Looking Back On 2017

I can’t believe that I made it. For a long time, I hadn’t thought that I could.

Many of you who have followed my blog or my Instagram feed or even know me in real life understand that 2017 was filled with high highs and the lowest of lows. Having to navigate the world as a freshly divorced Muslim woman who was left with zero. Zilch. After ten years. Separating myself from toxic family members. Being dragged into bullshit by supposed friends, trolled by Muslims, and fatshamed by strange men who knew nothing of me when my dance video went semi-viral.

It has been an emotional rollercoaster to say the least.

As I sit on my bed with two pillows propped behind my back and under two old blankets, I am reminded of 2017 and all its adventures and struggles.

In January, I was severely depressed. Being only a few months post-divorce, no job or insurance, I had no prospects. It was winter, the sun was barely shining, and I fought to hang on. I was still blogging and trying to restart my YouTube page and look for a low-paying job with two masters. I tried to keep myself busy and took a shot at applying for an artist fellowship. It took me a month to complete the packet. But, I did and submitted it.

Maybe I’d get it and maybe I wouldn’t.

Things were quiet. I had to sit with myself. Figure out who I was and what I was made of.

During the silence, I’d cry when I thought about what was done to me. What I’d been through. I started to get spiritual because it was the only thing that was going to save me. My life was spiraling out of control.

I told myself that if I was to come into any money, I was going to book a trip somewhere in the world.

Shades: Alley & Eye

I’d hurt my knee in 2014 at work and the job treated me so badly, claiming because I was fat was the reason why I got hurt when clearly a patient attacked me on camera and I ended up falling over a chair.

My lawyer called me and after three years, they finally wanted to settle. Although they screwed me mostly and my lawyer took almost half, I had money to last five months. I decide to book my trip and live off the rest and try to pursue my creative career.

I was so scared to book the trip to London and Paris. I’d never been overseas by myself before. I called all my friends who traveled, just freaking out. They were just like book the damn tickets and stop trying to control everything. I booked the tickets and almost threw up. Every day, I regretted booking the flights, but there was no going back.

That trip was the most exhilarating thing I’d ever done in my life. I didn’t know what to expect and took everything moment by moment. Hell, I didn’t even have a working phone. I relied on strangers and my own intuition to get me through. I modeled (without an agent) for large companies, got my wallet stolen in Brixton, got lost a thousand times, I went on a date, I ate sushi, and semi-hitchhiked with a Russian. I made connections and I challenged myself like never before.

I came back refreshed and ready to take on the remainder of the year. During that time, I wrote another book. I’d written three books before this one, but they were all Sci-Fi. This was the first book about my life. I started with a story about being a poor fat kid growing up as the only Black Muslim in the neighborhood. Then the other stories began to spill out of me. The real story about my divorce, Mom’s mental illness, and my body image issues.

Musings of a Fat, Black Muslim was written in three months. I didn’t seek representation for it because I was running out of money and needed to look for a job. So, I put my project away. Many months were wasted filling out apps and sending my resume to hundreds of companies and not one responded.

I was being tested and failing miserably.

Skirt: Simply Be

A few gigs rolled my way and I was able to work with Go Red for Women on a social media campaign about body positivity and health, flown to New York to do a video about Muslim women for Conde Nast, and then hosted the Allied Media Conference’s opening ceremony at the Detroit Institute of Arts.

June rolled around and although I was gaining momentum, I still hadn’t found a stable job.

I started to have very bad anxiety attacks. Like the ones that come out of nowhere. Like the kind where you think you’re going to die because your heart is beating so fast and it feels like a heart attack. And, usually they’d come every once in a while, but they started coming like several times a day. I tried all the techniques and they weren’t letting up. I became severely depressed.

I was quitting everything. The blogging. The modeling. The writing. I shouldn’t have gotten a divorce; I should’ve stayed with his emotionally abusive ass because I hadn’t deserved anything better. I wasn’t shit. My work wasn’t shit. I was a fraud. But, most of all, I was alone.

Withdrawing from close friends, they tried to call, and I ignored them. I was a dark cloud and didn’t want to be bothered. No one could help me, I thought. Finally, my friend called again. I answered. She invited me to the mosque for dinner, it was free, and it was Ramadan. I was broke, so I went.

I sat down at the table as they chatted, happily. The plate in front of me went cold. Their attention went to me. They asked if I was okay. I wasn’t. They tried to help, and I started crying. My one friend ushered me to the bathroom. I told her about the depression and anxiety attacks. She allowed me to cry on her shoulder. I asked her what was I supposed to do? What had God wanted me to do? I didn’t have anything left to give.

“You are not lazy. You put in the work. I see you putting in the work. You’ve gotta let go and give it to him. You’re not in control. Let it go,” she said.

Her words swirled around my head that night. The next morning, I woke up with the heaviness that had plagued me for the last few months gone.

A few days later, the Kresge Foundation emailed me and told me that I had won the Gilda Award, which came with a $5,000 grant, beating out 750 applicants.

I didn’t plan on crying on stage in front of a room full of white people when I accepted the award. I planned on gracefully showing how I appreciative I was. The tears I shed were ones of gratefulness. That for once, I’d been deemed as a prolific writer when not too long ago, I wouldn’t even dare to call myself a writer let alone a creative.   

After the Gilda award, I bought a ticket to LA (where I hope to reside one day) and booked a few modeling gigs and met up with the Movers and Shakers. I went to the beach and laid there in a polka-dot two-piece and an Amber Rose cut. Listening to the waves as I soaked up the rays. I started crying again because my broke-ass had been blessed to make it to LA on a coach ticket and find a couch to sleep on.

