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oink oink 🐷

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The Fitting Room Doesn’t Lie

The lighting in the dressing room was cruel. Fluorescent, cold, and merciless — the kind that made you see every fold, every crease, every insecurity you were already trying to hide.

You stood there in front of the mirror last year, arms stiff at your sides, 143 pounds and uncomfortable in your own skin. The jeans clung too tight at the waist, the crop top your friend handed you barely grazed your belly button. You didn’t want to come shopping. But she insisted.

“It’ll be fun!” she said brightly. “You just need to get out of the house.”

You thought she meant to help. But then came the comments.

“You know, I think this would flatter me more than you.” “Ugh, don’t worry, I can’t wear stuff like that either… when I’m bloated.” “It’s just genetics, you know? Some of us are built to be lean.”

She wasn’t trying to help. She was trying to look better standing next to you.

Every outfit was a trap. Every compliment had claws. And every smile she gave in the mirror seemed just a bit wider when you stepped out of the stall looking defeated.

You swallowed the embarrassment. Laughed it off. Went home and stared at yourself in the mirror for too long.

That night, something shifted. Not rage. Not revenge.

Resolve.

It started with small choices. Water instead of soda. Saying no to that extra plate. Walks that turned into workouts. Binging that slowly turned into control.

Month after month. Bite by bite. You peeled yourself out of the version of you she loved standing beside.

And by the time the next winter rolled around?

50 pounds gone. Down to 90.

Tiny waist. Slim arms. Subtle ribs beneath soft knit sweaters. Hip bones gently curved beneath fitted jeans. Collarbone sharp and high.

You didn’t just look different.

You moved different.

So when she texted you again — “Let’s do another shopping day like old times!” — you said yes.

But this time, you were ready.

She met you outside the mall, holding two lattes and wearing a familiar smirk. She scanned you once — top to bottom — and tried to hide the shock behind her lashes.

“You’ve… really lost weight.”

“Yeah,” you said simply. “Been taking care of myself.”

She blinked. Didn’t know what to say. So she handed you your latte and tried to lead like she always did.

But when you stepped into the first store and reached for a hanger, she hesitated.

“Oh… that’s an extra small,” she said casually. “They run really tight here.”

You turned the tag in your hand, then smiled.

“Good. That’s my size now.”

In the fitting room, the same cruel lighting hit differently. Now it caught the smooth outline of your arms, the flatness of your stomach, the soft shadows between your ribs. The skirt hugged your hips and stopped at the perfect spot on your thigh. The crop top actually skimmed your waist instead of clinging to it.

You stepped out. She was already outside, pulling at her waistband.

She looked up. Froze.

“Oh. Wow.”

And that was all she said. Because that was all she could say.

You turned slightly to check the back in the mirror — long hair falling just above the small of your back, waist cinched, sleeves loose at the wrist. You didn’t tug or adjust anything.

Everything fit.

And it fit you — the new you.

She tried to keep up. Grabbed a tighter dress, asked for a smaller size, even changed her makeup in the store mirror. But her energy shifted. There was no hiding the discomfort now.

You were the one people glanced at. You were the one who turned heads. She was just… there.

At checkout, the cashier smiled warmly at you.

“You should model,” they said, folding your outfit gently. “You look amazing in everything you tried on.”

You smiled back, soft and knowing.

“Thank you. I’ve been working on that.”

You didn’t look at your friend — didn’t need to.

She was already looking at you.

And this time?

She wasn’t standing next to you to shine.

She was standing there, realizing you’d outgrown the role she kept trying to keep you in.

This is for me simply because I can't find the other shopping one that I used to read all the time, so I felt a new one was in order.

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I need a zero calorie pizza

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Eating is so overrated

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ok not to sound insane but is it just me who body checks after they've been to the toilet? like ok maybe that pee made me lose w31ght.

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I hate being short. if I gain ten lbs, I look like a bloated whale. if I lose ten lbs, I still look fat. all of the goal weights others have are in the 17-16 BMI range, and those weights are my 19.

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I actually really respect the ed folks who started at a high weight. Like wym you lost 50-100lbs?! That's insane. You must push yourself really hard.

I'm sorry for the way people treat you. If doctor's don't take you seriously. Family and friends don't realize you're suffering. I see you. I respect you.

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Anyone else just love coke 0?

Coke 0 is such a cheat code in @na, or even js wl. It’s 0 calories, and has caffeine, plus it tastes good.

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Skinny will always be in. People might criticize it, but deep down, everyone wants it. If skinniness was truly despised, Ozempic wouldn’t have gone out of stock, influencers wouldn’t be shrinking overnight, and models wouldn’t have massive followings. People don’t hate skinny people—they just hate that it's not them.

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Manifesting -5kg for everyone who reblogs

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WHO WOULD WIN

The all consuming desire to be thin you’ve had since you learned what a calorie was

Cheesecak 🤤

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