Page 26 of Sunny Side Up
“Women spend, on average, 40 percent of our day worrying about our bodies.” (I’d surveyed my friends, women on the subway, on the street, in stores, buying groceries, buying coffee.
… And let me tell you: Not a single woman would flinch at that number if you read it to her right this second, unless she thought it sounded low .) “Our bodies are commented on from the moment we are born . ‘Oh, what a chunky baby. So cute. Those cheeks.’ And, ‘Look how big you’re getting! I remember you when you were a tiny thing.’”
I glanced at Avery. She gave me a very quick thumbs-up.
“But at a certain age, the comments about our bodies diverge: Young boys are praised for their growing size, a sign of strength.
Meanwhile, all around them, young girls begin to absorb negative comments about bigness as it relates to their looks, their bodies, their weight.
These messages are everywhere. Woven into the very fabric of our society.
“From well-meaning moms who were raised in the same culture: ‘No cake for me, I’m getting fat and need to watch my figure.’ From conventionally attractive women across the spectrum of media who represent societal ideals of beauty, not only of beauty but also those of success and intelligence: ‘Here’s how I stay in shape despite my grueling work schedule.
Here’s how I lost the baby weight in three weeks after having twins.
Here’s what I do to stay tight like a drum without ripping in half when I sneeze.
Here’s what I do every day so that my body never shows even a dimple of cellulite, a shimmer of a stretch mark, a crease, a fold, a sign of life whatsoever , lest I be seen as inferior because of it. ’
“We take that, internalize it, and then wonder why we hate ourselves when we look in the mirror.”
I realized I was standing. Pacing around the room. Gesturing with my hands in a way I never do. I was giving Ted Manns a full-on TED Talk.
“When we vocalize our complaints about ourselves, we’re usually told one of three things: that we’re lazy, that we should love ourselves as we are, or ‘Here’s a thirty-minute workout to melt that muffin top!
’ Often, the same media institutions, publications, and platforms that brought us ‘ten minute abs,’ ‘shedding for the wedding,’ and ‘just stop being fat,’ are the ones that preach: If you don’t embrace and celebrate and want to make out with your flaws, then you’re anti-feminist.”
Avery was looking at me with her mouth open.
“High fashion and the luxury stores that sell ‘real fashion’ further reinforce this. In fact, they’re the final word.
Because if a size fourteen happens to pump herself up with enough confidence to walk into a nice department store—say, Bergdorf Goodman—for an outfit, or in our case, a swimsuit , that feels like a true expression of her personality or her mood on that given day, only to find a few measly, boring, dusty pieces in her generalized size range —and that’s if she’s lucky, mind you!
Those department stores rarely carry over a size ten, maybe twelve!
—then what does that tell her about her body?
About herself? About her worth? It says: We don’t value you.
We don’t welcome you here. We don’t want you as you are now.
Go home, lose a hundred pounds, and don’t come back unless you’re a size eight, max . ”
Ted was watching me, transfixed.
“SONNY can’t possibly change all of that.
But it can play a tiny role in those women’s lives by telling them they are worthy: of great style, of being designed for , of a swimsuit that helps them to radiate the confidence that already lives inside of them.
Most importantly, I believe: SONNY will create swimsuits for women that are so fabulous, so stylish, so well-fitting, so well-designed, and so comfortable, that they can take a break from worrying about their bodies and just enjoy themselves.
“My hope is that our swimwear helps women embrace their var ied sizes, weights, and shapes. But if it helps them to breathe easier at the pool with their friends, or at the beach with their family, because they’re not spending that day fidgeting and hiding, comparing and worrying, well then, that’s more than enough. ”
I let out a big breath. There was silence.
An eternity of silence.
The next thing I knew, Ted was smiling broadly.
I beamed back and then looked over at Avery, in shock. She was dabbing the corner of her eye with her knuckle.
Never, in my whole life, had I been prouder of myself than I was in that moment.
“That was fantastic,” Ted said, sitting back down. “Just fantastic. I can honestly say I’m blown away.
“You know, this is more personal information than I’d normally share, but it feels pertinent here: My sister has struggled with her weight for as long as I can remember.
She was teased as a kid for being bigger.
Last year, she told me that the reason she always turns down my invitations to come to the beach out east is that she doesn’t want to be put in a situation where she has to wear her—I believe the words were ‘frumpy, lumpy swimsuit’—in public.
But I know she’d love this company, its ethos, your mission . This is a real winner.”
“We think so, too,” I said, grateful for his honesty and moved by his personal connection. “This is important. For me, for your sister, for women everywhere.”
“Your pitch is really compelling, and there’s definitely a white space in the market,” said Ted. He stood up again to signal the end of the meeting. “I’d love to invest. Let me go back to my team and figure out what next steps look like. I’ll give you a call later to firm things up.”
I felt my heart picking up speed. I didn’t want to play my cards, but internally, I was screaming and jumping and high-fiving myself like a maniac. “Sounds great to us,” I said instead, offering a coy-and-completely-in-charge smile. “We’ll look forward to your call.”
The offer arrived by five o’clock that night.
Ted was in.
I couldn’t tell if I was excited by this enormous new investment alone—it certainly warranted a major celebration; I immediately texted Noor and Brooke to see if they were around for drinks—or if the butterflies in my stomach meant something else.