Thing I Hate About The Gym (Video)

Hey Fancy Faces! You lovely lot asked for a video on Things I Hate About The Gym, so here it is, everything that annoys me about working out in public spaces (...and in general lol). Hope you like it!

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Fat Girl Problems (Video)

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You asked for it, so hooker, here it is. A bitch is back on YouTube with my hilarious, real ass video, Fat Girl Problems (as voted for by you) where I shamelessly discuss the trials and tribulations of being a big bitch. 

Give it a watch and if you like it, share it.

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Size Matters

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In the countdown to my big secret project, I’ve forbidden myself from one of my favourite pastimes; shopping. In an attempt to stop myself from indulging in my fabulous addiction, I banned myself from entering the shopping centre near my workplace. As far as I’m concerned, if I don’t in there, then I can’t buy shit (avoidance is one of my fave life techniques, from shopping to people).

It had been four days since my last unnecessary purchase (I felt like I deserved an award)…and then my co-worker, a wonderful Ghanaian lady who brings me free fancy salads and healthy snacks from Pret A Manger every week, asked me to run into the shopping centre and grab some things for her…

Fancy faces, it was all downhill from there.

Despite forbidding myself from shopping, after I grabbed her items I found myself wandering slowly past my pre-rich fashion havenPrimar(k)ni –as they advertised more end of season reductions. Naturally, I did a mini u-turn and went inside.

See, downhill.

There they were, the last pair of pearl and stud embellished ripped mom jeans in a size 16 waiting for me and only me amidst the chaos that is the Primark reduction section. I cooed with pre-rich bitch delight and looked at the price tag; £2! Hooker, those jeans and I were basically meant to be! I snatched my match made in heaven jeans up with a quickness and, after more unnecessary forbidden browsing, took them to the changing room.

The upside to this trying ass weight loss (*struggle) journey is that I’ve actually lost weight and dropped a dress size, so as I hung up my size14 jeans I could only imagine how fashionably baggy these size 16 jeans would fit me…

…And then I put them on.

The unflattering changing room lights glared down at me whilst the three way mirror mocked my bulging waist as I sucked in my stomach to zip the shit up (a further three minutes was spent trying to do up the fucking button). I was there heaving, huffing and growling curse words through gritted teeth, my logical side telling me that I might as well just give up because the fact at I need to do all this shit to get them on is a red flag and the shit will undoubtedly give me what I like to call double belly. Double belly is when the waistband of a pair of bottoms is a touch too snug and it cuts your stomach in two so that when you turn to the side your tummy actually has the cheek to look like ‘B’ for Belly. I knew this, I swear I did, but my irrational and emotionally unstable weight loss journey struggle brain was like, ‘Heaux, you came in this bitch with a pair of size 14s on. These jeans can fit. *Irrational Dory singing ensues* Bitch, keep swimming, heaux, keep swimming, hooker keep swimming, swimming, swimming…

Eventually I did them up and it was alpha-belly galore. My stomach was singing ‘Why you bother me when you know you don’t want me?’ to the jeans.

A piece of my svelte heaux 2017 spirit died in that changing room.

I’d done all of this fucking work and celebrated every victory, from big to small (literally), to get myself back into clothes that I couldn’t wear before. I am a size 14 on my bottom half (these F cup titties ain’t tryna fuck with nothing below a 16, fam) so why didn’t the size 16 jeans fit me?

Not gonna lie, the part that hurt me the most was that they were only £2. Why, oh why did a super bargain like this not fit? *weeps in bargain bitch*  Naturally, I decided that the reason these very fabulous jeans were reduced to £2 is because they were badly made and that’s why the fuck they did not fit. It’s not me, it’s them! As much as there may have been truth (and denial) in that logic, this issue wasn’t new to me, nor to any of you.

Sizing makes no fucking sense. Every shop you go into has their own version of what a certain size is and it’s annoying. What is so hard about making a universal size so that whether you go into a Primark, River Island, Top Shop or a Gucci, you know that your size is your size? It’s especially frustrating when you’re on a weight loss journey, because it fucks with the progress you think you’ve made.

I’ve been harping on for months about how I can now fit into a size 14, but one encounter with a pair of £2 size 16 Primark jeans has me questioning that. Those jeans suggested that I could still be an 18, but I can’t be because anything that I own that is a size 18 is now too big for me. I don’t understand.

