Fan Questions Answered with Leah V.

Fan Questions Answered with Leah V.

I like to do random shit. If I feel it, I’m most likely gonna say it (or type it). LOL. I had this cool idea to ask some of my followers to give me some questions to answer. Like LIVE, but not really because it’s like weeks later. I was shocked at the high quality of questions I got. I thought people were gonna ask completely ridiculous stuff. See? That’s what I get for assuming. But, yeah. They really gave me thought-provoking questions.

So, here are my answers:

@Candeecurry What do you feel is your unique purpose in the world? Do you feel as though you are on track?

LV: This is such a good question! And, honestly, it took me a long time to figure out how to answer it. At this point in life, I know that my purpose is to create content and share it with the world. My work is very niche, so everyone isn’t going to get it or like it. My purpose is to defy the odds, show girls, woman (and men) that you can look totally different and not fit the mold of societal beauty or power and still be whatever it is that you want to be. Which, in this world, is hard to swallow.   

Am I on the right track? If you would’ve asked me last month, I would’ve said, hell yeah! Today, I’m not so sure. My ideologies of ‘on track’ differ from day to day. I always hope I am though.

@JasmineN What’s your fave piece of clothing and why?

LV: Surprisingly, I don’t have one. I have a fave food though. HAHA. I’m sorry, I lied. My fave item of clothing are leggings because you can lounge in them and stretch whenever or wherever you are in the world, comfortably.

@becoming_becca.again_ Whose your biggest influencer, the person you look up to?

LV: I have many. A lot of them aren’t even in the “fashion” arena. I really look up to people who are real, raw, and have a backstory that doesn’t involve a silver spoon in the mouth. I love individuals that are a little rough around the edges, ones who went through hell to get to where they are now. People like Oprah, Maya Angelou, and J.K. Rowling. I struggle all the time doing what I do. I’m struggling today. But reading stories of their struggles and how they just believed and kept going really changes my life and outlook.

MUA: Madinah Muhammad

@Thisis_esi Dating as a young fat, black, Muslim woman, challenges? Best and worst experiences?

LV: Oh lordy! Lol. Girl, now you know there is a lot of those challenges when dating. And this is such a touchy topic because I’m Muslim and Muslims aren’t supposed to date, but you know I keep it real. Most guys don’t even approach me because I wear hijab so that knocks out about ninety percent. For the ten percent that have the guts to come up to me or message, they span from fat-shamers, BBW fetishizers, and wierdos. I’ve had okay dates, but no one has stuck yet because I’m finnicky like a cat.

@Prettyinpigment What do you love most about Detroit

LV: Detroit is OK. LOL. The job market sucks. The food here is pretty tasty. Detroit isn’t a fast-paced city but it isn’t slow either. It’s a good balance. It’s laid back and still growing which is cool. I don’t think I’d stay here though; it’s not growing fast enough in the fields of fashion or publishing.

@Lateeforigninals What’s your favorite color?

LV: Black. Darkness! And I like colors, too. Don’t have a favorite. Back in the day it used to be yellow.  

@lionwinemountain What books inspire you?

LV: The Harry Potter Series. I really love YA fiction and dystopian novels. I love being immersed in other worlds. And I’m really inspired by the author’s story of how she created the characters while being broke.

@notmycupofchai What advice would you give to your young Muslim sisters who are trying to find themselves?

Dress: PinkCloveUK

LV: I’d tell them to stick to their guns. Family, friends, and the media will try to persuade you from being who you are truly meant to be. Who you’re comfortable being. Don’t allow them to. You have to be true to yourself and listen to your gut.   

@Saneelatameez What is your greatest fear in life?

LV: Wow. Y’all didn’t come to play games today! Right now, my biggest fear is failure. I’ve always been an overachiever and I thought that perfection was attainable. I still have to remind myself to chill, but it’s hard. I just don’t want to let anyone down.

@itsbenstange What do you want to be your legacy?