As the summer winded down, I got a chance to work with Adidas Originals on their EQT launch, I was invited to do several video projects with the city of Detroit, I dropped a body-positive dance video that was viewed by over 200,000 folks and was featured nationally and internationally on CBS, CBS, Cosmopolitan, Buzzfeed, Bustle, and Teen Vogue (just to name a few). I was on local news! I was flown out to the University of Ottawa to talk about feminism and being Black and being fat. I was just featured in Elle Magazine. Yes, the hard copy.

And, the biggest accomplishment was that I was able to shop my memoir around. I sent my book proposal out to 100 agents in the matter of days. My fingers hurt from sending out all those emails. About twelve agents responded. Most of them offered me representation on the spot. On my 30th birthday, I was officially represented by a literary agency in New York. I one-day hope to see my fat ass face on the shelves of your local book store.

I never knew any of this was possible. And, I surely didn’t think my life would take this route, but I am so hopeful about the coming year.

Although, I’m still broke and figuring out how to make a living as an artist, a true artist that is transparent and raw and real, I know that my followers, my friends, and select family members will hold me down. I will hold me down.

My grandmother passed away last week, and we just laid her to rest. She was an avid reader, was photogenic, and loved makeup and fashion, like me. She was a pillar and the backbone of our family. Although, she had her quirks, like every other human, I’m here because of her. She even named me when I was born.

I have no choice but to go forward now. To push twice as hard as I have this year. To do the best I can to continue to show beauty where the media tries to hide it. To advocate for the little voices, the underrepresented, the folks that get shitted on daily. To push unconditional love and acceptance and equality of the sexes. Body positivity. Eradication of Islamaphobia and fatphobia.

To be the fattest, Blackest, Muslim with the loudest voice and the most contoured face you’d ever seen in your entire life.

2018 is gonna be litty.

xoxo,

Leah V

Reclaiming Time and Taking Up Space

This week has been very interesting. Well, this entire year has been interesting to say the least. I’ve learned much about setting boundaries, cutting off dead-weight friends and family who are clueless to that fact, not accountable for their actions, and high-key jealous. I’ve learned about drive, about pushing one’s self to the outer limits, where few people go. Fear of success and fear of loneliness. I’ve especially learned the two biggest lessons of them all: reclaiming my time and taking up space.

Last year, I remember asking myself, how can I top last year? How can I make my photoshoots better? My wardrobe fiercer? My voice louder? How can I be more authentic, raw, helpful? Although, I thought I was woke, I was only semi-woke because I hadn’t thought outside the box. Many of us think that we’re thinking so big, but are we really? Whatever you think could happen, could go so much farther, bigger. And, I hadn’t known this until I got to work with Adidas Originals and was flown to Canada by the University of Ottawa. All expenses paid.

Jacket Courtesy of Addition Elle

I want to talk about reclaiming time (thanks Auntie Maxine!). Now, we all know that you can’t actually reclaim time. When time is up, it’s gone, and you can never, ever get it back. With this fact, why the fuck do people waste so much of it? And, why do folks allow others to waste theirs? We have women who stay with men who verbally abuse them, treat them like shit on a stick, and they stay. Wasting good, vital years on a human who doesn’t even value their time. We have people who allow their family to belittle them, offer surface conversation, hurt feelings, and steal more of their time. Same thing with a dead-end job, how much time are they claiming from you?

Unfortunately, we can’t maximize every moment of every second of the day, and we will have to, at some point, engage in time wasted, but it’s up to you as to how much of your time you waste.

“I’ve wasted almost a decade,” I complained to my sister when I got divorced. “Do you know what I could’ve done with all that time?”

She replied, “You didn’t waste any time. You learned a lesson.”

“What did I learn?” I whined.

“Well, you learned what you don’t want in life.”

And, she was right. I did learn a great deal about what I wanted, what I needed, and what I hadn’t wanted ever again.

Do you ever meet up with someone or go to an event, and wondered why you even wasted your time going? Stop doing that. Reclaim your time. Stop doing things that you feel are going to make other people happy. Stop indulging in activities that you don’t want to do. Stop being friends with that girl that you really don’t mesh with anymore or that dude you feel inclined to be with just because. You are not doing yourself a favor. You are merely passing time, wasting time that could be spent on developing you.

I, honestly, feel bad for people like that. People who only have connections just to say they do or only going because ABC, but have no real interest in it. They aren’t really living life. Life is living them.

I used to be that person. Outwardly, I’d have a hard smile plastered on my face, but inside I was bored, dead, unenthusiastic. Why was I trying to be someone that I wasn’t? Why was I wasting time on relationships that clearly weren’t going to develop into anything but surface shit?

After being hurt by individuals who I tried to please for many, many years, I made a pact with myself. I was going to reclaim my time and only speak to people I was interested in, who I vibed with and do things that I liked to do. No more pretending to fit into this group or be cool with that group. Fuck that! In addition to my ‘fuck that’ moment, I was going to allow myself to take up space. Which meant that I was going to shine at my brightest watt without a care as to who was blinded by it.

For most of my circle, they accepted the Leah V who was changing, being more comfortable in her skin. For others, they started to hold resentment and dropped off like flies, which is fine, because that frees up space for better people to occupy. And, it has.

Sometimes, I get weirded out by all the folks that support me. It takes time getting used to. I’m a traumatized Black girl from Detroit with a trash family and a messy divorce that gets me mad from time to time, so when someone reaches out and is like ‘I got you’, it never ceases to amaze me.    

Give yourself the time and ability to reclaim your time and take up space.

xoxo,

Leah V

Fan Questions Answered with Leah V.

Fan Questions Answered with Leah V.

