What Not To Wear

We are always told what not to wear.

Bikinis. Short Sleeves. Stripes. Florals. Bright colors are certainly out of the question for a lot of us.

There are tons of articles and listicles of what women over 40 shouldn’t wear or what someone with a big stomach should avoid. We are a society of trying to hide, conceal, and alter what we don’t like. We are becoming less and less human and more plastic by the second with the influx of doggie filters and smoothing apps to make us Instagram acceptable.

We are afraid to try anything new out of fear of what others will think of our bodies. We fear the backlash of someone noticing that we aren’t wearing a body-shaper or that good ole’ girdle. The stretch marks on our arms or the sag of our boobs. Our real bodies are unacceptable.

We’re so worried about fitting in that we toss away all of the uniqueness that makes us so much more interesting. This may be cliché, but if we all looked like a Barbie wouldn’t the world be such a boring place?

I have a lot of conversations with my platform about body image. And, the stories that I hear are heartbreaking and shocking. Self-hate for many of us stems from childhood abuse by parents, bullying at school, and the media.

Can you imagine what would happen if we just loved ourselves without stipulations? Like if you loved yourself prior to losing ten pounds? Or if you loved yourself before the nose job? Before the makeup?

That’s why it’s so important to have conversations. Like, honest conversations about our bodies. No matter how weird or embarrassing. We learn so much more about ourselves when we share our stories, our struggles, and triumphant moments.

It’s kinda funny that as a plus-size model and body-positive activist, I still have my days. I still have that little voice in the back of my head that says, hmmm you shouldn’t wear that. You can’t wear that. YOU DON’T HAVE THE BODY FOR IT.

Fashion Nova Curve sent me this mustard jumper type deal and I was like oh that super cute n whateva. I kinda thought the material would be unforgiving, but I was feeling confident. I can do this!

When it arrived, I tried it on with excitement. I immediately noticed that it literally showed every dip and dimple of my thighs. My thighs and legs have always been problematic and it’s taken me a long time to come to terms with them. They always seem to garner attention that I don’t care for, making me feel like some kind of object. And, they are riddled with fat and cellulite. 

I looked in the mirror. This would look much better with a pair of Spanx, I thought. They’d smooth out the cellulite. Smooth out my stomach and fupa. It’d make everything look good.

I love my body and learning to love it more each day, but I have my days where I get sucked into the ideal of imitating unrealistic beauty standards. Then I start ridiculing myself and blaming what I ate yesterday on my ‘today’ fatness. If only I ate less and exercised more then I wouldn’t have to wear Spanx. If only I could lose a few pounds I’d be able to wear this or that with confidence. The age-old question: why not be confident right now, in the body I already got? 

When does only losing a few pounds ever satisfy us? We then get caught up in the idea that thin automatically means happy and spiral into diet culture. And as ya’ll know, it’s hard to recoup and bounce back from eating disorders and the negative effects of unhealthy dieting.

I almost didn’t post a lot of these photos because my cellulite is screaming hello! Because we don’t ever see cellulite on models or on magazines. Cellulite isn’t normal. But, every human being has stretch marks and cellulite to some extent. But, you’d never know because everyone smooths and edits now. 

I’ve gotten so many compliments on this jumper without the Spanx. With the cellulite full view. And I felt good in it. And, because I feel good, that’s the only thing that matters.

My cellulite or stretch marks don’t define me. And neither should it for you. 

There’s no such thing as what not to wear. Don’t ever listen to those anti-body love articles that box you into only wearing things that tuck and flatter. Just put it on and see how you feel. Let your body and mind guide you to what you wear.

Did you ever grow up wanting to change a part of your body? Have you come to terms with that part or are you still struggling? Let’s chat. 

Xoxo,

Leah V

5th Year in the Game: It’s My Blogger-versary

It’s my 5th year blogger-versary, y’all. *Tosses Confetti*

Damn, I’m old.  

