If you’re a subscriber to The Uncool Club, you may be getting a little bit of déjà vu from this post. I wrote this piece for the last edition of the newsletter, but it got such a great reception that I’ve decided to share it on here, too. And if you’re not a subscriber, you can join the club here! Enjoy!
When I was a little younger (I’m talking 16-20, not so much as an actual child) I used to dread the summer months. During these years of my life I varied in size from an 8 to a 16 and. whatever size I was, I spent the entire time thinking I needed some sort of dramatic weight loss to be happy.
Winter was my favourite time of year. I could wear leggings! And boots! And big wooly jumpers! So many layers to cover up that body of mine. The body which, in my mind, was unsuitable to show to the general public. That body which, in my mind, needed to change shape, size and colour to be acceptable.
I would have so much anxiety when the weather started getting warmer. I’m naturally a very warm person (temperature wise. Personality wise, not so much…) so I’d worry I was going to spend the whole summer a sweaty, uncomfortable, sad, chubby mess. I’d worry I couldn’t wear certain things because my thighs would chaif and I’d have to get my legs out. I’d worry I’d have to get my arms out, covered in speckly skin, paler than a ghost and prone to burning in 0.2 seconds flat at the vague appearance of daylight. I’d worry I’d not find any clothes that ~complimented my shape~ and people would judge me.
In short, It was exhausting.
Bag: Topshop (similar)
Then, last year, something just clicked. I don’t even know what it was, what caused it or why it happened, but I just didn’t give a fuck. I wore SHORTS. Out of choice!! I wore mini dresses! And I spent the whole summer so happy. I bought clothes I liked, rather than fretting they wouldn’t suit me. I started experimenting with my style, consciously choosing things that were appropriate for the temperature, rather than deeming it appropriate for my body shape. And, because of that revelation, I’m actually excited for summer this year for the first time ever.
How did I do it? I know it’s a cop-out answer to say “I don’t know”, but I don’t. I don’t know if it comes with age, or with independence, or with simply being exhausted with constantly criticizing yourself, but I suddenly realised I didn’t care. Nobody was judging me, and if they were I’d never see them again so let them judge. I was comfortable because I wasn’t trying to cover up in the heat, which relaxed me. I did fun things with people I loved.
I realised life is too short to give a fuck about what you might look like, how others might see you and what people you don’t know think of you. Life is too damn short to care about anything other than staying cool in hot weather.
So, this summer, I urge you to do the same. Wear what you want. Enjoy the weather. Stop giving a fuck. It feels bloody awesome.