I like to do random shit. If I feel it, I’m most likely gonna say it (or type it). LOL. I had this cool idea to ask some of my followers to give me some questions to answer. Like LIVE, but not really because it’s like weeks later. I was shocked at the high quality of questions I got. I thought people were gonna ask completely ridiculous stuff. See? That’s what I get for assuming. But, yeah. They really gave me thought-provoking questions.

So, here are my answers:

@Candeecurry What do you feel is your unique purpose in the world? Do you feel as though you are on track?

LV: This is such a good question! And, honestly, it took me a long time to figure out how to answer it. At this point in life, I know that my purpose is to create content and share it with the world. My work is very niche, so everyone isn’t going to get it or like it. My purpose is to defy the odds, show girls, woman (and men) that you can look totally different and not fit the mold of societal beauty or power and still be whatever it is that you want to be. Which, in this world, is hard to swallow.   

Am I on the right track? If you would’ve asked me last month, I would’ve said, hell yeah! Today, I’m not so sure. My ideologies of ‘on track’ differ from day to day. I always hope I am though.

@JasmineN What’s your fave piece of clothing and why?

LV: Surprisingly, I don’t have one. I have a fave food though. HAHA. I’m sorry, I lied. My fave item of clothing are leggings because you can lounge in them and stretch whenever or wherever you are in the world, comfortably.

@becoming_becca.again_ Whose your biggest influencer, the person you look up to?

LV: I have many. A lot of them aren’t even in the “fashion” arena. I really look up to people who are real, raw, and have a backstory that doesn’t involve a silver spoon in the mouth. I love individuals that are a little rough around the edges, ones who went through hell to get to where they are now. People like Oprah, Maya Angelou, and J.K. Rowling. I struggle all the time doing what I do. I’m struggling today. But reading stories of their struggles and how they just believed and kept going really changes my life and outlook.

MUA: Madinah Muhammad

@Thisis_esi Dating as a young fat, black, Muslim woman, challenges? Best and worst experiences?

LV: Oh lordy! Lol. Girl, now you know there is a lot of those challenges when dating. And this is such a touchy topic because I’m Muslim and Muslims aren’t supposed to date, but you know I keep it real. Most guys don’t even approach me because I wear hijab so that knocks out about ninety percent. For the ten percent that have the guts to come up to me or message, they span from fat-shamers, BBW fetishizers, and wierdos. I’ve had okay dates, but no one has stuck yet because I’m finnicky like a cat.

@Prettyinpigment What do you love most about Detroit

LV: Detroit is OK. LOL. The job market sucks. The food here is pretty tasty. Detroit isn’t a fast-paced city but it isn’t slow either. It’s a good balance. It’s laid back and still growing which is cool. I don’t think I’d stay here though; it’s not growing fast enough in the fields of fashion or publishing.

@Lateeforigninals What’s your favorite color?

LV: Black. Darkness! And I like colors, too. Don’t have a favorite. Back in the day it used to be yellow.  

@lionwinemountain What books inspire you?

LV: The Harry Potter Series. I really love YA fiction and dystopian novels. I love being immersed in other worlds. And I’m really inspired by the author’s story of how she created the characters while being broke.

@notmycupofchai What advice would you give to your young Muslim sisters who are trying to find themselves?

Dress: PinkCloveUK

LV: I’d tell them to stick to their guns. Family, friends, and the media will try to persuade you from being who you are truly meant to be. Who you’re comfortable being. Don’t allow them to. You have to be true to yourself and listen to your gut.   

@Saneelatameez What is your greatest fear in life?

LV: Wow. Y’all didn’t come to play games today! Right now, my biggest fear is failure. I’ve always been an overachiever and I thought that perfection was attainable. I still have to remind myself to chill, but it’s hard. I just don’t want to let anyone down.

@itsbenstange What do you want to be your legacy?

LV: I want my legacy to be that girl who didn’t take no for an answer. Who pushed through the glass ceiling even though she had negative two bucks in her account. I want to be that beacon of change of the mass ideology that beauty is only thin or only white. That as a Muslim woman you can. That as a black woman you can. That as a fat person you can. And you will. And you deserve. All of it. I want my legacy to be words. With meaning. With direction. Substance. To change the world from hate and ignorance to understanding and respect for all humankind.

xoxo,

Leah V. 

Thighs That Touch

“The reason why your aunt can’t get a job is because she’s fat,” Mom said matter-of-factly to my younger sister and I. 

In my own fat thirteen-year old body I thought, that’s not the reason why. It’s just a bad economy.

Although Mom wasn’t as big as my aunt, her weight was up and down. Mostly up. She had suffered from eating disorders for most of her life including mild anorexia. To be honest, I never really recalled Mom eating ‘real food’ like the stuff she fed us. She was a closet eater who binged on cakes and doughnuts in the privacy of her bedroom. The sheets would be riddled with crumbs and the aroma of sugary frosting lingered. 

Mom showed us old photos of her younger, thinner self in the 70’s with her short shorts on, a crop top, and rocking a thick, black afro. She said proudly while pointing, “See. My thighs didn’t touch back then. When they touched, I knew that I was eating too much.”  Thin was good in our house. Great even. Fat was unacceptable. 

And I was fat. 

My thighs touched. My belly hung over my panties. My boobs jumped when I jumped. My double chin greeted you before I was able to. My arms squeezed into jackets that didn’t stretch. 

Obsession. 

One day, I decided to turn on my own fat body. To mistreat it like it was my worst enemy. To destroy it until there was nothing left. I was tired of boys only flirting with my thin friends, I was tired of stuffing myself into jeans that only made it partially up my thick thighs, and I was sick and tired of obsessing over how other people perceived my fat ass! Am I eating too fast? Should I get the salad instead? Should I just shut up? Who wants to hear what a fattie has to say?  

