I’ve always had a complicated relationship with the way I look. My face just never felt like it fit right. My body was always too squishy, and too short. My hair thin and boring. As I got older it turned into something more like body dysmorphia – some days I would look at myself and think I was truly grotesque, and not fit to walk amongst “normal” people.
And then she happened. Although Kate had been on the scene in William’s life for a long time, I’d never paid that much attention. To me, she still looked like a regular young woman. I was in Queensland on holiday with my parents when the engagement was announced. We had a pretty dodgy internet connection but I stretched it to the limit to watch the press announcement and subsequent interview.
Kate was beautiful – tall, slim, gorgeously attired, with that rich, thick, glossy mane of delicately-highlighted brunette locks that have become her trademark. Her smile was beautiful and natural, and the way she spoke so elegant, but also self-aware and nervous. She was instantly likeable, and everything about her covetable. For me, and I suspect many others, that was the day that the cult of Kate began.
My own feelings about myself were in a steady decline. Although I had recently found love, the self-hatred only grew worse. I binge-ate to assuage my feelings, then felt extreme guilt. Kate become thinner and thinner as the wedding drew near, and I hated myself for not being like her. To me, she was perfect: everything a woman should be. The moment I saw her step foot out of the luxury car to enter Westminster Abbey, something in me died. She was the most beautiful bride, and I knew I would never look like that. It didn’t stop me from trying though.