Why do I care? Why do I mind what I look like? Why do I want to look better than I do?
I have discovered that that is a very difficult question to answer.
I do want to give a message that I’m not beige.
I’d like to add a message that I am restrained, a delicate, non greedy eater. Umm – why do I want to present a lie to the world?!
I want to be healthy. But I also love playing the delinquent with Charles, indulging the forbidden together…. I love that most, but we try to restrain each other too, in the interest of being healthy. So we are healthyish, but not thin.
To wear great clothes? Well, I do love clothes – at least partly for their fabrics, colours, the sheer sensual, aesthetic pleasure of them. And it is horrible when I try something gorgeous on and then looking makes my heart sink.
I do like Charles to like how I look and he does tell me (both the yes and the no). He enjoys clothes too (including his own) and I love that.
I like my friends to like how I look too – caring about what I wear for them is a way of telling them I care about them. And that I think they are discriminating enough to like well chosen clothes. And to share and talk about them together.
But I expect them to shut up about my being too fat. And they do, being friends.
I notice that my reaction to seeing friends is pleasure and recognition, a quick, inevitable check as to whether they are OK, and then a look at what they’re wearing. If it’s good, it will pleasure me all evening.
It doesn’t distress me if they look a little fat. Far from it. From which I would have to deduce that to please your friends, gain a little weight?
But sure as hell I don’t do it for that reason. Why not?