LV: I want my legacy to be that girl who didn’t take no for an answer. Who pushed through the glass ceiling even though she had negative two bucks in her account. I want to be that beacon of change of the mass ideology that beauty is only thin or only white. That as a Muslim woman you can. That as a black woman you can. That as a fat person you can. And you will. And you deserve. All of it. I want my legacy to be words. With meaning. With direction. Substance. To change the world from hate and ignorance to understanding and respect for all humankind.

xoxo,

Leah V. 

Do You Wish You Weren’t Fat?

As a fashion influencer, I get this question all the time. Especially from straight size individuals. Do you wish you weren’t fat? I know that a lot more people want to ask, it’s on the tip of their tongues, but because they don’t want to offend me they just keep it buried with all the other questions.

“Let’s say in a perfect world you could choose your body. No strings attached. Would you still choose to be fat?” a close friend asked.

The topic was on fat activism and body positivity.

Each time, I pause and think about the pros and cons. Because the westernized part of my mind goes straight to ‘thin is better’ or ‘thin is beauty’ without even hearing any other options. Our minds have been conditioned to immediately associate beauty with fair skin, slim noses, and flat tummies. Thick hair, full lips, long legs. But as I dig further into my own ideologies of the true meaning of beauty through my lens is when the answer starts to reveal itself.

It’d be amaaaazing to walk into a store and they have all of your sizes available in the front and not buried away in the back near the restrooms. It’d be amazing to have more than two or three racks of shapeless clothing (H&M…) to choose from. It’d be cool when you date a guy that he wouldn’t assume that you’re easy with low self-esteem because you have stomach rolls and that clearly no other man wants you because you’re fat and he’s doing you a favor. And we can also assume that it’d be cool not to be asked how many months pregnant you are when you’re not pregnant at all. Or to be trolled on the internet because you’re promoting obesity even though you go to the gym five days a week. Or not be looked at with disgust when you’re clearly nourishing your body with food at a local restaurant.

But, with all that said, I wouldn’t change being fat. Why? Unfortunately, as humans, and especially as girls and women, we always want what’s in. What’s trendy. Our bodies have become trends, objects. The body that was popular in the 70’s is totally different than the body that’s ‘in’ now. So, are we going to alter our bodies every decade to fit the mold of this ‘new’ beauty standard? Or are we going to embrace the curves (or lack of) that we’re working with now?

The true goal is to be healthy and fat or healthy and thin. Not to lose (or gain) weight so the scale can flicker to an agreeable number for other’s comfort. That’s my motto. And my life has been so much more fulfilling because of it.  

Plus, the upside to being fat is that I don’t shop at the same stores that my thinner friends go to so that means no embarrassing twinning moments. I’m forced to be creative with my ensembles because my clothing options are so much more limited. Can you say, slayage? When I fall down the stairs, my butt cushion saves the bones from breaking. If I lose or gain five pounds, you won’t notice it. And, of course, I’m a pretty good cuddler.

*Winks at the guys* 

xoxo

Leah V. 

Thighs That Touch

“The reason why your aunt can’t get a job is because she’s fat,” Mom said matter-of-factly to my younger sister and I. 

In my own fat thirteen-year old body I thought, that’s not the reason why. It’s just a bad economy.

Although Mom wasn’t as big as my aunt, her weight was up and down. Mostly up. She had suffered from eating disorders for most of her life including mild anorexia. To be honest, I never really recalled Mom eating ‘real food’ like the stuff she fed us. She was a closet eater who binged on cakes and doughnuts in the privacy of her bedroom. The sheets would be riddled with crumbs and the aroma of sugary frosting lingered. 

Mom showed us old photos of her younger, thinner self in the 70’s with her short shorts on, a crop top, and rocking a thick, black afro. She said proudly while pointing, “See. My thighs didn’t touch back then. When they touched, I knew that I was eating too much.”  Thin was good in our house. Great even. Fat was unacceptable. 

And I was fat. 

