Dear chubby chasers

No pity party here.

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Amused. The word I use to describe my outlook on today’s society as pertains to weight. We now reside in a world of extremes… you either are pro extremely thin, or extremely fat. Being in between is too mainstream and normal never excited anyone.

So here we are, or rather, here I am. Shamelessly cheering for the team that has more to the bone. I understand there is a club that finds pleasure in mingling with the chub team… the so called chubby chasers (It should be called chubby feeders or chubby cuddlers because we cannot run… not that far anyway).  I however do understand what it is they see, and why associating with a thick girl will be nothing but corporeal.

Thing is, we know we are fat, believe me we do. Some have been all their lives, others found themselves here. We have been the butt of every joke, we have been scorned and  harangued to lose weight. We have lived to tell the tale.

By the time you interact with a thick sister, you will be swimming in positive vibes! Despite all the negative attention, we have dealt with it, and come out tops. Also, the fact that we seldom suffer Hypoglycemia does help keep the bitchy at bay.

This is Gakenia , true to her name she makes everyone happy! She is hands down the nicest person I know, with a big heart and an even bigger rack, this girl has lived through it all and now… the world is her run way.

Fatbashers please take a seat, Gakenia is curve approved!

Gakenia 2

She is sassy….watch out now!

Gakenia 3

What I see here is a “kiss my chubby ass!” pose…

Gakenia 4

Bold… doesn’t only come in colours.

curve

Eve, why I blame her!

Introducing the original Momo.

I have got a million problems, and Eve is one of them.

Why?

She started in me a bad habit, which happens to be more pronounced in my kind of women than others .

Let me explain.

The woman was convinced. She saw that the tree was beautiful and its fruit looked delicious, and she wanted the wisdom it would give her. So she took some of the fruit and ate it. Then she gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it, too. Genesis 3:6

Therein lies the genesis of my problem… She ate!

I do not know what kind of fruit that was. Maybe back then, because it was Eden, fruit smelled like freshly baked cinnamon cupcakes about to be drenched in vanilla frosting. Or perhaps the fruit tasted like carbs.

I can see how resisting a giant grape, that you know too well tastes like perfectly crisp salted French fries, at 0300 hrs after imbibing industrial amounts of alcohol from Westy can be a challenge. Yes, I know how the battle against a hyperactive sense of smell and watering taste buds is lost at the sight of juicy eats that are forbidden, is it just me or do all forbidden foods look brighter and smell better when on diet?

I cannot count the number of times I cheated on Atkins especially when near the end like on day 12, because my mother broke out the heaviest wok and worked her magic on the demon infested wheat flour to produce those perfectly sized chapattis that I swear melt in your mouth. I do not know where tea appears from, but before I know it, its four cups and two chapattis later and I am regretting but still chewing on a chapo as I ponder my next move.

How I desperately try to mind my own business, making a bee line to my car from a meeting only to be assaulted by the delicious smell from that horribly located Kenchic. I am led by my nose like Salmon on bait to the counter, where the intense aroma slaps the mint from my mouth and replaces it with greasy chicken and fries “zakuonjesha”.

Yes, I know what it’s like to pack a dressing free salad to work, on the day that the boss decides to order pizza for the team, Something meaty becomes something you want to murder. My one bite turns into two slices washed down with Coke Zero, because the calories must be kept to a minimum.

The battle with food is an everlasting one. One that would not have happened if Eve had known some choice words that would have kept he who slithers at bay. Perhaps if Adam had opted to be extra romantic at that hour, and held her hand the entire time, she would not have been available to be tempted, but that is a story for another day.

Eve, I have beef with you… pun intended!

The brief: Strut it!

You think you know, until you are shown that you don’t.

I have a confession.

I am deeply ashamed.

Long have I cherished, thrived and shamelessly embraced the thought, peddling my theory to anyone with ears.

I was by all means correct in my opinion, irrevocably above reasoning with or correction. I was never to be proven wrong, because I usually am right (call me Mrs. Smarty pants). I knew, from my observation and limited interaction, that models are the laziest crop of human beings to ever walk the earth (pun intended).

And then the truth was handed to me, in a mucus inducing type of slap in the face.
I was brought to justice, trembling in my six inch heels.

This is the genesis of my stereotype.

My mother, being the queen of glam and runner of marathons, had us watching Elsa Klench and reading magazines that had more high fashion photos than literary content from an early age. I must have watched painfully skinny girls walk around the globe, for the number of hours spent consuming all manner of designers parade the latest in fall, summer and winter collections. I knew, beyond doubt, that all “they” did was party all night, have someone dress them, slather them in makeup, and have them sashay down a runway every morning. Worse yet, they actually got paid a queens ransom to do this!

Aaaargh! Some people have it too easy!

Then came the day, when I entered the Miss Plus size Kenya pageant. Several auditions later, and I made the top 15. Then the real work (which I had not anticipated) begun. It really was very simple, until the practical’s begun.

