‘Dressing for my body type’ like a fat babe does.

I am on a tear today. Trust when I say there is a lot to be on a tear about. Babes, honestly I see myself as a positively oriented person. I do. I really feel like a glass half full kind of babe. And today is no different; its just that my glass is half full of bullshit. Kay fine, its totally full. Whatever, haters gonna hate.

Here is the deal. The internet is ablaze with some real world shit – my social media is currently packed with badass activism. The kind of activism I want to put my energy into: harm reduction, prison and justice reform, calling out rape culture, and decolonizing the ever loving hell out of healthcare. That’s what’s up for me and the people I love right now. And of course I’m also trying to be the least amount of racist i possibly can as a white settler here on Turtle Island (which is to say still pretty racist, but hopefully a little less all the time). So y’know I’ve got some shit on my mind.

And then today. Today, babes, I learned that my college put together a learning module about professionalism that asks that I wear clothes that flatter my body type and infers that I think twice about piercings, tattoos, and eye rolls.


Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.

does this ring make me look fat?

I can’t even babes. I will say right now that I am gonna be real real for a sec about some gender shit. By now most of you should have gathered that my fat babe utopia is for fat babes of all genders, but today I need to address some motherfucking lady business. I work in a gendered profession so when I read things like I did today all I can think is ‘how have we let ourselves use up so much goddamn energy on hating ourselves and fatphobia?’. And then I remember that our capitalist and colonial system has brilliantly co-opted women’s bodies(especially BIPOC bodies) as a first line of defense against those of us thinking about rising up. It is devastatingly unsurprising that my colleagues feel that this is the pressing issue on the table for my profession. It is because it is also the pressing issue in most women’s minds. The average woman spends an entire month a year worrying about appearance. A goddamn month babes. That’s 12 hours a week. Of that, 1 hour and 45 minutes is spent on worrying about being/getting fat (the rest is a more generalized ‘i look the worst and everything is terrible about me’ kind of worry). No wonder we have no time to smash the state, we are too busy destroying ourselves. That is how this system works to keep us separate, judgmental, and cold. Body policing babes. It is sapping our goddamn energy and taking away from the work that needs doing.

So, to get a little social work-y for a sec – lets unpack some of the ways we are fucking with each other – cause I believe that it has to start with fat babes, those of us who are already on our way to flipping tables about this stuff while also looking as babely as we wanna. Fat Babes can handle the duality of our lives – we get that we can care about how we look at the same time as we challenge how we think about how we look. Fat Babes, yall, we are complex motherfuckers.

Maggie’s Top Three Fat Hating Phrases That Keep Us All Down.

1. ‘Flattering’.

Clearly I’m not the first genius to come up with this thought.    Naturally there is a crop top. #croptopsforalloccassions
 First off fucking fuck flattering straight to fucking hell. What the hell does flattering even mean? It is just another way that we have learned to hate on each other. I have been told wearing stripes is unflattering…so is showing a little belly, so are tight mini-skirts, same for bikinis, and shorts. Too bad all of these things figure prominently in my spring/summer 2016 fashion game. Reality check. I know a million hot fat babes who buck these trends every. single. day. And they look like righteous babes in their sick threads. So what are we actually saying when we talk about ‘flattering’? Well first off, if we are talking about fat women, we are saying they are not covered up enough in billowy clothes to hide their fat- basically it isn’t flattering to wear clothes that make fat more visible. In general though, we are saying there are rules to follow – especially if you are fat and woman identified- and if you don’t follow them then we will put you in your place. We say ‘why can’t she just wear clothes that are more flattering for her body’ which means ‘i would never ever wear that because I know the rules and I would never break them because then other women would judge me too’. It is a vicious cycle of nonsense where no one quite knows the rules, and we really dont wanna break em so we distract from our lack of knowing by judging and assessing everyone around us and the beat goes on. This is some classic white people comedy of manners realness. And it will never end unless we all just stop using the word flattering forever. FUCK FLATTERING.

2. ‘Dressing for your body type’.

Let me just tell you how to do this once and for all. Find clothes you like. Put them on your body. Ask yourself ‘does this fit comfortably? do I feel hot?’. If the answer is yes to both then you have successfully dressed for your body type. Bravo.

Can you even with this hot fat babe model from http://www.readytostare.com        And also that sick tee – beyond babes, just beyond.