My thighs touched. My belly hung over my panties. My boobs jumped when I jumped. My double chin greeted you before I was able to. My arms squeezed into jackets that didn’t stretch. 

Obsession. 

One day, I decided to turn on my own fat body. To mistreat it like it was my worst enemy. To destroy it until there was nothing left. I was tired of boys only flirting with my thin friends, I was tired of stuffing myself into jeans that only made it partially up my thick thighs, and I was sick and tired of obsessing over how other people perceived my fat ass! Am I eating too fast? Should I get the salad instead? Should I just shut up? Who wants to hear what a fattie has to say?  

Scouring the latest teen fashion magazines, I ripped out dozens of pages of unrealistic supermodels, thin white actresses, and statuesque bombshells with straight teeth. I went on a rampage and started pasting them on my bedroom wall, the closet door, and around my dresser’s mirror. I wanted to see what I wasn’t, but what I could possibly be. Skinny and beautiful. Wanted and validated. Mom would be proud of me. But only if my thighs didn’t touch. 

I went out and bought a pair of stylish jeans that were three sizes too small. When I got home, I placed them on a hanger and hung them on the window over my bed. Motivation. The person who could fit inside those jeans was better in some way. Outgoing. A fuckin’ boss. 

I envisioned myself in those jeans every morning when I woke up before school, when I ate a handful of pretzels and drank a low-calorie drink for lunch, when I thought about having a slice of pizza, and right before I went to bed. My inability to focus and the migraines due to malnutrition didn’t matter. Nor had the churning and grinding of my empty stomach. Not even the silent late night cry sessions due to gaining a half a pound the day prior meant anything. 

After five months, I had lost seventy pounds. And how things changed. Everyone was sooooo happy. It was as if I had won some sick lottery. My teachers asked me how I did it. “It’s easy,” I lied. Guys started to notice me. Girls were jealous of me. I was living the life. 

At home, when the cheers died and I was all alone, I was still fat. Inside. The scale said one thing, but my mind told me another. 

Losing the weight was brutal. Maintaining it was different. My antics got wilder as I scrambled to stay thin. In the morning, I’d clear my bowels and bladder, strip, and hop on the scale butt naked. If the scale was even a pound heavier, my entire day would be ruined. If the scale was in the negative, the day would be amazing because I was closer to being more skinny. I was on the no-carb diet, so I peed on a stick twice a day (sometimes three if I got crazy) to see if I was in optimal ketosis, fat burning mode. I’d chew on no-sugar sticks of gum all day to curb my appetite. I’d go through packs and packs of gum. Mom bought them in bulk from Costco. She was trying to lose weight, too. I’d strip again, in the evening, and hop on the scale. Then I’d turn on the Style Network and watch models strutting down the runway in expensive clothes and cry.    

Nothing ever lasts.

For spring break, I purchased a cheap flight to my grandma’s house in the south. I finally arrived and plopped down in a chair at the kitchen table. 

“What’s wrong?” she placed her palm on the small of my back. 

I held back tears. I hadn’t eaten that day. “I’m just—I’m so hungry.”

She fried shrimp and baked biscuits. I ate it all. Every morsel. Felt sicker. I wasn’t used to the heaviness of food. 

After that, I never stopped eating and gained the seventy pounds I’d lost, plus some. 

Over the last ten years, I’d lost some and gained more. On this body awareness roller-coaster, I’ve hated my body, I’ve mistreated it, and allowed others to dictate how I felt about it. But I’ve also loved it, caressed it, celebrated it, and adorned it. 

I’m at a point where I’m in complete awe of it. The way it breathes for me. Blinks for me. Allows me to type this very essay about it. I’m in love with myself and how it rolls and sways when I move. How it affects others so delightfully. 

I’m happier in this fat body than I ever was trying to fit into those jeans that were three sizes too small.    

My thighs touch. My belly hangs over my panties. My boobs jump when I jump. My double chin greets you before I am able to. My arms squeeze into jackets that don’t stretch.

And that is very much so acceptable.  

XOXO,

Leah V.