Scouring the latest teen fashion magazines, I ripped out dozens of pages of unrealistic supermodels, thin white actresses, and statuesque bombshells with straight teeth. I went on a rampage and started pasting them on my bedroom wall, the closet door, and around my dresser’s mirror. I wanted to see what I wasn’t, but what I could possibly be. Skinny and beautiful. Wanted and validated. Mom would be proud of me. But only if my thighs didn’t touch. 

I went out and bought a pair of stylish jeans that were three sizes too small. When I got home, I placed them on a hanger and hung them on the window over my bed. Motivation. The person who could fit inside those jeans was better in some way. Outgoing. A fuckin’ boss. 

I envisioned myself in those jeans every morning when I woke up before school, when I ate a handful of pretzels and drank a low-calorie drink for lunch, when I thought about having a slice of pizza, and right before I went to bed. My inability to focus and the migraines due to malnutrition didn’t matter. Nor had the churning and grinding of my empty stomach. Not even the silent late night cry sessions due to gaining a half a pound the day prior meant anything. 

After five months, I had lost seventy pounds. And how things changed. Everyone was sooooo happy. It was as if I had won some sick lottery. My teachers asked me how I did it. “It’s easy,” I lied. Guys started to notice me. Girls were jealous of me. I was living the life. 

At home, when the cheers died and I was all alone, I was still fat. Inside. The scale said one thing, but my mind told me another. 

Losing the weight was brutal. Maintaining it was different. My antics got wilder as I scrambled to stay thin. In the morning, I’d clear my bowels and bladder, strip, and hop on the scale butt naked. If the scale was even a pound heavier, my entire day would be ruined. If the scale was in the negative, the day would be amazing because I was closer to being more skinny. I was on the no-carb diet, so I peed on a stick twice a day (sometimes three if I got crazy) to see if I was in optimal ketosis, fat burning mode. I’d chew on no-sugar sticks of gum all day to curb my appetite. I’d go through packs and packs of gum. Mom bought them in bulk from Costco. She was trying to lose weight, too. I’d strip again, in the evening, and hop on the scale. Then I’d turn on the Style Network and watch models strutting down the runway in expensive clothes and cry.    

Nothing ever lasts.

For spring break, I purchased a cheap flight to my grandma’s house in the south. I finally arrived and plopped down in a chair at the kitchen table. 

“What’s wrong?” she placed her palm on the small of my back. 

I held back tears. I hadn’t eaten that day. “I’m just—I’m so hungry.”

She fried shrimp and baked biscuits. I ate it all. Every morsel. Felt sicker. I wasn’t used to the heaviness of food. 

After that, I never stopped eating and gained the seventy pounds I’d lost, plus some. 

Over the last ten years, I’d lost some and gained more. On this body awareness roller-coaster, I’ve hated my body, I’ve mistreated it, and allowed others to dictate how I felt about it. But I’ve also loved it, caressed it, celebrated it, and adorned it. 

I’m at a point where I’m in complete awe of it. The way it breathes for me. Blinks for me. Allows me to type this very essay about it. I’m in love with myself and how it rolls and sways when I move. How it affects others so delightfully. 

I’m happier in this fat body than I ever was trying to fit into those jeans that were three sizes too small.    

My thighs touch. My belly hangs over my panties. My boobs jump when I jump. My double chin greets you before I am able to. My arms squeeze into jackets that don’t stretch.

And that is very much so acceptable.  

XOXO,

Leah V.

The ‘F’ Word: FAT

At Buffalo Wild Wings, I ordered lots of food. Hey, I was super hungry. Plus, I have a tendency to order too much then complain about being too full halfway in. Yes, annoying. I know. I’m working on my indecisiveness.  

Anyhow, after the waiter leaves, I said to my guy friend playfully, “OMG. I’ve ordered half the menu. I’m soooo fat.”

His eyes swelled with fear then shock. If he had pearls, he probably would’ve clutched them.

At first, I thought I had lipstick on my teeth. “What?” I croaked.

“You. Are. Not. FAT!”

I rolled my eyes. “Boy, bye. I am fat.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You are curvy. Trust me, I know fat. You’re just thick.”

“I’m fat. I’m obese. I’m overweight. It’s fine.”

What was interesting was that the ‘F’ word for him was so negative, so vile that he couldn’t possibly equate that nasty attribute to me. He got an A for effort though. Haha. But like him, so many other men and women avoid the word ‘fat’ or if they do use it, it’s become one of the main cuss words.

I’m not even going to lie. In my adolescence and early 20’s, I was once one of those people that if someone called me fat, I’d melt and dissolve into the wind. No coming back from it. I’d go over it a million times in my head. Fat. Fattie. You’re FAT! Why the fuck are you still fat? Be skinny. Skinny is better. Skinny is acceptable. You will be great when you are skinny.

Funny thing is that when I did have an eating disorder and got ‘skinny’, I was the unhappiest I’d ever been in life. But, everyone else seemed to dote on the fact that I’d lost so much weight so fast and blah, blah, blah.

Why do we glorify thinness but bash fatness? And I know the internet trolls with their Google degrees are going to come out of their troll lairs with the following argument: fat acceptance glorifies obesity and health problems.  

Firstly, I welcome them with the real ‘F’ word. After that, my rebuttal consists of not only fat people have health issues. I’ve been fat mostly all of my life, and I’ve had no major health problems. I have fat and skinny friends with health issues. Good or bad health doesn’t discriminate like we do. And if I did have bad health from being fat, that still has nothing to do with you because you aren’t me nor do you pay my medical bills.