If you feel amazing in what you are wearing where do the rest of us get off having a shitty attitude about whether you should wear that crop top with those leggings (you totally fucking should, btw.)? Stop policing each other, stop having an opinion about what we can and cannot wear. Guess what? If it is on my body, I can wear it. The ‘dressing for your body type’ trope is just another way of making women feel like they can’t wear what they love. Wear. What. You. Love. Life is too short babes. People are gonna hate us no matter what we wear; especially if we choose to be unapolagetically fat in the world and you know what? Better them than us. That’s not about dressing for your type, their shit is about body hatred and fatphobia, straight up, served ice  cold.



3. ‘Does she think she is getting away with that?’

Get away with what exactly? Wearing clothes other people don’t like to see on bodies like mine? Easy. I just get dressed.

Cage bras, babes. Pretty sure we should all be ‘getting away with this’.

When we wear clothes others don’t think fat people should wear, we never ‘get away with it’, we just don’t give a shit, or at least not enough to cave. Believe me, I know that when I wear a bikini to the beach that people are gonna have a thing to say. And babes, trust me, I spend time harnessing my inner fat babe bitch to get ready for whatever other women wanna throw at me. For real though babes I’d rather not-it would be way easier if women just stopped shit talking my steaze and *actually* let me ‘get away with it’.

These types of phrases are coded body policing. Most women experience it at some point in their lives and fat women live with it on the daily. This is on top of the month a year many of us spend doing it to ourselves. We spend so much time hating fat that we don’t even realize that we are wasting our lives on something that doesn’t even matter.


Babes, it’s not a dirty word unless we make it one. Even fat activism has been diluted by body positivity. I’m all for loving our bodies, but my personal feeling is that until we get right with fat, we aren’t gonna get anywhere with another love yourself anthem. We need a fucking fat revolution so we can get to the actual revolution.

Cause babes, imagine if we all just stopped.

Imagine if my college put all that energy about appearance into integrating the TRC health recommendations from the Truth and Reconciliation Comission into nursing.

Imagine if all the fat phobic body hating clatter in our minds just quieted down.

Imagine if we could stop worrying about the giggling group of teens at the beach or the mothers cluck clucking at the school, or the women working out next to us at the gym.

Imagine never having to hear someone berate themselves for enjoying a piece of cheese before they eat said cheese.

Babes in this version of the world we could get some goddamn work done. We would have an entire month of spare time to give capitalist, racist and colonial systems the shit kicking they so richly deserve. We could stand in solidarity with fat babes fighting deep injustice on the frontlines; we could love each other so fiercely.

It would be so beautifully quiet. We would suddenly have time and space and peace to think. So much beautiful fat babe energy to focus on creating a just and kind and loving world. A world where we gather in the streets to honour, resist, celebrate, love, acknowledge, and engage with one another. In booty shorts, if we want.


Dropping my truth bomb like a fat babe does.


if i had 14k laying around i could have this bang on print by peter buchman (2014). i dont so ima just leave it here. xo

Babes I’m sucking right now, spring has sprung and so has some grade A anxiety. I have been crazy since my early 20’s; you would think I would be a little more prepared, but alas, I am still surprised when shit gets cray cray. My kid’s been sick, I’m sleep deprived, I am taking care of my gran, who I love big time, who has a damn ulcer on her foot that is stressing me the fuck out, and, if I’m being honest, I have been a shitty, checked out partner for the better part of a month, fine, maybe longer. My adulting gameplay is currently non-existent.
I can’t shake the pit in my stomach and I am feeling pressed by the weight on my shoulders. I literally had to pull over on the way home to take some deep, calming, breaths. Yes, like a damn hippie. An idling, deep breathing, hippie, but still.

It really feels like some grownup should be here to help me find my way and the fact that I am the only grownup in this scenario is daunting as hell.

I mean really, whoever thought leaving the fat babe queer in charge of the very young and the frail and elderly must have had a significant amount of drugs on board, right? They can’t possibly mean for me to be the one making sure people are ok.

Cause Babes, these days I am barely keeping it together.

