Someone stole their common sense.
The Size Zero craze refuses to surrender. The media refuses to give up on the figures of malnutrition crawling down the catwalk, while readers continue to be secretly amazed by these new species of human – are they human? I’m not sure either.
But, fear not my friends; the bombshells are clawing their way through the skeletons to unveil their curves on beaches, and billboards, and magazine covers, and the catwalk, and, well everywhere. Yet, I still can’t help but feel shit about myself. I know when I say this many of you will agree, so I’m going to come out and say it, Kim Kardashian, Beyonce, Christina Hendricks and all you other bootylicious sugar tarts, I hate you.
Well not hate, I’m sure they’re perfectly lovely people, which makes it harder for me to hate them. I can’t help but cherish the time when a bag of bones would appear in the newspaper, and my boyfriend would be repulsed. It made my life a lot easier knowing that my significant other preferred my size 10 (ok so I’m borderline 12, but I’m still working off the mince pies) to what can be only described as a ‘thing’. But now, with Kim Kardashian racking up tabloids, I can’t help but be extremely jealous that my boyfriend and probably every other male in the modern world, stop on the gossip pages to admire her absolutely breathtaking body, even I stared for a while when finding the picture for this article. He does try to hide the fact that he’s smitten with her by claiming that he’s interested in ‘what went wrong this Kris Humphreys and her’. It does satisfy me just a little bit however to know that despite her amazing assets, model worthy face and millions in the bank, that she too can’t make a marriage work.
The fashion industry, in all their support for a confident woman, has a different take on this issue. Working here at the Mail, I don't get front row seats next to Anna Wintour or Olivia...