Back to our scheduled program…  

So why am I talking about this? In an interview, I was asked about the word ‘fat’. Why is it such a negative word? Why do most girls and women cringe and melt when they are called it? And most importantly, when I decided to reclaim it.

I reclaimed the word when I started having open conversations about body acceptance with other body positive activists in the community. The conversations were real and enlightening. These women (and men) were not only fat but they were other things, too. They were fat and business savvy. They were fat and confident. They were fat and stylish. They were fat and athletic. They were fat and sexual.

They smashed the fat stereotypes in half and I set out to do the same.

Let’s say this at least eight times: Fat isn’t a bad word. Stop making it that way. It’s starts with you. It’s an adjective, people. Just like any other adjective. Sometimes, we’ve got to take a look at ourselves and stop being so freakin’ sensitive. So what if your boyfriend calls you fat. Do what I do and say, “Yes, I know. Anything else you want to point out Captain Obvious?”

If you are obese, overweight, curvy, or thick, 9 times out of 10 you are probably fat. And that’s ok. And if it’s not ok, then change it. Simple as that. But let’s not wallow in the fact that our bodies are shaped differently or the scale gives us a number that isn’t ‘acceptable’ to society’s standards.

Why not start living right now? Don’t let a couple pounds deter you from enjoying what life has to offer. Your body is good so be good to your body.

You’ve only got one.

xoxo

@Lvernon2000

Why I Decided to Become a Plus-Size Model

In this day and age, everybody and their mamas are ‘models’. Thanks social media! Everyone is a CEO of their own one-man company. Everyone is a fashion blogger. Everyone is a comedian or an actor. Or an influencer. And in no way am I throwing shade, but it’s real. And I tell it like it is. This is what I see, every day, all the time.

I am so grateful for social media, because it gave the thriving artist—who wouldn’t ever be considered by mainstream companies—the channel to build a following and show their value in a completely different way.

Frankly, without social media I’d have never made it this far in my blogging career or met the amazing people I’ve met. So, big-ups to Instagram and Facebook!  

So when I started blogging in 2013, I was very, very reluctant to call myself a plus-size model (and sometimes, I still am). Because I wasn’t. I wasn’t signed to an agency nor was I a professional in any way, shape, or form. Then there’s the dreaded stigmas attached to being a model…

Photo: Remy Roman

At shows, people would be like: Oh, you model?

I’d reply: No, no, no. I’m just a blogger who happens to take decent photos. *Laughs nervously*

Even on my worst days, I’d always get the compliment: You are so photogenic.

I’d grimace and be like, umm, do you see my jacked up teeth and round, fat body! I’d think in my head, what are they talking about and that they were probably just trying to be nice.

Fast forward. I went through eating disorders, self-loathing, negative, nasty thoughts about myself and my worth. The people around me started to flee. I hit rock bottom and had no support. The last straw was pulled and I got some mental therapy. Five years’ worth to be exact! Best five years of my life. Therapy allows you to look within and to stop covering shit with icing. The layers started to unravel. And a new-ish me emerged. I mean, she wasn’t perfect but she was a lot better than the old version.

I began to see the beauty in others and within myself. I know, I know. This sounds corny. But I literally hated everyone. And I hated myself. No one knew. But it’s the truth. I was uncomfortable in my very own skin. I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.

Photo: Brad Ziegler

I set up two photoshoots for myself. Funding the whole thing from makeup to wardrobe. Planning them was stressful yet exhilarating. Then I had my face on, my ensemble was snatched, my turban was on decent. I was nervous. Very nervous. And the camera started to flash and I just gave in. The photographer was like yassssssss. I was like ayeeeeeee.

Then other photographers and businesses started to approach me and ask me to model their clothes, makeup, and accessories.

Now I claim with proudness that I’m an indie plus-size, African-American, Muslim model. And with that said, modeling is about expression and story-telling. A lot of bloggers and models are about that paycheck and popularity. Not all. Some. In the beginning, I did like the exposure and being ‘known’ was cool, but then I started getting these sincere messages from men and women and I paused.

So every time, I do a shoot or a campaign it’s gotta have something the viewer can take from it. That’s why I’m very heavy on the content that I mix with my photos. If you, as a reader, don’t take anything from my words, then I’ve failed. If you look at my photo and don’t feel some kind of emotion, then I’ve failed.

And failing aint ever an option.

xoxo

Leah V.

BTS: Brad doing the dang thing!

More BTS. And it was a scorcher that day!

I Used To Get Bullied For Dressing Different

I’ve had a few interviews for different feminist and style blogs recently, and the question that I’m most asked is what it was like for me growing up, before Leah V. was Leah V.  

I grew up in the 90’s and early 2000’s, where nothing on my body was considered beautiful or desired. To add to that, I was Muslim and Black. And very much so fat. Triple whammy? So confidence was at an all-time low for the most part.

In my family, my mother was a pretty snazzy dresser and so was my grandmother. Even though they were large women, they still pulled out their sequins blazers, costume jewelry, and furs. My grandmother was into makeup as well. Bright red lips and blue eyeshadow was a must for any special occasion.

That’s when I fell in love, playing in her expensive lippies and shadows. I secretly painted my face, knowing my mother wouldn’t approve, and would make me wipe it off immediately.   

Makeup wasn’t in like that for young girls when I was growing up. No overly-contoured Kim K. looks.      The most we did was a heavy coating of cheap lip gloss from the beauty supply store and some mascara. Anything else was considered ‘clown face’.