Real talk, my life is a bit of a large scale disaster multiple times a year. The worst part is, it is often of my own making. I have a total dick of a brain that enjoys a spiral of dread thought process more than any damn thing. And when I’m bad I am straight up absent, especially around my family. One minute they have a totally present kickass version of me and the next I’m gone. Poof! Like a mental illness magic trick. I have been like this most of my adult life and I feel like I’m at the best crazy version of myself yet! Which, if I am being completely honest, is still an awful lot to ask the people you love to take.


whew! so much dirty laundry.


Now what has possessed me to get all personal about shit on the Internet? Honestly? I mostly just wanted to air my dirty laundry with all of you because no. one. ever. does. I’m writing this because I think it is kind of a lie to just write about how to be a fat, fierce, shit kicking babe without also talking about the things that hold me back, that keep me inside on sunny days, and that threaten my most dear and loving relationships.

Our spirits are hurting in this world that is both the best and worst of us wrapped up in a ball of water and rock. I am tired of being only the best version of myself. I think I could be less crazy if I just started letting the worst out too.


selfie outakes cause this shit is as real as my insta account. It is all me.


And while I love social media and selfies and Instagram, it is not designed with truth in mind-how can it be? A fat babes’s life is just a hell of a lot more messy than that. We are fucking beautiful badass layers of complexities. One second we are slammin’ hot, top model realness and the next we are fighting to sustain our relationships with one another and ourselves. And when you are working from a ‘keep it cute or put it on mute’ social media strategy you know the ugly is not going to make the cut. And that is okay. Facebook is not the real-est place in real town so no need to lay down our deepest darkest there, yknow? I just think we need to take a deep breath and start saying this shit out loud to each other and to ourselves. I’m tired of thinking every other fat babe out there has it together except me and I’m tired of feeling like the best version of myself is all I am. I’m just not here for that. So babes, I want you to know my life is hard right now, but it has been hard before and I’m pretty sure I’ve got this, but fuck it still sucks. I also want you to know that I look sick as fuck on the regular and that the reason my shit looks pretty good on the Internet is cause it is pretty good. It’s all the things, cause that is what living is like.

and also cause im vain as shit, dont forget that i am also straight up fat babe on fire level hot.

Smooches babes!

Beth Ditto spring 2016: fashion like a fat babe does.

Babes. Beth Ditto has come along way from the Granville dive bar show she did when I saw her in all her sweaty fat bitch glory; schooling fat bashing hecklers by getting more naked way back in 2002, van-city. We were all messier fat queers then. We may have grown up a little, but that fierce as hell fat babe attitude still speaks to me in a really real way.  And those hecklers from back then? Well they can now eat it, cause Beth Ditto is famous as fuck-all thanks to her fat, naked, fuck you, punk rock attitude. Oh and also, now she is making clothes I covet as well.

This is not the first time that Ditto has done clothes (remember that Evans collection a million years ago?). It is the first time she has been able to do whatever the fuck she wants and the results are pretty freaking boss, if miles out of my price range. I figured if I have to dream of the day when 400$ for a dress for everyday wear is within my price point then the rest of you babes can join me. Also, I am just happy for a collection that doesn’t bedazzle my ass or try to force me into a statement tee with another goddamn cupcake on it. Cause y’all cupcakes are for eating not wearing, amiright?

This collection is an unapologetic and body-posi collection that breathes life into an otherwise tedious and honestly kinda boring plus-size fashion world (i mean there are some notable exceptions, but I will save those for another day). The whole goddamn thing is sick as fuck but here are my top faves from the collection:

modern love jumpsuit times squares – beth ditto 2016

Babes, THAT IS A JUMPSUIT!!! Ok, i am a sucker for all of the jumpsuits – I have never met one I didn’t like, but this one is so goddamn good – the print, the shape, the deep V. There are even pockets for chrissakes. There is nothing that i don’t like about this thing – except that at 395$ it may never find its way onto my fat bod. So good though, right?

Or this goddamn piece of brilliance:

summerweight legging – eat my makeup


I can’t even believe a bodycon look in such a fierce print exists in the fatosphere. I feel like these tights exceed every expectation that I have in a legging. And there is a goddamn matching top. Head to toe bold print – I mean this thing is basically me as a fabric. And after that 400$ dress 115$ seems like a bargain, albeit one I will never have.

Here is the top:

I am not even remotely about the turtleneck and I still like this dress. The draping/pleating, whatever that is is so stinking stylish.

Or this casual Friday ensemble:


I like an oversize top with a skinny jean as much as the next fat babe, and this top does not disappoint. I mean this print and the cut of this tee looks so damn good.

