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My issues with my appearance first started during puberty.
I had gone through the regular cycle of a growth spurt, marked by big changes in my height and weight; but nothing could’ve prepared me for how much my bust would grow.
In Primary 5, a classmate looked at me and said, “Dude, I can see your boobs. They’re so obvious, did you wear a bra?”
I had, of course, worn a bra — but the embarrassing call-out opened my eyes to notice, for the first time, that my bust was larger than everyone else’s. I also noticed that my thighs had become thicker; the skinny, pre-puberty body I had was gone.
It clicked in my head that the way I looked could be an uncomfortable sight in the eyes of those around me because it went against the grain of Southeast Asian beauty standards.
I had always been encouraged by my mum to embrace how I looked and be comfortable in my own skin. But from this point on, I suddenly realised how societal beauty standards place us all under intense scrutiny and pressure, even at such a young age.
Over the next few years, it became more and more apparent that my figure was different.
Being heavily invested in fashion, I was acutely conscious of how certain clothes would look on me and the reactions it could warrant. I would pay attention to the forecasted designs from fashion week and other catalogues or style icons of the mid- to late 2010s.
Labels like Brandy Melville caught my eye, a trendsetting brand known for catering to ultra-skinny girls. Each time I visited the store with friends, I would wait outside the changing room and look at them trying on piece after piece, thinking of how these pretty clothes could never look good on me.
In my naivety, I thought that the style icons of the time — Gigi Hadid, Blake Lively, Kylie Jenner — set the standard of what women should aspire to look like. I strived to replicate their outfits and appearances. Pop culture influences such as these illustrated the silhouette that I “should” have.
It was impossible, no matter how many diets or exercise regimes I tried.
One reason why is that my body looked good the way it was. I wasn’t overweight; I just wasn’t the size-zero model you see on magazine covers or when you’re shopping online. Any professional stylist would also tell you that the type of wardrobe that is suitable for you is very dependent on your figure and your features.
While I understood the concept, I struggled to actively apply it.
For my 18th birthday, I wanted to wear a gingham-patterned crop top purchased for the occasion. When I tried it in-store, it seemed to fit — but on the day itself, my reflection seemed foreign, and thoughts of how I despised the way I looked swirled in my head. I felt “unworthy” of pretty clothes.
All through ages 18-22, I embarked on various diet plans and exercise regimes to achieve a figure that I could be happy with.
It worked out most of the time, but whatever results I obtained came at the cost of my health. There were days I would forgo entire meals just to feel “healthier”. This was a short-term solution, of course, because I would always find newer problems to pick at: ‘My nose is not small enough’, ‘My jawline can be sharper’, ‘My tummy is not flat enough after meals’.
In the last few years, the world has seen an increased representation of women with a variety of body shapes and types in the media, like Kat Dennings and Ashley Graham. Such representation encouraged me to work harder on positively affirming my body and the way I looked.
I took up pilates, each session of which concluded with the instructor inviting us into a moment of gratitude for our bodies taking us through the exercise and for all it does.
These helped me forge a more wholesome mirror through which to see myself: “I’m thankful I have a tummy that protects vital organs like my uterus,” I started to think. “My thicker thighs support me during muscle training.”
Bit by bit, I managed to build a newfound confidence that made me feel more beautiful. I learnt that I am healthy and uniquely me, and any modification to my looks should be an enhancement of myself, rather than a “necessary” improvement.
Confession: Despite the strides I’ve made, I still struggle from time to time — when I’m bloated after a meal, for example, or indulging in unhealthy snacks when I have not been working out for a while.
I take a longer look in the mirror to identify my “flaws” and how to get rid of them. Sometimes, I even have a difficult time leaving the house, because the thought of putting on an outfit that can make me feel good is a heavy weight (no pun intended).
What helps a lot is remembering that being loved is so much more important than being skinny — my friends and family remind me of this every time they tell me I look beautiful even when I am overthinking an outfit.
Through social media platforms like TikTok, I’ve been able to see so many women of different shapes and sizes and know that my struggles with my body is a shared, universal experience. It’s comforting to see styling videos where a girl might have a bit of a tummy like me wearing a low-waist skirt, or a busty girl donning a top that heavily accentuates her curves.
I’ve come a long way, but I’m still a work in progress. What I can share is this: If you’re struggling like me, it helps to first redefine beauty for yourself.
To me, beauty is no longer about a number on a scale; it’s about presenting the best version of myself to the world and doing what makes me feel good. If a simple jeans and T-shirt combination is what makes me feel comfortable, I know that I am gorgeous.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Larissa Santhana Nair, 23, makes sense of life and its complexities through song, dance and the occasional burrito. She can usually be found rewatching Mamma Mia for the 175th time or making her rounds in the Flower Dome at Gardens by the Bay for clarity of mind.
English