I was a weird, thoughtful, and creative child. I watched a lot of movies, read a lot of books, and immersed myself into rock/pop music. Through these outlets, I began to internalize all the characters that I admired. They were sassy. They were strong. They didn’t take no shit! They were modern and stylish and outrageous. They were different just like me. And I imagined being anything I wanted.

And then it clicked… I was going to wear glitter on my eyelids, smear black lipstick on my lips, and place tiaras on top of my hijab.

Why? Because I was expressing myself and it made me happy.

Others didn’t feel the same way.

“Take that dark lipstick off your face,” Mom told me.

“Why black polish? Why not red?” Another asked.

“Why wear makeup, you already have such pretty skin,” someone commented.

“You look like a clown,” a family member said.

*Hella sighs*

I was obsessed with the Spice Girls, so I bought several pairs of those chunky flip flops. I was into Gwen Stefani from No Doubt and started wearing black nail polish and fingerless lace gloves. Then I went through the goth phase. Everything was pitch black.

I got made fun of for dressing crazy, wearing makeup, being outspoken, being fat, having big feet, pointy teeth, wearing colorful hijabs, covering my body… Blah, blah.    

The funny thing about it, I never allowed other people’s criticisms to stop me from dressing the way I wanted or affected how I carried myself. Because it was my body and I loved the expression that makeup and clothes could prompt. I wasn’t the same as the other girls, and that was fine with me.

It’s ironic, because now, I’m the trendsetter and style blogger. People ask my fat, Black Muslim self where do I get my clothes from. They ask me for fashion advice.

Although, it’s a sad thought to think what would’ve happened if I listened to those friends who made fun of my appearance and ensembles.

I wouldn’t be Leah V. I’d be some cardboard cutout. Exactly the same as the rest. Just falling in that straight and narrow line of lameness…

Beyonce said it best: “Tell him boy, bye!”  

Keep being your crazy, odd dressing, thin or plump self. Don’t let others dictate how you should or shouldn’t dress. Or that you need or don’t need makeup. Tell them it’s YOUR BODY and you can do with it as you please!

xoxo

Leah V.   

Confessions of a Content Fat Girl: Late 20’s Reflections

*Covers face* I’ve totally neglected my blog for the past few weeks. I’M SORRY. No, I really am. It’s almost midnight and here I am blogging. Today has been super humid, I’ve been groggy, and I’m looking for a new place. Packing. Throwing away crap I don’t need. And selling the rest. Ugggh!

I hope you guys understand. Life has been a loop but amazing nonetheless. And guess what else? My birthday was a few days ago. #LeoSeason. I plan on doing something fun and chill this weekend. So turn up!

I turned the big 2.9. Yes, I’m a year away from 30. Sounds weird to say. I’m lucky though, blessed, whatever you want to call it. Some people didn’t and don’t make it to or past that age.

But all this ‘growing’ up has me to thinking… You guys know, I’m an over thinker. A DEEP thinker. I like to reflect on what I’ve learned this year, what failures and accomplishments I’ve made, and to share what I hope to achieve in the future. My main goal is to reach you. I want you to learn something from my experiences. Maybe it’ll make your situation better, same, hell, maybe even worse (I certainly hope not). But I want you to take something from this.

Shades: Forever21 + Necklace: Charming Charlies + Shirt: Avenue + Denim Vest: Burlington + Skirt: Society +

Although major changes have occurred, I’m a content fat girl. I’ve never been so at peace despite the chaos going on. It’s really shocking to me that I’ve grown so much that certain things that used to bother the hell out of me don’t even penetrate my shields. And that very fact, I’m proud of. I never thought I’d actually be the ‘Bigger Person’. I mean I’m still petty, haha, but for the most part, I literally swerve any stupidity, bad-mouthing, and non-productive situation that arises.

What I learned this year? Let that shit go. You have choices. You don’t have to partake in anything that you’re uncomfortable with. You are allowed to say ‘NO’.

I’m telling you that it’s a freeing experience.

Skirt: Society +

Perseverance, but remember to take it step by step. I’ve learned to slow it down sometimes, yet still keep it moving steady. As women (and men), we put a lot on our plate. It’s ok to not do something at that very moment. What’s the worst that can happen? Is it life or death? If not, be fluid and allow yourself to breathe and reflect. There’s nothing wrong with taking a moment to reevaluate and then tackle a problem. Even Superwomen needs to rewind.

And the biggest thing I learned and relearn every day is the importance of the company you keep. I can’t stress this enough… We have internet trolls, family members, besties, managers, and randoms constantly reaffirming our fears. You need people around you that will dream as you do. Because dreams are important. I always had people tell me to take my head out of the clouds and come back to reality. I believed them, and I was miserable. I liked dreaming! When I figured out that they were trying to mold and shape my outlook on the world and of myself then I had to start cutting and blocking people from my circle.

Then I started adding people whose energies were supportive and genuine and good. This change caused me to explore more, fear less, and dream as I had done before.  

I thought this was the cutest thing. He wanted to get in on the OOTD action.   

In retrospect, I’ve accomplished more than I ever dreamed I could. Again, I don’t get paid to blog. I make very little money modeling, and I just launched a self-published book mostly on credit card so I’m in the hole. But even with all that, I’m surrounded by people who are ok with going out for cheap food, that can make me laugh until I pee myself, and who add zest to my world.

Money is great. Being married is great. Being attractive is great. But experiences last a lifetime. That’s my goal for the rest of this year and my remaining years. To Experience life and what it has to offer. And I hope you do, too.

xo

Leah V.

Fat Girl Style Guide: Color Blocking

Myth: Fat Girls Can't Wear Bright Colors or Color Block.

Why? Because it makes them look bigger or brings unwanted attention to their 'problem' areas.  

