The seasonal showers are upon us and our thoughts turn to all that’s fried and tested. We mean pakoras, samosas, jalebis and potato chips to name a few from our tasting menu. Now, not everyone is as lucky as us faceless edit writers for we can afford to be any shape or size. Not so for the poor dears who will be on the ramp as Couture Week starts. In order to fit into the cinches and painful tucks, many are on diets that vary from chain-smoking to clear soups to sugar-free gum. Some will faint, others will see mirages of roast lamb and potatoes and still others will, like experimental rats, keep up the pace on the treadmill even in their sleep.
We admire this dedication to a derriere-less existence, this devotion to deprivation. Especially given that one’s ability to rake in the shekels is in direct proportion to one’s diminishing proportions. As the Duchess of Windsor Wallis Simpson famously said, “A woman can’t be too rich or too thin.” But do people have to carry things so far as to live on diets of cayenne pepper and maple syrup and different coloured juices for different days of the week?
In today’s world, it has become the tyranny of the thin, the dictatorship of the deracinated. Now the words, “you’re looking healthy” are enough to send you running for your weekly dose of two peas and a lettuce leaf. Whatever happened to people with a bit of meat on their bones? Will they eventually wither away, if that is possible on a diet of 5,000 calories a day, like deflated dinosaurs? Before that happens, we don’t want to be left with the skeletal remains of the day. So we will just munch along, buying larger sizes of clothes as we go along. And as we gently ballon onward, aren’t you glad you just have to read us and not
see us? Now where are those banana fritters?