Big Brains > Big Ass
I am of East Indian descent and the owner of the so-called desirable Carnival body type - that is the narrow waist, the thick thighs and big, round bottom. There have been many Carnival soca songs and calypsos that pay homage to my body type.
As a young person I hated my body. Clothes never fit me properly. Suits weren’t made to mix and match with a pear shaped body, I’d have pants that fit me well and the jackets were two or three sizes too big. Jeans and pants would always have that awkward looking gap at my waist, so I always had to have them tailored to fit me. Skirts rode up my thighs. Dresses clung to my hips and thighs and were loose on top; I envied girls with a slim body type who could wear sheath dresses so effortlessly.
My body is also a topic of conversation when I walk into a room. Family members and friends all feel the need to tell jokes about my body. Acquaintances and strangers all assume a sense of familiarity with me that they don’t have. Sometimes I laugh with them, sometimes my brown skin darkens as blood flushes my face.
Sometimes I am met with racism. I am accused of having a body that doesn’t belong to me. My body belongs to Afro-Trinidadian women. Indo-Trini women are supposed to have flat asses. I must have paid for it. I must be a “horn chile”. If they had met my mother in her younger days, they would know it was genetic.
Then there is the slut-shaming ... by women. The first time I was told that my skirt was too tight, I had just started working. The older woman was my supervisor, in a manner of speaking. I went into the bathroom and cried, feeling like I was judged for my appearance instead of my character. I didn’t have the courage back then to point out that the slimmer figures wore the same clothing and it was acceptable (try me now).
Then, of course there are the cat calls. I’ve had men shout out all kinds of inappropriate things to me while I venture into the public. I’ve been “sooted”, whistled at, called “baby, sexy, beautiful, nice lady”. I’ve been followed by strange men. Sometimes men have come right up to my face making smooching faces, or to tell me that they like how I look. I was even once kissed on the cheek by a strange man who came up behind me. Sometimes I let it go, sometimes I fire back, but usually when I do, everyone around me looks at me like I am the crazy person.
Yet I am told I should be grateful for how I look. Women have told me they wish they could look like me. Girlfriends say they would take what I have and drag it through the streets of Port of Spain, stand upside down and bubble it. As a non-partaker in Carnival, a non-lover of soca (I didn’t say I hate it, just not impressed, don’t @ me) I am told that my body type is wasted on me. No one believes me when I say, “If you had it, you wouldn’t want it.” Nowadays my body type
is popular in mainstream media, thanks to the JLos, the Kardashians, the Iggy Azaleas and the Beyonces. I’ve been able to find clothes that are actually tailored for my body type (hello FashionNova) and nowadays the social media handles of photographers are littered with Carnival models who all look like me.
These days I have feelings of conflict. On occasion I actually feel beautiful and unique. I want to wear the outfits that hug my curves and make me look attractive. But most of the time, I feel fetishised and objectified so I wear oversized tops in a futile attempt to cover or diminish the appearance of my lower half – there is almost nothing I can wear to hide it, I’ve tried.
The thing that hurts me the most in all of this is people acting like my body is the sum of who I am. I am more than just this so-called attractive shell, I am a human being. I believe in kindness and compassion. I love to read and draw. I am unafraid of being silly and I love making people laugh. And I think big brains and a big heart are a thousand times more attractive than a big ass.