Photo: Danni Little

First of all, an area of your body is only a 'problem' if YOU make it one. If you decide that you do, in fact, have an area that you just absolutely hate, then my suggestion is to change it or learn to accept it.

We've got to rewire our minds and thinking about our body and how we view it. Also about fashion and style. Because rules are sometimes meant to be broken.

Color blocking is simple and basically utilizes two (or more) bright colors to contrast one another. So here, I have a white vest with a red skirt from Society+ 

Color blocking gives a clean, contemporary look with an edgy feel. And is a style technique that anyone can partake in, even fat gals and guys :)

Shades: Have H.I.P.S. + Turban: Flossy's Suitcase + Shirt: Wal-Mart

A lot of people ask me, as a stylist, how can the cover or hide a big stomach or flabby arms with clothes. I tell them that they can either wear black all day, every day. And that no amount or kind of clothing will 'cover' or 'hide' the parts they don't care for. 

And furthermore, why are we always trying to hide and conceal everything?!? Because when you take your clothes off, it's just going to all hang out there anyways. lol.

Shoes: Payless

I want all my fat fashionistas to choose some crazy, bright colors and try color blocking! Make sure you hashtag #LeahVDaily on Instagram so I can see how you rock it!

And don't forget to visit Society+ and check out all the cool new inventory!

Fat Girl Guide: Affordable Shopping

Person: Ohmageeerd, Leah V. you must have so much money because you always look so fly. Me: *Side-eye*

Not sure how many style/fashion bloggers get this but We. Are. Not. Rich. A lot of us fund our own shopping obsessions. Haha. And if you are a blogger who is rich. Kudos. Keep doing you boo boo!  

Anyways, style doesn't necessarily equate to having lots of money. *Clears throat* Let me repeat this again. Some people think because they have all the designer clothes and bags and nails and lashes that it automatically makes them fashionable. Nope.  

Rolling in dough doesn't mean that you are stylish. The most stylish people that I've met are people who are creative, thinks outside the box, and aren't apologetic about what they wear or where they get it from. Before thrifting became the 'IN' thing to do, there were tons of people going through those old racks of clothes at the Salvation Army and rocking that shit like it was no tomorrow.   

The long shirt $24.99 (Ashley Stewart) and necklace $10 (Charming Charlie's) are both clearance items.

1. BE A CLEARANCE RACK QUEEN

Don't be embarrassed. Walk right in the clothing store and bypass all the pretty mannequins and head straight to that crazy looking rack with items of random clothes hanging off it. You have made it to the clearance section, where you will dig through all the 'out-of-season' items to find a gem.

And listen. You can't be lazy when it comes to searching the clearance rack. You've got to be patient and dig in if you really want a deal. I'd say about 90% of the time, I find at least one thing I love.   

 *Also applies to online shopping. Hit the clearance tab on your fave website.

Long open vest on clearance $16.49 (Target) and floral leggings are from Torrid using a coupon.

2. Combine Purchases with Coupons

Lots of stores have rewards programs, haute cash (where you buy a certain amount and get credit on your next purchase), and of course, coupons. When they ask for your email or address, give it to em! Not only will they keep you updated on new shipments, but once in a while a nice little coupon comes along with the advertisement. Those will help keep down the cost of your purchases. Now, I try to shop at only the places I have coupons for. Of course, sometimes, you will have to buy something for a special occasion and not have a coupon, but for the majority of your shopping, try to do it this way in order to save every valuable dollar.

Tip: Put on a puppy dog face and ask the cashier if they have any coupons behind the counter. Sometimes, it works.

Sweater (Kmart) Nicki Minaj Collection $10.99 on clearance.

3. Thrift Stores and Consignment Shops

Check out your local vintage, thrift, and consignment shops. Basically, these clothes have been worn by other people. They've either donated the clothes or are lending them to be resold.

Tip 1: Be careful with clothes worn by other people. My advice is to thoroughly check over resale items then wash them at once after you've purchased.

Tip 2: Not all resale shops are alike. I've been to some pretty bad ones and then I've been to some really nice ones. Check them all out and see which one is the best fit for you.

Tip 3: See something you like, but maybe a button is missing or it's too big or small? Buy and repurpose it. Get creative people!  

Boots are borrowed and so is the bracelet!

Photo: Frankie Fultz

4. Borrowing

On most of my shoots, I have borrowed at least one item from a friend. Didn't have the money, but I had a shoot. You have to do what ya gotta' do. And, frankly, I'm not even ashamed to admit it. By looking at these photos, you wouldn't even know that fact. We all have that friend or family member that has all the cool stuff. You may not have the means but still want to look cute and feel good. Go borrow!

And make sure you return it clean and unscathed. It's nothing worst than a person who borrows your shit then messes it up.You break. You buy... 

Everything I have on in this photo is clearance or inexpensive.

Photo: Reel Clever Films

5. Invest in Your Clothes Wisely

Don't buy things just to say you have it or to show off. I see girls all the time with every designer label known to mankind on their bodies, walking around with a chip on their shoulder. And it's usually the worst outfit ever. Wear what you want because you like it, it fits your budget, and it makes you feel good.

By no means, am I saying to not spend money on quality clothes. Because, every once in a while, we will splurge. But just make sure you aren't breaking the bank to buy that Michael Kors dress at Saks.

Let's keep the conversation going: What's the best item you've found at a thrift store or on clearance? What's you best or worst splurge item?

The Selfie: What's So Wrong About Being Confident?

