I’m covering the Vancouver’s Next Drag Superstar competition for Daily Xtra (which you can read about here), and am really happy with how my head shots turned out from opening night! Here are some of the under-26 competitors.
Just in time for the Holidays, from this week’s Dear Virgie:
“People use food to convey affection and to signify celebration. We use food as a quick way to feel pleasure, and for some people, food is the cheapest and easiest way to access positive sensations. Food has long been symbolic. And so I don’t think the ideal relationship with food is one of detachment.”
Read more here.
I was actually really excited to read this. Learning how to “fail” (or how to view failure as productive) is important. It was disappointing to realize that the author did not intend to apply argument to the pressures placed on women’s bodies.
Feeling like a failure because of what your body looks like is just as harmful, stressful, and negative as failing in other aspects of your life, maybe even more so because as you move on from other failures, you will never move on from your body. Fatphobic humour isn’t a funny way to make your point.
This article does serve, though, as an excellent example of how to “fall flat on your face.”
… All of them worry that they need to lose 10 pounds.
It’s terribly frustrating for me to witness this endless second-guessing. The problem is, I do it, too. Despite having written five books, I worry that I have not written the right kinds of books, or that perhaps I have dedicated too much of my life to writing, and have therefore neglected other aspects of my being. (Like, I could really stand to lose 10 pounds.)
Fancy expensive designer shops are out for me as I’m a size 18, sometimes 20, and I therefore do not count as a woman to them…
… Then I went onto Twitter and it was like a pin to my excitable red balloon. Literally thousands of messages from people criticising my appearance. I was fat and ugly as per usual. My dress (the one that caused ooohs in a department store fitting room?) was destroyed by the masses. I looked like a nana, my dress was disgusting, was it made out of curtains, why was I wearing black shoes with it. I cried. I cried in the car.
And that wasn’t the end. The next day, I was in newspapers pilloried for what I was wearing. I was discussed and pulled apart on Lorraine.
I’m sorry. I thought I had been invited to such an illustrious event because I am good at my job. Putting clothes on is such a small part of my day. They may as well have been criticising me for brushing my teeth differently to them.
Yes, there were lovely messages from my fans between the hate but the hate was dominant and made me upset at first and then furious. Why does it matter so much what I was wearing? Why did no one ask my husband where he got his suit from? I felt wonderful in that dress. And surely that’s all that counts. I made a decision the following day that should I ever be invited to attend the Baftas again, I will wear the same dress. To make the point that it doesn’t matter what I wear; that’s not what I’m being judged on.
You can read Sarah Millican’s full essay here.