The Vagaggle: Goodbye, Good Fatty

Hello everyone, first and foremost I would like to welcome you to my column.

For those of you not familiar with The Vagaggle, it is the name for a gaggle of vaginas and the name of my Instagram account (note: you do not have to physically have a vagina to be in The Vagaggle; who cares what’s between your legs, it’s all about what’s in your soul). In real life, The Vagaggle is a charming group of my gal pals who get together to discuss everything from how to destroy the patriarchy to how best to battle chub rub. Just a normal group of gals. Online, it’s a place for me to curate images and words that inspire me to be the best intersectional feminist I can be, and is - as always - a work in progress, and of course there are occasionally a few selfies.

So are you all sitting comfortably? Yes? Good, because today I am going to talk about the awakening of the dark side within me, the start of the online Vagaggle, the moment I became… A BAD FATTY.

Now obviously the worst thing a person can be is fat. After all, as we’re told by every women’s magazine on the damn planet, fat is disgusting and if you have any fat on your body you must make it your mission to obliterate those poor innocent cells until you are svelte like a gazelle. Getting rid of fat in our current day and age is kind of like a witch hunt. Woman scour their bodies in the mirror looking for their squishy parts and then scream ‘BURN THE FAT’ as they perform ritual dances which are supposed to target, tone and slim those parts.

I was no different, but the only problem is that no matter how much spinach I ate or how much blaSTED MY CORE TO THE EXTREEEEEMEEEEE… I was still podgy. Since the age of 18 I have never been below a UK size 14, and even that was fucking gruelling to keep up. We're talking a potent cocktail of Slimming World, Slimfast, daily gym visits and weighing myself twice a day every single damn day. Fuck me, that was exhausting even typing out. And my size just kept on creeping up, but the important thing is that I was a Good Fatty. I was doing all the things a fatty should do to keep up the illusion that they are trying to be thin: only eating salad when out to lunch; wearing shapeless, dark clothes to hide your unsightly body; turning down social engagements so you can go to the gym. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING.

Last year my beautiful friend and fellow Vagaggle member, Megan (a.k.a Bodyposipanda), asked if I wanted to be part of a mermaid photoshoot for Mermaiding UK. A million reasons ran through my head as to why I shouldn’t, but luckily in the end my tendency to self-indulge took over, because let’s be honest, who hasn’t ever dreamt of being a merperson? I had the best day, and I am not speaking in hyperboles here, it was genuinely one of the best days ever. And that was mostly down to the fact that I forgot I was fat, I was having such a blast that it honestly just slipped my mind. The fog cleared, and I realised how much of life I had spent apologising for my body, apologising for my weight, holding back from doing everything I ever wanted because of some numbers on a clothes label and on the scales.

And BAM! From that moment I was a self-proclaimed Bad Fatty. I eat what I want, I don’t have a gym membership anymore, I go outside wearing crop tops, I let my thighs jiggle to their heart’s content, and guess what… the world has not ended! Don't get me wrong, there are still struggles, and there are still days when I want to blaST MY CORE TO THE EXTREMMMEEE!!! But it’s going to take time to change years of falsified media input and I am merely a baby in this body positive movement. This is a new world for me with a fuck tonne of new experiences, so I’m hoping you will join me in fucking up this diet culture shit.