Style inspiration for everyone, no matter your size.
Be inspired by the very best plus-size street style from all over the world.
For every fat babe who ever inspired me.
I’d love to pretend that I came out of the womb as this body positive, self-loving, confidently fat individual, but like most people who live in ‘othered’ bodies, I was a self-conscious, self-doubting, chubby middle-eastern girl who really wanted to be pretty. I was probably only 7-years-old when I became conscious of the fact that there was something ‘wrong’ with the way I looked. I was desperate to fit into the mainstream norm of fashion and beauty, and so badly wanted to be cool, a universal feeling that felt even more exaggerated growing up in image-conscious LA. I spent my childhood and adolescence wanting to be thin, and literally squeezed my zaftig body into too-tight clothes just to play along.
When I was 16, my desperation took me to an ultra-posh boutique in Beverly Hills that had become the fashion destination among young Hollywood. I scanned the store for jersey and stretchy seams and little hints that something might fit, and zeroed in on a pair of sleek, faded jeans with a nary-in-sight elastic waistband. I clutched them and ran to the fitting room: these jeans were my ticket to being inducted into fashion’s exclusive club. I called my mom over, feeling so proud and confident, knowing how much she’d love them too, only to be greeted by a hearty, belly-deep laugh. “What? Don’t they look good?” I implored, while turning around and showing them off. My mom kept laughing, and motioned for one of the sales girls to come look at me peacocking in the jeans. “They’re maternity jeans,” she giggled. “Please, tell her they’re maternity jeans!” The sales girl stood awkwardly, until she burst and joined my mom’s chorus of amusement. I scurried back into the fitting room, peeled off the jeans, and ran out of the boutique without looking up.
Even though I felt rejected by fashion, I was still obsessed with it; it wasn’t just the maternity jeans incident – it was constant micro-aggressions and the absence of anyone like me gracing the glossies. The pages of Vogue were plastered on my walls, and I fawned Marc Jacobs and Anna Sui, fantasizing about what a perfect, designer-clad life might look like in a size 6 body. There was no Beth Ditto or Lizzo or Ashley Graham to serve as my fashion template. Whenever there was a body that looked like mine, it was understood – whether blatantly said or through coded language – that fatness was inherently bad. Fat was synonymous with ugliness, and if fashion was a world curated by aesthetics, which defined beauty, there was no way fat and fashion could coexist.
Even though I spent my entire life feeling hyper aware of my body and the space I took up, it took me years to self-identify as plus-size, and even longer to find power in that identity. I was trained to shrink and obscure my frame, to disguise my shape and size through black, drapey clothing, and make myself as invisible as possible. Stripes? Not for me. Wearing white? It would only exaggerate my size. Patterns? Why would I want to draw even more attention to my ample ass? There were so many rules, all of them reinforcing the idea that fashion was not a world in which I was allowed to participate.
And yet, I found my way in. I was first introduced to body positivity in online Fatshion communities. That lead to creating my own blog, and then being invited to write for Vogue Italia, and then being a contributing editor at Marie Claire, and then creating collections for brands like ModCloth and Addition Elle, and then starring in international campaigns. There are so many ‘and then’s’, and that journey lead me to this utterly transformative moment, where I joined forces with my friend and fashion pioneer Gabi Gregg, to create our own plus-size brand, Premme. It’s a path that only became possible thanks to the labor of many people, especially women of color and queer femmes – who created a language and vocabulary for body positivity, and acted as thought leaders and creators of our own empowering fashion. While we may not have been invited to the mainstream fashion table, there’s something to be said for having to create our own damn party; it’s kind of a revolutionary act to adorn and dress ourselves, to look in the mirror and say, “Damn, I look good,” without an invitation from the establishment.
Vogue