And finally, bubble dresses make an appearance in this collection. And who the fuck doesn’t love a good bubble dress? No one. That’s who. Here’s one in black, but if i’m being honest I would buy every other one in the collection first – I mean in the age old battle of prints versus black I think it is pretty clear who I am rooting for.


Now I know the styling on this collection is kick ass but I have all of the faith that this collection is as good in person as it is on the models and Beth herself – Tragically I will never know for sure.

I mean, babes, I would literally do some sketchy motherfucking shit to get my hands on a 50% off coupon code, but my guess is that is about as likely as getting fast fat fashion to stop making shit in that weird slippery micro-fibre. So I will stick to my original plan of obsessively going back to the website – https://bethditto.com/ and looking at the hot babes in clothes that are meant to kick some ass and take no prisoners. It is as rock and roll as i am going to get from my computer screen. That is to say, just rock and roll enough.


Ima just say a little prayer to the fat babe fashion gods and hope that some goddamn magic will come my way and wrap these thick thighs in some goddamn printed lycra from the punk rock queen herself. Smooches, babes and may all your fashion dreams come true.



Gay curling like a fat babe does

Ok babes, things are about to get prairie as fuck. Cause y’all I just spent the weekend at the Bison Cup; curling like the righteous fat babe athlete that I am. For those in the know the Bison Cup is the gayest goddamn bonspiel on the prairie. The fruitiest and most talented of gay curlers gather from across the country to curl and get laid. With varrying degrees of success on both counts. And once a year I dust off the old broom and grace the gay curling league with my fat queer presence. And my bang on sportsing fashion sense. Because what I lack in skill I make up for in hotness, and really isn’t that what athleticism is all about?

So, as a ‘naturally athletic’ and fabulous fat babe I can tell you that there is no other fattie at this bonspiel throwing rocks in a leopard print mini skirt. That is some next level sportsing, babes.

Now before we go on i need to tell all of you about the game of curling. Don’t be deceived by the fact that you can order beer down to the rink while playing or the fact that there are tiny ashtrays in the benches at either end of the ice- those things are simply a distraction from the dirty truth of the matter. This game is motherfucking hard. The fact is whether you are drunk and chain smoking or not, you have to lunge like way more than once, and you are on ice, and shit is really slippery.

And actually, I have maybe curled a handful of times in my whole life. Whatever.
I started at the bonspiel in 2015. Miy team was called Maggie’s First Time. Here we are last year:

 just when you think gay curling can’t get any gayer- it totally fucking does.

My team thinks I have now played enough times that next year we can be Maggie’s Been Around. Which I certainly have.

So although I am certain that all you fat babes want in on the minutia of every single point we made in the whole tournament- the truth is I am still pretty unclear about how one actually scores a point, so instead you are just gonna get game highlights and by highlights I mean pictures of what I am wearing.

Here we go:

  Gay curling looks a lot like regular curling except with drag queens and teams that dress up every year (this year ‘Friends of Dorothy’ and ‘the Golden Girls’ were the stand out teams for costumes- ‘Sophia’ curled with a tiny silver purse around his wrist all weekend which is a difficult task even for the most athletic of babes).
Friday I met up with my team after work-they had already curled once that morning and won so they were feeling pretty good and I was looking pretty good so we were basically ready.

We played a team called ‘mamas boys’ who were from Toronto and Winnipeg. The only way Kevin could get his mom to agree to play was if they let her skip- hence the name. She was a two time provincial champ so the Toronto gays were more than happy to have her top them all over the ice. And in turn they crushed us thoroughly. Now here is the most charming thing about curling- whoever wins buys the losing team a round of drinks. Basically even if you lose you win. So we spent the rest of the night watching curling and hanging out with this charming team. Here’s me wearing the most fetching little beer jacket:

Next day we played at 830am. Fortified with Macdonalds breakfast we were ready.
 This is me in my sportsing dress and shades (cause everything was too bright).

This is my full curling ensemble complete with yellow headband and curling shoes.

I need to pause for a moment and encourage all of you to just look at that curling rink bathroom keeping it classy with a wall of mirror and a vase of silk flowers. It’s the prairie and there is no irony at the curling rink. This shit is for real.