This week back in 2013, I decided to start another blog (the two previous ones had failed). I had no clue what I was doing. No fancy camera (just a grainy ass android). No experience in styling or makeup.

Drake said he started at the bottom, girl, I started way beneath the bottom.  

I was married to a man who didn’t support what I was doing. He hadn’t understood my purpose, my vision. He wasn’t the cheering section that I thought and needed him to be. He did the bare minimum. I had to push myself and pick up the slack.

When I first hit the scene as a baby blogger, I was glared at by not only straight-sized bloggers, but the plus-size ones as well. I wasn’t good enough to be in their groups. I wasn’t good enough to be included in the photos with their fancy DSLR cameras. I was the newbie on their little turf and was underestimated. They hadn’t thought that I’d be the most successful blogger in Detroit, who’s not only been featured locally but nationally and internationally. If you are one of those people reading this, how does those apples taste? 

I hadn’t told my family because they didn’t understand why I couldn’t ‘use my degrees’ to get a real job. Work a job I hated for 30 years and not ever make a difference. I couldn’t do that. Not for them, I couldn’t.

I was made fun of. Told by Muslims that I should blog about religion instead of fashion, that what I was doing would embarrass my husband and that it wasn’t fitting of a Muslim woman to ‘model’ and wear makeup. That I shouldn’t bring attention to myself. I did that shit anyway.

I was picked over for white bloggers with way less of a following just because ya know, I wasn’t white.

For some hardheaded ass reason, I persisted. I paused, but I never, ever stopped.

The reason I started Beauty and the Muse was because I needed an outlet for my creativity, my pain, my voice. I wanted to be what I never got growing up. I wanted to see proper representation that the media fails to acknowledge. I wanted to be the change I wished to see. Instead of talking, I chose to do.

So, here we are. Five years later. It’s been a helluva ride. So much has happened good and bad. But, mostly good.  

I want to leave you with a bit of inspiration. If you want something, then go get it. Do not ask for permission. You will be your own biggest fan in your journey to creating the life that you want to live. Do not ask for permission for the reigns that control your life. It’s already there for the taking. So, what are you waiting for?

In celebration of my anniversary, I’m gifting you with a dope ass video with the song titled “Fuck They” by Sofi Tukker because who wouldn’t want to celebrate a carefree, Black, fat Muslim living in her truths.

Question, what year did you start following me and what made you follow? 

***Shout out to Daniela Lisi for thuggin it out with me to make this video very late at night.

xoxo,

Leah V

Fat, Black, and Carefree: NYC Video Project

The first time I went to NYC was in 2013. I had just started blogging and planned to crash New York Fashion Week. My ex, at the time, worked for an airline. So the flight was free. I packed peanut butter crackers and waters on my carry-on bag. I had about 10$ to spend on food. The crackers and water was my breakfast. 

I slept in a hostel, on the top bunk, in a room filled with drifters. Each night stay was 19$. I clutched my belongings to my chest as I slept.

But, I was in New York though, and I was humbly building my brand. 

The next time I visited. I was still broke. But, this time, I had met someone who offered me lodging. After the fashion show, I went to her place only to find out that her home was infested with roaches. With no money, I found a clean spot on the couch upstairs and hoped for the best. 

Five years later, I was flown to New York. I had shoots set up. Meetings with brands. And video collaborations. I was being paid. No uncomfortable bunk beds or roaches or water and crackers. 

For some reason social media has made life look easy. They’ve caused people to see the accomplishments without the struggle. You can question where I’ve come from or how I’ve gotten to where I am, but you cannot deny that I’ve put the work in. 

At the end of the day, like my friend, Madinah says: You will NOT outwork me! 

Here’s a video, proof of a fat, Black, and very Muslim Girl from Detroit against all odds in New York making a fashion video on her terms. Just as unapologetic and carefree🤸🏾‍♀️

Share your struggle and tell me where you are now? Let’s chat. 