I’ve noticed that the lower down the fashion retail scale a store is the more generous they are with their sizes, and they higher up they go…well it makes you feel like you shouldn’t bother unless you’re a solid petite 14, otherwise it’s like, move along, peasant. For example, I like to grab stuff from George in ASDA sometimes because every now and then they have good shit. I can without a doubt say that supermarket fashion is definitely generous in sizing. I figure it’s because of the market they are catering too, which is generally mums and middle aged women. I could probably get away with a 12 from there if the stretch of the fabric is forgiving enough. Stores like Primark and New Look are also a touch more generous because they’re like affordable ‘I’m every woman’ stores. Higher up the scale, River Island, H&M, and most online retailers like PLT, Missguided and what not, they’re a little more accurate in that I know that when I walk in/log on there, not to even think about a size 14. As for Top Shop and Zara, those high end high street shops, bitch I don’t even blink in their direction coz I know their shit won’t fit me. They’re too busy tryna be more bougie and important than they actually are, so they are hella stingy with the fabric (and I’m not a fan of their prices).

Fashion doesn’t need to be this complicated. Retailers need to have fixed sizes all around so that we don’t have to play the guessing game when we buy something, or go to the changing rooms and face disappointment.

If something doesn’t look good on you because it doesn’t suit you, that’s cool, but being duped by a size label that needs revising is a piss take, especially when it toys with people’s body image. This is extra annoying with online shopping because you have to send the shit back and that is effort.

Just. Make. One. Size. For. Every. Size.

What are your experiences on trying to shop for your size? Sound off in the comments below.

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Until next time, fancy face

Love Scotty x

My Carnival 2017

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Hey fancy faces. I hope you all had an excellent bank holiday weekend filled with everything that's bad for you in excess.

I had an amazing time; heaux I was drunk as fuck, high as hell, and filled with good vibes and bad intentions. Notting Hill 2017 is definitely one for the records. As I type this I still have paint in my hair and under my nails, my hips are aching from all of the wukkin’ up and sluttery, and I'm pretty sure I'm still slightly intoxicated from last night.

This year, me and my girls (and my mum coz she's tun up), had the absolute pleasure of jumping with Jus Jab, one of the hypest, dutty mas bands on road. It was LIT! Everyone was free up and getting on bad, and unlike my last time playing mas (Wotless, 2015), I didn't end the day exhausted and out of breath on someone's doorstep (as my mum likes to remind me non-stop because she doesn’t want me to shine). Nope, on nothing but two hours of sleep and (a LOT of) alcohol as my only sustenance throughout the day, I ran wild with my bad behaviour up till the end, and bitch, it felt fucking excellent.

The body positivity was strong this year, too. Sticking with the #WearItChallenge, we pushed our outfits waaaaaayyyyyyy out of our comfort zones. Jus Jab were selling £60 bodysuit packages, but we're are some financially responsible (cheap) ass bitches, so we purchased the £40 t-shirt packages...then wore our own bodysuits for free, because you ain't about to trick me into giving away my money when I don't need to (save them coins, sis). Our sizes ranged from 8-18 and every bitch in the squad looked like confident stripper-heaux extravaganza (no eleganza coz wasn't shit elegant about giving these menzis the wuk of their lives in these skreetz).  It was fantastic and freeing.

This lifestyle change has given me so much more energy. My stamina and my endurance was put to the test at carnival and I really felt the benefits of eating better and most importantly, working out. I actually felt HEALTHY…well healthier. I’ve still got some more work to do, but today I’m celebrating this win. Even better was that the following day (after waking up naked after I passed out on my sofa bed -still in sofa mode -with dry skin and my towel on the floor) I was still able to move without feeling like I was being punished for being a festival slut. In the past, the day after carnival has always been hell on my body. Everything would hurt from my big toe to my eyelids. This year, there was a dull ache in my hip but nothing that made me wince. This is a fucking achievement.

Deciding to take on this lifestyle change has been the best (and worst because I still don’t like the gym) thing for me. I appreciate it a lot more now because it’s making me realise how much I was unable to do before that I can now. I'm looking forward to where I will be next year -even more fit/trouble and comfortably wearing a revealing costume (goals).

If there are any topics you would like me to talk about, just hit me up here and if you haven’t done so already, please make sure you join my mailing list by clicking that lovely blue envelope in the corner for exclusive news, updates and giveaways.

Click the image below to read my previous post:

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Until next time, fancy face

Love Scotty x