Fat Girls Don’t Dance

‘When I grow up, I’m going to be a dancer…and a singer and an actress…I’m going to be on stage…’

These are the opening lines of my one woman show, Fat Girls Don’t Dance. I have always known I wanted to be a performer. I started ballet and tap classes when I was just three years old, I sang everywhere I went and I used to put on plays for my family using a bench in our back garden as a stage.

I have also always known that my relationship with food is not a straightforward or particularly easy one. I used to hide food and eat in secret, even as a child. I would lie about how much or little I had eaten. I was obsessed with dieting and calories. I can even remember having a conversation with my Year 6 teacher about how I was going to lose weight but do it slowly and sensibly by eating a thousand calories a day, even though I didn’t really know what a calorie was, let alone how many I was consuming.

I was always a ‘chubby’ kid, but a confident and eccentric one. I loved singing and dancing and drama and I was good at it. As I got older I took on more classes. I was training in four types of dancing three days a week. I joined the school choir, the drama club, and attended a performing arts school on weekends.

However, the older I got the more I was aware of my body. I didn’t look like the other girls in my ballet class. They were all much taller and thinner than me. I was the best dancer in the class. I knew that. But they looked like ballerinas and I didn’t, which became painfully more obvious the older I got.

Eventually, this led to me trying to lose weight in very dangerous ways. I became obsessed with dieting and food, and although I lost weight in my late teens I started to binge and comfort eat. I yo-yoed through my early twenties, then steadily got bigger until I was clinically obese and emotionally unstable. It is only in the past few years I have started to accept and understand my relationship with food and made positive changes to make me feel happier and healthier.

Fat Girls Don’t Dance has been a massive part of this. It is an autobiographical account of my relationship with food in parallel with my development as a (pretty sick) dancer. I knew I wanted to write a show about body image after a particularly wine-fuelled Arvon course, but I didn’t know how to approach it. Then one day I was on the phone to my Dad, and out of the blue he asked me if I missed dancing and everything clicked.

Over the next year and a half I wrote down everything I could remember about dance classes and food and diets and losing and gaining weight. The supermarket aisle crises, Christmas binges, drunken dance-offs, nightmare auditions and exercise regimes. I recalled the party where a 14-year-old boy told a 14-year-old me that I didn’t look like a dancer, the casting director that told me I was ‘too fat to play pretty and too pretty to play fat’, and the boyfriend who said I looked like a different person because I’d lost weight.

I wanted the show to be very physical, telling my story not only with my voice but my body. I started dancing again, and choreographing physical work along with the words, including a pretty epic tap dance and what I now believe to be way too many sit ups.

I also wanted to make it funny and, at times at least, enjoyable to watch. I wanted it to be accessible and, although this topic is a very dark and serious one, humour is a great way of breaking down taboos and allowing us to relax and open up to each other.

Whenever I have performed Fat Girls Don’t Dance, whether that be in London or Bristol or the Edinburgh Fringe or in a school or on the glamorous shores of the Isle of Wight (thank you Ventnor) there will always be someone who says,

‘Yes. I get you. I understand. I feel that too.’

Body image is a huge issue that is not talked about openly enough. By performing this show I am sharing my own story in the hope that people will relate to it, or at least get that little bit closer to understanding the importance of positive body image, the struggles that are faced, especially by young girls, in achieving this, the expectations of dancers and performers, and the dangers and realities of eating disorders/disordered eating.

Fat Girls Don’t Dance is like a scrap book of my own experiences and how our perceptions of each other and ourselves can shape who we are and what we achieve.  This little book shows my journey through the bad and the good. A Fat Girl Manifesto, if you will. It explores what I believe are the experiences that have shaped me as a person, be them with friends, family, lovers, haters or strangers. I hope that you like it, reader. I hope it gets you laughing, maybe crying, talking and most importantly, dancing.

Lots of love, 

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