For a girl entering her teens at the dawn of a new millennium, it was a hell of a time to be alive.
I was chubby – I always had been. My cheeks were full and my thighs rubbed, and when I sat, my tummy arranged itself into neat, round folds.
And I was dark.
My black, curly hair, olive skin, and dark brown, almond-shaped eyes – courtesy of my mixed Maltese and Eastern-European Jewish roots – made me an ethnic anomaly amongst my very Anglo regional Victorian classmates.
Basically, I was a whole lot of different.
Not because I necessarily felt that way; but I could see it in the way people looked at me – and in the eyes of the world too.
In movies, TV shows and magazines, it was the skinny girl who the guys drooled over, and the skinny girl who got to wear the pretty clothes on the runway, and the skinny girl on the front cover.
Subliminally, the message of ‘value’ and what was ‘worthy’ was received – and internalised.
And we know, it’s not just about what we see; it’s about what we don’t see too.
Where was the curvy girl? Or the ethnic-looking girl? Or the disabled girl? Or the trans person?
Almost never in the lead, and if anywhere, usually relegated to a supporting role of comic relief. The funny one, or the butt of the joke.
And I actually remember when my young mind understood: You could only be an actress or singer or someone successful in the public eye, if you could also look ‘good’ in a bikini.
And I understood that me in my boardshorts and tankini did not, which lead to self-consciousness and body shame that, to be honest, I’m still unpacking into my 30s.
Accessibility was as slim as those who could attain it.
And then, Kim Kardashian arrived.
Here are all the things Kim Kardashian has broken up with from her early 2000s self. https://t.co/YdsmNRMyEH pic.twitter.com/I4LZTLj60f
— E! News (@enews) August 13, 2016
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