Video: @mister_eman 

Dress: @eloquii 

Location: New York

F is for Fat

Last week, I was asked to be on a panel discussion for Lululemon for International Women’s Day. It was entitled Worth 100, aiming to highlight the idea that all women should feel worthy and valued, no matter what. I was a bit skeptical about being on the panel, not because it scares the fuck out of me to publicly speak, but because it was hosted by Lululemon. None of their workout gear or t-shirts fit me. Their merchandise doesn’t include people like me. I am not their audience.

I am too fat.

I thought about it and ultimately accepted because if I hadn’t showed my fat face, then who would? Perhaps they’d replace me with a smaller, less Black, and less Muslim counterpart.

Bestie Blogger Friend Ushshi 

I was surprised that among myself were other plus-size women on the panel. There’s a first step for everything, right? Perhaps corporate at Lululemon will see our curvy bodies, hear our plus-size voices, and get the idea that fat women also workout and become a size-inclusive company.

The room was filled. All 100 seats. And, a standing room in the back. The moderator asked each one of us to say three words that described us. There were two people before me. I had a bit of time to possibly change my answer if need be. My initial words were fat, Black, and unapologetic. I looked at the audience. It was mostly filled with straight-size white women. I contemplated switching out ‘fat’ for ‘Muslim’. I knew the word ‘fat’ would cause a Caucasian unrest as it does for many other kinds of people.

I stood up. My stomach churning with IBS issues as I prayed that I wouldn’t shit myself (because that’s a legit fear). I said, “My name is Leah V. And, my three words are fat, Black, and unapologetic.”

Shirt Courtesy of Addition Elle

I heard scattered claps. Some faces remained stoic as their minds scrambled to figure out why in the world would this chick use such negative word to describe herself. I heard one ‘WOO HOO’, which I’m quite sure was my friend, as I smiled and took my seat.

I was going to blow their minds later on.

When people used to call me fat, I’d melt into a puddle. I’d crumble into a million particles and blew away with the wind. The word held so much weight—no pun intended—that it riddled me worthless, not valuable. I’d used to want to crawl into a hole and never emerge until I was perfect and thin. I hurt myself trying to be thin. I was almost thin only once in my life. And it wasn’t as perfect as I thought it was going to be.

Why? Because in my mind, I thought that thin people had more fun. I thought that they frolicked around in daisy fields and were debt-free and could pull any man they wanted. I thought that they were outgoing and smart and nice. That they didn’t have body image issues. That it was just fat people who hated themselves and their bodies.

And, was I ever wrong.

At my smallest weight, I believe I hated myself more during that time than at my heaviest weights. Mind blowing! Yes, I know.

Fast forward back to the panel. Stay with me. LOL.

It was my turn to speak. I told them a little story about why I reclaimed the word ‘fat’. Words only carry as much importance as we allow them to. And, I was tired of people having that much power over how I viewed my body. People—bad people—get off on disarming folks, making them think lowly of themselves. But, what if we could reclaim our power? Take that shit back?

By claiming fat-ness, I am taking back what is mine, rightfully. I am turning a negative into a positive. I am, hopefully, educating people about the word and about our bodies and how we view them.

Fat is a descriptor. Just like smart. Short. Tall. Busty. Brown. Pale.

Yes, I may be fat, but I am so much more. I am Black. Muslim. Obnoxious and impulsive. Loud. Loyal. Cute AF.

Fat isn’t a bad word. Its not forbidden or evil. It doesn’t mean worthlessness or ugliness. It means what it means. Extra rolls, curves, lumps and bumps, plump, and soft.

And, if someone does try to use it on you, or someone you know, negatively, then flip that shit around like I do. Tell em: I am fat, and so much more.

xoxo,

Leah V

The Deletion of the Perfect Instagram Hijabi

I was flown to Columbia University in New York last week by the Muslim Protag Student Organization to speak on a panel about how body-positivity and fashion related to authenticity in today’s times. Although very nervous—as I always get with speaking engagements—I felt right at home as the mainly student filled room interacted positively when I advocated about being an ally for Black Muslims, Muslims who’d been hushed by the media, fat people, disabled people, and dark people.

