It took every ounce of self-will not to, but I will not be pressured into losing weight for my wedding.
Last weekend, I found myself somewhere I never thought I’d be: in the meeting room of a luxury hotel, surrounded by glittery signage, pink cupcakes neatly arranged on gold trays, and shimmering gowns, unable to escape a relentlessly perky woman who wouldn’t stop asking if she could curl my hair.
I was at, yes, a bridal fair—and for anyone who considers this a feminist affront, let it be known that my main prerogative was to score some free champagne, and that I indeed enjoyed three complimentary flutes. So there’s that.
In any case, my experience began, tellingly, with a peppy blonde handing me a clipboard clasping a bright pink checklist, cataloguing all the things I may want to learn more about at the fair.
Cake? BIG BOLD CHECK.
I dangled the pen between my fingers, nudging my fiance to take a look.
“Weight loss?” I whispered to him. “Seriously?”
Inside, amid the vendors selling floral arrangements, photography services, and men’s suits, we passed by a sign peddling a “magic” fat-burning technology. As I glanced over, a woman lifted up her shirt to expose her midriff, where a giant black “X” had been scrawled over a slab of fat. Buy this service, she implored silently as I looked over. You too can get rid of your fat and not be a total disgusting fat pig on the most important day of your life!
It was around this time that I had an epiphany: The wedding industrial complex was going to do everything in its power to convince me I need to lose weight. And it would take every ounce of self-will I had to not let it.
I was never the kind of girl to fantasize about the perfect wedding. There were no magazine cut-outs of princess wedding gowns on my walls, and I was too busy using my Barbie to play-act make-out sessions with Ken to plan her dream wedding to him (make of this what you will).