She's too fat, she's too thin.

A trend has developed in recent years to oppose the onslaught of size zero supermodels, celebrity diets and tummy-tucked c-section patients: the trend of “She’s too thin.” I understand it, I do. Most women – not all women, but most – are made to have extra padding. Hips, bums, breasts and stomachs are normal, and why shouldn’t we encourage women with womanly proportions to embrace their curves, to hold up two fingers to the unhealthy perceptions of the female physique and accept that they are the way they are meant to be? I support that. What I do not support is slamming “thin” women.

I’m a size 8 on bottom and a size 6 on top. When I was a teenager, when I had what I ironically refer to now as “puppy fat”, I had an exceptionally large bum which had to be squeezed into a size 10. And I know what you’re thinking: “Size 10 is small!” And yes, size 10 is small to someone who is supposed to be a size 14 or 16, but I am not built to be a 14 or 16. I am narrow-shouldered, with thin wrists and tiny hands – hence why I am often mistaken for being just out of school. I know what I am and I know how I am meant to be; I have lived in this body for 23 years, I have grown up with it and I know it far better than any random stranger who chooses to pass off their “concerns” to me as I peruse the shops for my lunch.

“Is that all you’re eating?”

“Why don’t you eat?”

“Eat!”

I wonder if it would be so appropriate to ask a curvy woman why she eats so much, or to order her to stop eating. I wonder if it would be so appropriate to part some comment like, “You’re too fat. There must be something wrong with you”, as apparently it is appropriate for people who barely – if at all – know me to tell me, “You’re too thin. You must have an eating disorder.”

Ironically, being on the receiving end of comments such as these does eventually begin to instil in people like me an unhealthy perception of our bodies. I often pass by the mirror and glare at the way my top falls off my shoulders, too loose around the bust, or look at my legs poking out from under my skirt and wish they didn’t look so frail. I am aware of people watching me as I eat, and it makes me feel awkward and uncomfortable, as if every bite, every chew and every crumb on my plate is being analysed. I remember being 18 and in college; I had a chest infection, and I was in a toilet cubicle coughing up my lungs, dribbling phlegm everywhere. (It was sexy, trust me.) As I emerged from the cubicle a couple of minutes later, two glassy female stares met mine – judging, critical, assuming. I washed my hands and left.

I find myself facing increasing interrogation the older I get. I cannot have a bad day and be off my food without “concerned” individuals slamming my physical appearance. I understand that people’s intentions are good, but whatever the intention, it is demeaning to tell someone that the way they are supposed to be is “not right”. And if I wasn’t so used to it, it would probably be pretty hurtful, too...