So here is some groovy news. If you’re in the UK, grab a copy of this weeks Grazia magazine – Britain’s First Weekly Glossy! the one with Our Kylie on the front! – and turn to page 36. Nestled between the likes of Kate Moss and Denise Van Outen is… little ol Dietgirl!
Well, not exactly little. There is nothing to make you realise you’re not wee like seeing your big red head taking up a WHOLE FREAKING PAGE of a national magazine and then flipping over to see an article on the new trend of Ultra Skinny Jeans that you wouldn’t get your ankle into, let alone a whole leg.
I have swung from being mortified to gleeful to mortified for the past three months since this whole thing started. Let me fill you in! In April I got an email from this lovely chick who is the PR for the publishing house that are distributing Tales From The Scale here in the UK. Apparently Grazia had seen the book and were keen to publish an extract of my writing. 2000 words!
Thus sparked my first simultaneous Happy Dance/Fat Girl Freakout. I didn’t have a freaking clue that this book would even see the light of day in the UK. I am clueless about how these things work. The freakout stemmed from Dietgirl going into print and local people finding out about me and my secret lardy life. But from a writing point of view, I was excited. It was the first time I’d been in published in print media since my groundbreaking piece as an intern at the Canberra Times: Pensioners Welcome New Motorised Shopping Carts At Local Supermarket.
A few weeks later I heard from the writer, who was a really cool woman. She had cobbled together bits of my chapters into a cohesive piece, it flowed really well. All I had to write a couple more paragraphs to fill in some gaps and it all came together nicely. It then got subbed of course, so the final thing came out a wee bit different… a little cheesy but still a nice read.
The Grazia folk mentioned from the start that they’d need photos for the piece. As you know I had already asked my Mum earlier this year to send me some Fat Pics, but I got her on the case to find some more. They also told me someone would come to Edinburgh my photo for the piece, but I was in such denial that this whole thing would actual happen that I blocked that out of my mind. It was just too hilarious that a dork like me would be in a magazine. Part of me hoped the story would get pulled by an urgent Paris Hilton scoop or plastic surgery expose. So instead of stepping up my gymming, eating more carefully, getting facials or shopping for an outfit, I did sweet bugger all! This meant when the magazines Picture Desk contacted me on a Monday to arrange a photo shoot for Saturday, all I could was FREAK OUT!
Shopping for clothes makes me nauseous at the best of times. But pacing up and down Princes Street trying to find something that would make me look nice In A Full Length Photo! In A Glossy Magazine! sent me to near hysterics. The photographer to me to a) wear something I was comfortable in b) something that showed off my figure and c) something that wasn’t black. This ruled out approximately 100% of my wardrobe. A horrid feeling of panic churned in my guts as I went in and out of every clothing shop in Edinburgh only to find stuff that was too small, black or with tiny or non-existent sleeves that exacerbated my Arm Anxiety.
Ooh I wished I was a rich bastard with a personal shopper. If only my self-centred sister hadn’t have decided to further her career and move away and not be here to scout for outfits! How RUDE! Normally when I shop I get bored or cranky after an hour and give up and go home, but this time there was no wriggling out of it. I scouring the ships every lunchtime and every evening for the whole week. With each day that passed I cursed my laziness and lack of interest in fashion and grooming. Why had I left this to the last minute when I’d know for two months this was on the cards? Why hadn’t I bought some nice clothes as I’d shrunk? Why didn’t I have a bra that held my boobs up? Why had I eaten all those cakes?
I ended up finding a top at Monsoon the day before the shoot. The sleeves were short but I was desperate. Desperate, do you hear me? And I’d found another pair of jeans for the bargain price of £20 that were darker than the ones I got from Next, which looked more dressy. Cool.
So all I had to do before the shoot started on midday on Saturday was: find accessories and a new bra. I went to catch the early train but it was delayed by almost an hour. Arrgh! When I finally arrived I barely had an hour and flitted in and out of high street stores in a mad jingle jangle of bangles and jewels trying to find something ANYTHING to go with my top. Then I had to try and stab my earlobes as I’d not worn earring since the Vegas wedding and the holes had almost closed over. Ewww! My face was glowing red from stress and sweat. The whole thing took so long that I didn’t have time for a new bra.
The photo shoot went okay though, but that’s another entry in itself. I will skip forward five weeks til Tuesday when the magazine came out and I sat there on my step before Body Pump class staring down at the page muttering, "Oh no! Oh yes! How awful! How cool!".
For now I will just post a wee linky here to a zip file that has the scanned articles – three jpegs, one for each page. There is all new Before Pics in the article plus finally you get that oft-promise new progress pic! And my eyes ain’t blocked out this time! I will save my assortment of self-criticisms of how I look in the photo (squinty eyes! shiny cheeks! messy eyebrow! nanna arms!) for the next entry.
Click here to download (519kb, Zip file)
Please let me know in the comments if you have problems with the file! Have to catch my train so I will correct typos later and post more about the whole thing in a day or two. Take care, groovers!