I told them to feel free to snap their fingers or to whip their turban or hijab back and forth if they heard something that I said which resonated with them.

And, girl, there was a lot of whippin and snappin going on.

Someone asked me about being an openly Muslim blogger, who also happened to be Black and fat, and how I remained authentic in that space.

For some reason, all the ‘Perfect Hijabi’ bloggers popped into my head.

Hijab: VELA Scarves

I responded, “Hmm, I’m not sure I want to say this here.”

The crowd gassed me up. Shouting, “Say it. Say it!”

“You know I’m really tired of the Hijabi bloggers being so damn perfect. Like, come on. They are all thin, usually white passing with the perfect wardrobe and the most perfect pastel Instagram aesthetic. They have the most perfect husband with the most luxurious and conditioned Muslim man beard. And they have like a ‘get into heaven’ free card because they are just the most perfect human beings.” I rolled my eyes and laced with sarcasm, I concluded, “I want to be like that one day.”

Eyes widened, jaws dropped, and laughs erupted. I heard claps and snaps. And, some even flew out of their seats.

No one had said it out loud until that moment. Said what we are all thinking in our petty little heads. Why do Muslimah influencers feel the need to push this oh-so-perfect agenda off on others?

And, I get that one could argue that being ‘too real’ can add to Islamophobia and that the world doesn’t need to see Muslims in a ‘bad light’. Ever since 9/11 occurred, Muslims have felt the need to put on this perfect persona so that others couldn’t stereotype them. Mistake them as aggressive or too Muslim or radical or oppressed. One of those Muslims that they saw on TV blowing up things and carrying curved swords and screaming ‘Death to all AMERICANS’.  

On top of the pressures of remaining perfect in the public eye, we have community-rooted issues of how a Muslim woman should be within her family as well as the community. And these circumstances vary, not all situations are like this, but I guarantee that you have either witnessed or been in one or more of these situations.  

You do not bring shame to your family under any circumstance. While your brother, Ahmad, is out living his best life, you are held to much higher standards. You look the part. Hijab is crucial. You don’t wear hijab, life is almost over and you have elders questioning your religion. Skinny jeans or leggings? Oh no. You are clearly on the path to destruction. Dating? While your brother, Muhammad A.K.A Mo, is bringing white chicks to the family functions. You on the other hand will fall straight into the pits of hell if you even ponder a hot guy before marriage.

Got a mental illness? Drop two rakats. You clearly aren’t praying enough. And, no, I’m not saying you shouldn’t pray when a calamity befalls you, but resources for anxiety and depression are available if you need them.

Other cliché topics that a lot of perfect hijabi bloggers don’t touch are sexual abuse, misogyny, racism, and body-shaming. Of course, because those kinds of topics don’t fit into their pastel social media aesthetic filled with fancy doughnuts and lavish trips to Dubai. Oh, yeah. I’m calling them out.

The reason why the perception of perfect, Instagram Muslimahs are so problematic is for several reasons.

You make your followers feel as if they aren’t good enough, that they aren’t Muslim enough. You create this bubble that just isn’t reality. What most influencers fail to understand is that there are other people on the opposite side of that screen. People place influencers on such high pedestals and will try to emulate whatever it is that they do. They don’t necessarily understand that these photos and blogs and projects are only curated snippets of an actual life.  

Newsflash: Muslim girls aren’t perfect. And, we don’t need to be. Perfection doesn’t exist. So, why are we punishing ourselves to attain it? Stop allowing your mom, husband, society to dictate how you should or shouldn’t be. Stop wearing masks to make others feel comfortable in your presence.

Life is about making mistakes and learning from them. It’s about exploration and maintaining an identity. It’s about connecting with your creator and striving each day to be better than you were the day before.

Instead of pushing perfection, which is really lowkey fakeness, try promoting individuality. Let your platform know that this is how you present yourself, but that it’s nothing wrong with stepping outside of the box and creating your own unique path.

XOXO,

Leah V