it eaten before I reach my seat. And, believe it or not, I can handle all these things. As they say; I have a pretty personality (hahaha).
As a Big Girl with Big Feet I have literally cried in the middle of Payless. I walk passed aisles and aisles of size 6, 6 1/2, 7, 7 1/2, 8, 8 1/2. Stilettos, flats, loafers, sneakers, thongs, Fuck Me Pumps and decks. Beautiful, funky, chic, elegant, abstract, trendy. Once you reach the darkened corner at the back of the store there is a half rack with a handwritten sign that reads 9-10. Back here there are no shiny silver foot measuring thingy's. There are no cushioned pedestals with built-in mirrors to admire your new wedges. No eager employee to slide cute sandals over your soft little Cinderella feet. Nope. It's just you, 20 boxes of orthopedics and a random sequined platform nightmare. Just you and the harsh reminder that you're not a worthy demographic. You're a Big Girl with Big Girl Feet, and toes you can dial a rotary phone with. You could probably borrow your boyfriend's shoes. But not his pants, you'll never get them up over your hips.
When females become adults we (hopefully) have developed enough manners to refrain from calling Big Girls out as Big Girls to their face. I don't think I've ever been ostracized for my girth by another female. But my feet - my feet are fair game. "Oh my god, you have like the longest toes ever!" "I'd let you borrow my heels but you're feet are like 4 sizes bigger than mine." "I got these at Shoe Department, but I doubt they come in your size." Had any of these comments been aimed at my waist, instead of my feet, these would be fighting words. But since it's just feet, I'm supposed to accept this criticism and forget about it.
But I can't. Here's why: I'm OK with being a Big Girl, in part, because when I decide I want to be a Fit Girl or a Thin Girl, I can lose weight. I can work out and eat healthy and take supplements and join a gym and pay for Weight Watchers and purchase bell weights and give up my one-true-love Pepsi. When I decide that I'm no longer OK with being a Big Girl I have the power to change it. To change myself.
I have an 8 year old daughter. I've told her through-out her life that she needs to understand the difference between the things about herself she can change, and the things she cannot, and she can change her attitude toward the things that she cannot change about herself. For instance: she cannot change the fact that she has freckles. She can change how frustrated she is that they keep popping up everywhere by choosing to accept and celebrate them as tiny reminders of her heritage.
I'm reminded of this lesson as I stare at my ski feet, dreading the impending Spring and, with it, all the occasions I will inevitably be barefoot in front of others. I cannot change the size of my Yeti feet. I can change my attitude about them. My dad use to tell me "big feet are a strong foundation." It makes me smile to remember how keen he was to my insecurities. So as the Earth spins us predictably towards the Sun, and temperatures flirt with with the upper end of the thermostat, this Big Girl is going to make an honest effort to put on her Big Girl panties and take off her 9-13 socks.
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