The brief was to catwalk. That is it. Just walk like a cat. On a high wall. On a very very slim wall.

My mind accepted the challenge.
My hips sniggered and asked me to stop being silly.
My legs refused.

The thing is… I am very bow legged. So much so , that crossing my legs still leaves a yawning “O” between them. I am also flat footed, which meant the dream of legally owning a machine gun, and walking the night eliminating terror was not to be, members of the disciplined forces can stand for days and feel nothing, I cannot do a half hour.

So back to the catwalk.

Our instructors demanded that we wear double sole heels, which meant I ended up in six inchers. I thought nothing of it, until a demonstration was done on what we were to do on the cat walk. It is safe to say that my ready mind beat a hasty retreat.

“Stop swinging your arms” they said.
“Walk in a straight line” they said.
“Take smaller steps” they said.
“Your head should be last to turn” they said.
“Spin on your heels and lean back, do not fall!” they said.

In a nut shell, I was left in a heap of sweaty quivery body parts that had previously not felt so much movement.

Whatever possessed me to think that being a model was easy and for lazy people? That anyone would willingly do this for a living continues to puzzle me. Forgive me Lord!

I have found myself residing in a house that I had taken far too much pleasure pelting with stones. Put down your stones, lest you find yourself living where you despised.

Of sticks and stones…..and Njoki Chege.

To dish out anecdotes (opinion pieces as she likes to call them), that are not grounded in any research, and are heavily influenced by bias and emotions from Satan’s belly is a total walk in the park. In fact, I need only watch more telly (seated on my wide lazy ass) , refuse to interact with any books and then proceed to document my skewed observation to the entire nation. Yes… a pat on my “bony” back is in order.

Do not get me wrong, I do concur that being obese is a serious danger to one’s health. If your weight does not allow you to easily carryout daily activities such as walking, bending or even shaving your legs, then friend, you do need to lose some weight. However, to band all plus size women as obese and proceed to label “us” as unsexy is not only in poor taste, but a shameful display of ignorance.

That being said, I choose to educate Chege’s daughter on matters that lead to weight. Being an ever so slight 90kg’s, I am a self-qualified expert on the subject.
Slow metabolism
This is rare, but studies have shown that a slow metabolism, coupled with other factors such as genetics, age and sex can lead to weight gain.
Malfunctioning Thyroid Gland
Also known as Hypothyroidism, may lead to changes in the Thyroid stimulating hormone that will result in massive weight gain or loss, a test of ones TSH will reveal the range, and how it is to be treated.
Hormonal imbalance
Even with the most vigorous exercise and strict diet, an imbalance in your hormones will prevent successful weight loss. Unfortunately, women are more prone to this imbalance than men are. The condition is known as toxic oestrogen, which has pre-menopausal women suffer PMS, too much body fat around the hips and difficulty losing weight. Menopausal women will experience low libido, memory loss, poor motivation, depression, loss of muscle mass and increased belly fat.
Stress
Whether imagined or real, chronic stress will cause excessive release of a hormone called cortisol, which in turn causes raging appetite, metabolic decline, belly fat , decline in amount of muscle tissue.
Child birth
Yes, post baby fat is real. Depending again on factors such as genetics, hormones, stress levels and activity, this weight may stay with you or burn.
Genetics
Children born to families prone to obesity will be more likely than not become obese. So no, this is not imagined it is real. This is also the genesis of the term “big boned”.

Stereotyping is one of man’s biggest downfall! Man will naturally fear and then hate what they do not know and do not want to understand. I am on a mission to eliminate stereotyping, just because I am of a more generous persuasion does not mean I am daft or slow or unhealthy! Before you judge, and proceed to make known your thoughts… please take a minute and reflect. Equating a 96kg woman to a cow, without knowing how she got there, is completely unnecessary! The mind is a powerful tool, if you choose to see the negative, you will carry it with you and it will consume you.

I am plus size, with no regrets, and I will continue to snuggle in this category for the following reasons.

I do not hate, I appreciate. In the unfortunate event that I break both arms, I will still be able to clap.
Let us sing about thin women with absolutely no curves” said no musician ever.
Can someone show me a skinny teddy bear. Someone, anyone, show me a thin teddy bear! No one? I thought so.
Like
a Teddy bear, I am cuddly and warm. You need only brush by me and you will come away with joy and rays of sunshine… because I am usually in a happy space, and seldom hungry! And yes, I am aware Barbie dolls exist, but they hold no interest over me.
I have this area, its depressed… much like what I think of Njoki, but I digress. This zone, found above my hip and below my ribcage works well with my generous hips. This area, believe it or not, is possessed by many a plus size woman. It is popularly known as the waist. Love is what Njoki needs to handle…so she can stop spewing venom (please tell me you see what I have done there).

And finally, I am thick! thick around my hips, thick around my chest; there is not a minute that I do not love myself. I would rather much be thick in the flesh, than be Njoki’s type of thick. #plusfabulosity.

Yours Truly,

Wahu Otieno.

The thickness.