If I slimmed down more…
– I would easily fit into a size 12.
– Buying a swimsuit would make me enthusiastic.
– I might be able to climb on 10 cm high heels.
– I would enter public places with slightly more self-confidence.
– I would feel more attractive.
– I would tell myself tales where I’d be desired only for my body.
– I would look at myself in the mirror all the time.
– I would pose on my blog with my knees inside, like a professional.
– I would feel younger.
– I would be, maybe, less scared to talk in public. Or not.
– I would always be Caroline, 38 years old, married, 3 children.
– I might be less inspired.
– I would be bankrupt but on the other hand La Redoute and American Vintage would be taken as examples of blossoming companies in Davos from all over the world.
– I would still be so scared to die.
– I would put my hands on my jutting out hips and, without understanding why, I’d like it.
– I would create a scandal assuring that you never feel as good as when you’re slim. And I wouldn’t see the issue.
– I might be less funny.
– I would feel fragile.
– I wouldn’t ask myself anymore if the person next to me in the train is too squeezed because of me.
– I wouldn’t be afraid of people letting me have their seat in public transport.
– I would suggest to my GP check my weight, even for an ear infection.
– I would weight myself in a pharmacy, in front of everyone.
– I would go back to La Pitié[1], in the consultations-maternity ward, I would jump on the scale and ask the midwife to tell out loud the displayed figure. I wouldn’t even beg to be allowed to take off my shoes.
– I would go to Comptoir des Chiffonniers[2] to try all their pants on.
– I would offer my mother a shopping session together, to rewrite history for that dramatic episode in Nouvelles Galeries[3] never to show up again, she and I crying in the fitting room, because I was twelve and the only skirt that fitted me was a brown flannel skirt size 14.
If I were putting on weight again…
– I would want to tear off that muffin top which prevents my pants from fitting without being too tight.
– I would retrieve my clothes that are too big from the bottom of my wardrobe.
– I would put in the bottom of my wardrobe all the newly purchased clothes.
– I would wake up again with this existential question if any: what am I going to wear today. Fuck.
– I would move the scale’s needle to cheat, only for the pleasure of postponing what’s ineluctable.
– I would invent hormonal issues, I would curse water retention.
– I would end up informing everyone, even before it’s visible, that, here you go, another knock for nothing.
– I would anyway go to the beach and the sea would be at the same temperature than with 10 kilos less.
– I would enjoy this coming spring in the same way.
– I would drop the whole tutu idea (ok, it‘s to justify the picture)
– I would always be Caroline, 38 years old, married, 3 children.
– I would fall again head first in the cookies packet, this explaining the gain too.
– I would let him stroke my hips, trying to forget they don’t jute out anymore.
– I would have plenty money again in my account and would shout to anyone who might be listening that everything is ugly this summer in the shops.
– I would say goodbye to my boyfriend jeans and hi to my slim. With no need to buy the latter, nothing’s lost everything transforms.
– I would still know how to write.
– I would still be a journalist.
– I would still be alive.
And the others, what would they think?
I think my friends would be sad for me, sorry even. Maybe some, secretly, would think that finally everything falls back into place and it’s not that bad to keep things the way they have always gone. My mother would still love me but we would forget this shopping idea. She would find me pretty anyway, I think. My kids would tell me that they don’t see any differences and that no, really, nonsense, mum, you are not fat. The man will be very enthusiastic about my breasts coming back.
Maybe once my back is turned, some would tell themselves it’s too bad for it suited me well. And then to my face, they would assure me that, honestly, when you are too slim it makes you look bad, your face is not made for it, it wasn’t you. And it could be that they would be sincere in both cases.
Here you go, all this came out on its own, without much thought. If I’m 100% honest, the most wonderful thing about being slim is that you can get dressed without thinking of it. Is it normal to have studied for years, to claim the fact that a great-head is ten times more important than a perfect body and to however long for such a futility? Not so sure…
