Dianna's Blog

I’ve grown out of my pants. My size 1 navy blue pants that I bought at the start of my senior year when I weighed 99 pounds. The ones that used to be loose. I can still wear them, but they’re tight. Uncomfortably tight. I’ve grown out of them. I got fat.

When you live with two other girls it’s hard to spend the normal 2 hours in the mirror criticizing your humongous thighs. Thighs that stretch on like an enormous expanse of desert, an enormous expanse of flesh and fat. Thighs that touch and thighs that are begging to burst out of my favorite size 1 navy pants. I wore those pants almost every day to school. When, when did this happen? I stopped wearing those pants when spring began, because in Texas spring is hot. Maybe it happened after winter. But certainly not during. Maybe it happened over the summer. Maybe it happened here at college. Everyone must think I’m huge. I know I don’t weigh 99 pounds anymore. Around May my mom told me my arms “don’t look scary anymore,” which meant, of course, that I was getting fat around the end of senior year. But could I still wear the pants? Does everyone notice? Along with the pants my mom sent me M&Ms in the mail. Do I eat them? I’m going back home in two weeks - will my best friend be thinner than me? She’s so tiny, and back in senior year, I used to be thinner than her. Did the fact that I was amazed by how small the waist of the pants was mean that I had no idea how thin I was back then? Absolutely.

All these things went through my head in the course of about a minute, while my roomies told me a funny story and I tried desperately to concentrate. Why am I flipping out about some tiny-ass pants? Because I know all my other “when-I-was-underweight-pants” that I brought to college are getting tight too? Because those were my victory pants? Wow, I just used the word “victory pants.”

But this doesn’t mean I can no longer function. This doesn’t mean that I can’t still wear my other clothes. My kids’ size 14 jeans -although tighter- still fit. Which begs the question, what on earth does pant size even matter? Size 1 is smaller than kids’ size 14 pants? Then why should adult women be wearing size 1s? Why am I a failure because two pairs of size 1 jeans, one of which I bought when I was fifteen - are tight now? WHAT AM I EVEN TALKING ABOUT?!

I keep having to remind myself that during the year I wore those pants, people called me things like “too thin, Holocaust victim, your arms look you’re a starving Ethiopian, scary-skinny…” (Which isn’t to say that girls who wear a size 1 jean are any of those things. Every single person’s body is different - and mine, when it hits size 1, apparently looks like that. (Again, do NOT be offended if you do wear a size 1!))

So here’s a picture of me during the size-1-navy-pants era. Yeah, I guess you could say my arms look thin. Not that I had any idea back then - I never had any idea I looked like this! But I guess now, yeah, the comments make sense. It’s not that I was dying, but I know that I spent a lot more effort concentrating on what I ate than I do now. Exponentially. Now, I worry about entirely different things - what are we doing this weekend? What time does rehearsal start? It’s catfish Friday! Let’s go out tonight!

Here’s a picture of me now. Yeah, I could say “my arms are in a different position,” etc. But they’re bigger. I’m a little softer. I don’t look severe. No one would call me Holocaust Victim today. They may call me tiny or maybe curvy. My victory pants aren’t loose on me anymore. And I’ll admit I thought about replacing this picture with other ones I have from college that I look much thinner in. But you know what? You know what? I’m having fun in this picture.

So fuck it if I can’t wear those tiny-ass pants from a time when doctors told me I shouldn’t lose any more weight, and my mom told me she thought I had an eating disorder and at checkups my spine would freeze cold when doctors would bring up how I was underweight. It’s honestly not that being 99 pounds was THAT unhealthy for me, but I was underweight, and it was enough to catch people’s attention, so SO WHAT if I don’t look like that anymore. My body may never be one size. I may never stay one weight. I’M GROWING. My life has changed completely. I’m having tons of FUN. And yeah, I’m EATING. I’m eating a lot. I live in NEW ORLEANS! This city celebrates food. And I know I can’t just eat salads and fruit in the cafeteria every day when there’s gumbo and pasta and catfish and beignets in the French Quarter. Yeah, I’ve gained weight. And I can’t wear those pants. But it’s okay. I’m happy. And THAT’S what I am - happy. I’m not my weight. I am happy.