Ok, the shoes.  I am overjoyed at having those black curling shoes cause I have been ruling the rink over the past year in these beauties:

Those are some 1970’s curling shoes that my skip bought at a garage sale for two bucks. #prairiebargain

Along with this beauty:

Known as ‘the hammer’ this broom and those white shoes have been my curling gear for the past year. This year my fat babe vanity got the better of me and I retired the shoes. To be clear, curling fashion is basically an oxymoron but at least I now look less like a throwback to a bygone era, y’know?

We played a couple of games on Saturday and we almost won one of em! And i managed to keep both of my rocks in play on one end! So proud.

As a ‘natural athlete’, my sportsmanship is exceptional so we had a ton of fun with our opponents anyways.

Here is me being serious about curling:

 oh and did I mention I use this little slider cause otherwise I can’t get up on the ice? Fat babe adaptation for the win. So sportsy.

Then we were done for the day. One Epsom bath later it was time to get ready for the banquet. Here is what I ended up with:

   Why yes that is a green sparkly crop top with my leopard pants and DKNY jacket. My eyes may be wild and, shall we say, eccentric, but my curling game is on fleek, as the kids say.
Here are some banquet shots:

  Mike is the second and he wears his kilt curling. This gives me life.

  My skip looks fab, but all she cares about is that this dress has pockets. Her priorities may be off, but she is soaring to epic fat babe status here.

Rob is our third, so handsome in his floral shirt and neck scarf.

We may have lost at curling, but we won at babeliness.

All in all the weekend was most definitely a gay old time. Homo curling, who knew it was a thing, and who knew all they needed was a fat babe curling in mini skirts to bring out the natural athlete in all of us.


Checking privilege like a fat babe does

So wanted to lay down some thoughts before I get too far into this blog. I mean mostly I wanna talk about clothes and bargains and righteous survival, but I want to also make sure that we can all be aware that the way I get to do that is because of a fuckton of privilege.

Here’s the bare ass truth of the matter: as a white, middle class, cis person navigating the world, shit is just not that hard. And it’s not hard cause the world is made for me and the systems in it tend to work pretty good for me. Sure I’m queer as all hell, have a hearty dose of crazy , and I’m obvi straight up fat, but at the end of the day my privilege means even the hardest most difficult days are just a little easier than those of the fat babes I love who are navigating the world without cis and white privilege(among others).

Even just a simple thing like wearing whatever the hell I want to work is informed by my white and cis privilege. Fashion and who gets to wear what and what that ‘signifies’ is not a thing I have to think about, and that babes is straight up privilege. I literally just had a conversation with a friend about how to make a ‘sluts with guts’ crop top business casual. If that isn’t made possible by white and cis privilege I don’t know what is. Now I’m not saying days can’t be hard- some days the work I do means that I come home and just cry, and I am eternally irritated that the world keeps fighting a drug war that should just not be a thing, and I’m certainly pissy about the fact that my kid’s safety is compromised just cause she is a girl in the world.

All I’m saying is ‘yo! I have privilege and that’s a thing I need to be aware of’, even as a totally inspirational blogess, but I digress.

So if any of you reading this blog(ever) is thinking ‘whoa that was a sketchy thing to write’ AND you have the spoons to gift me with frank and honest feedback about it I will promise gratitude and checking my shit and doing everything I can to address and change my ways to make things safer for all fat babes.

And even more than awareness is action. Maybe consider this post a fat babe call to arms, a challenge to all the privileged fat babes to use that shit for the powers of good. You don’t have to change the world- just a smidge of the one you roll in. Know a trans fat babe who takes heat shopping at the mall? Go with them and back them the hell up!  Got some time and wheels? Give a ride to an Indigenous babe who, in my town, can’t be sure she will get a safe taxi ride(search ‘Ikwe: women helping women safe ride’ on Facebook) and also What.The.Actual.Fuck. Basically let’s just show the hell up for each other. And babes if you are rolling in privilege and notice some other privileged person being sketchy and brutal let’s actually talk about it and address it and try to do what we can to show some fat babe solidarity and minimize the microagressions that fat babes have to deal with on the daily. The world is hard enough so let’s think about where we hold privilege and where we don’t and try to hold each other up.

Cause at the end of the day the more of us wearing sluts with guts crop tops to work the better. Smooches.

 one of my fat babe besties rocking the ‘sluts with guts’ crop top like she can.