I take quite a bit of selfies. You have to take at least 10 pictures to get that perfect one with the right light and angle. I love taking them, especially when I get my face beat. The excitement is real. Too real. Most of the time, I take mine outside or on the way to an event. Usually, people are around. Now, mind you, I don't really pay attention to people who glance or even shoot me a little smile and then goes back to their business, but it's the haters that stand there and grimace and stare the entire time I'm doing it.

Umm, ahem. *Clears throat* Do you mind? A little privacy while I capture this moment of contoured elation.

There was this one time, I was taking selfies at a networking event with some friends. On each floor, we took pictures because the light said NOT TODAY! There was this couple who was watching us the whole time. You know me, I'm a nice lady, but I keep it moving. On the last floor, their hate finally erupted. "Are you guys gonna take selfies on every floor?"

The face people make when they are uncomfortable with a fat, Black, Muslim girl taking selfies.

I've had four years of therapy to get my mind and mouth right...after I snapped out of all types of angry Black woman stereotypes, I finally gave an acceptable answer. I smiled then said, "Yes, we are."

What I really wanted to say was the following: Why you all up in mine? Mind yo bizness! And lastly, why are you so bothered?!?! 

So I threw up the deuces and continued with life.

But this isn't the first time that I've taken pictures of selfies in public and got weird stares. I'd really like to know, why are these people so bothered with what I'm doing? I'm not carrying an ax or performing street tricks, I'm either modeling or taking a picture of myself at a moment where I feel good and confident. And I want to share that moment with other people, or my friends, or keep it tucked away for myself on those low days. The days when I need reminding that I AM beautiful, no matter what.  

I believe that some are angry at the things that they themselves won't allow themselves to do. So when they see me taking selfies, being unapologetic about the way I look and feel, it angers them. I also think that some people feel like taking selfies is for the vain and arrogant. Now, I can't speak for others, but that's definitely not the case for me.

Why does this make people feel uncomfortable?

Selfies are supposed to be empowering. Not this evil act that people do to annoy others. I've had a few people who never took selfies before in their life take some and tag me. What I saw were bigger smiles, chins lifted higher, and that slick glow of confidence that I live for. What's so wrong about that? Want us to walk around like unfabulous zombies? Nah. Aint happening this way. 

And this isn't just a selfie thing, it's an epidemic of people being uncomfortable with you owning it: your life, your circle, and yourself. Yes, I'm fat and I look damn good and sometimes I don't, but most of the time I do! Haha.

I have the right to be confident in my skin and in my clothes. I can strut whenever I want. I can speak with authority if I want. No, I don't think I'm better than you or anyone else, but I make decisions for me that are going to make me happy (including selfies!!!). And if you don't like it then that, my friend, is a personal problem. And I hope that you can get some help for that.

Yonce' says it better. "I ain't sorry. N****, Hell nah!"   

Let's keep the conversation going: How do you feel about selfies? Yay or nay? 

And don't forget to follow my fashion shenanigans on IG @Lvernon2000 or on Snapchat @ LeahVDaily

Body Positivity: All Bodies Are Good Bodies

I’m not sure if there is like a real proper term for Body Positivity and when it was actually coined is beyond me, but I stumbled into the phrase like two years ago and was immediately enthralled.

Wait a minute! I didn’t have to hate myself when I was around girlfriends that were smaller than me? I could actually do my makeup and wear a bomb outfit and feel equally beautiful? I didn’t have to worry about what other people thought of my fat ass eating in public? I could love my body and be ok with it and if I wanted to lose or gain weight I could without regret? Sign me up!

Kelvin

So here’s the thing, internet trolls have equated Body Positivity to fat people wanting to glorify obesity. Are you kidding me?!?! Let’s get the record straight. I don’t know any plus blogger, fat activist, or curvy fashionista that openly says ‘hey, be fat and unhealthy or skinny and unhealthy.” Health is always a concern, but it’s YOUR personal concern. I can’t make you stop smoking, make you put down the cake, or anything else. But for you, as a Troll, to imply that I’m unhealthy because I’m fat or that I’m trying to make people obese because I’m confident in my skin is a no-no. R-E-S-P-E-C-T goes a long way people.

Sarah Jane Adams

Body Positivity means, to me, that ALL bodies should be celebrated: old ones, wrinkly ones, tight ones, fat ones, thin ones, lumpy ones, covered ones, nude ones, black ones, yellow ones, and pale ones.   

Don’t knock me because I’m fat and fab and confident in my OWN skin. Just because you believe that you could never be confident at my size is YOUR issue. Not mine.

Ali R.

How can I be a part of the Body Positive movement? Great question. Straight sized people (and even larger ones) are often afraid to join in the movement. But I say, the more the merrier. This isn’t an exclusive club for fashionable fatties, this is a human movement. It’s inclusive. No one should feel on the outskirts of positive movements in the right direction. We’re all just trying to make it day by day.

By just being you, being confident in your abilities as a HUMAN being and respecting and encouraging others to be the BEST they can be, then you’re already involved. Speaking out against fat-shaming or body shaming is a major one as well. If you see someone getting harped on for their size (of lack of) then you should step in. No one deserves to be shamed openly because of a physical attribute. No one.

Eden S.

And when you post your fabulous pics on social media there are like so many hashtags to use to let people know that you have joined the movement. We have #EffYourBeautyStandards which was created by Tess Holliday, #HonorMyCurves, #SelfiesForSelfLove, #NoBodyShame, and #BlackGirlMagic just to name a few.

Leah V.

Here a few more things you can do to promote Body Positivity:

1.       Wear what you want, when you want

2.       Put as much (or as little) makeup on as you want

3.       If you feel like saying some hating ass shit, don’t

4.       Own it, whatever ‘IT’ is

5.       Smile at other people, a lot  

Sarah Jane Adams