Archive for the 'About' Category


It’s Our Blogaversary!

Today, Hyde and Seek turns one year old! It’s been an amazing year, filled with drama, realization, revamping, and a co-blogger (who, coincidentally, just had a birthday on Sunday! Happy belated birthday to IntellectualFeminist!)

While now my blogging is relegated to when I can afford to spend time away from working, studying for entrance exams, job hunting, and my writing projects, the journey that I began on October 21st of last year is still going strong. My consciousness has been raised in ways I never thought it would have been, and every day I am still learning more about myself and this movement as a whole. I’m grateful for it.

I’ve mentioned the wedding I’ll be in come December. See, before FA, I would have been losing my MIND trying to get my body right and my life as whole together before I went back to see the friends I’ve come to know as sisters in spirit. Now? I’m just looking forward to wearing a beautiful dress and helping one of my best friends celebrate her marriage. Just not having the weight of…well, my weight on my shoulders has been invaluable to me. So Fatosphere, I’d like to thank y’all. Not only for helping me with my own body issues, but being brave enough to share y’alls issues. And then for putting up with me through my sometimes rambly (and now, my few) posts. 🙂

And just to cap this whole thing off, how about a throwback hit? I find this one pretty apropos of the occasion:

It’s been an amazing year, y’all. Thanks for sharing it with me.


Diaries–A Retrospective

I’ve been rearranging my rapidly growing book collection. I’ve been tossing out things so old I can just no longer read them, making lists of books to buy, and, my favorite, creating a pile of books to donate. And I ran across some of my diaries from middle and high school.

As I am wont to do, I managed to get completely sidetracked. I began to flip through what was my FAVORITE diary at the time (a really cool Lisa Frank number with polar bears on it) and started to read. This diary was from high school, started right when I moved to Florida and I was just MISERABLE, y’all. I had no idea that I had an accent (and we’re talking full-on Southern lilt, y’all) and the kids just jumped all over it. Nelly’s Country Grammar was in heavy rotation on the airwaves, and for the first few months I was there, Country Grammar, or, perhaps even more affectionately, “Big Country”, was my nickname.

Charming, ain’t it?

Well, I continued to read, and I ran across an entry I must have written when I was having just an AWFUL day, because at the end of the entry, I’d written a prayer of sorts:

God, if you love me, why don’t you just take away this accent, and make me skinny? I’m tired of being picked on, I’m tired of people making jokes that aren’t funny. God, please, make me normal.

Sophomore year was a booger, folks.

Well, I closed that diary and picked up a smaller white striped one with hearts. I remembered that diary as one I bought during the Scholastic Book Fair (remember those?) This one was from my last year of elementary school (6th grade for me) through freshman year of high school. I realized the FashionableNerd in the Lisa Frank diary was slightly less miserable than the FashionableNerd in the Scholastic diary. Oh, I chatted about my teachers and my friends, I wrote countless entries on the various diets I tried and how my family members tried to bribe me into losing weight, but the connective tissue was the plea for somebody, anybody, to make me NORMAL.

What strikes me about my diaries is that I just don’t remember being so sad. Oh, I might mention to friends, as we spoke of our childhoods, about being unhappy with my body, but I never went into depth about the hurt I was obviously experiencing as a child. Perhaps, with the blinders that hindsight can place on one’s eyes, I simply rewrote history a bit. I tweaked it to make it sound like I’d never been picked on, harassed, or ridiculed. Maybe I wanted folks to think the strong, no-nonsense persona I developed in college had always been there. Maybe I just didn’t want to remember it. I’m not sure. Goodness knows that as I read the entries I remembered each event, and I remembered and experienced the hurt with the 12 year old me. I wish I could give 13 year old me a hug and tell her that a boyfriend isn’t going to make her happy with herself. I’ve spoken at length before about what I’d say to 14 year old me.

The last diary I found was one I kept in college. In one of the entries, dated right before I graduated, I wrote:

As my graduation day rapidly approaches, I get ready to finish another chapter in my life. I’m sure I whined extensively in this diary, as I’m sure I did when I was younger. But, you know, I’ve realized something. In the future, everything I’ve considered to be serious or situations I’ve deemed make-or-break won’t even be important when I reread this.

Well, I have to disagree with myself. All the issues I’ve had, all the situations I’ve gone through have all been important. I realize how my past has shaped me. I realize how important every tear I shed during the writing was–it was my outlet; my coping mechanism. And every time I take the time to read through my old entries, I see just how far I’ve come in terms of mental strength. Because now, I finally understand that I AM normal. Everyone has different versions of normal, and this normal? My looks, my personality, all of it–is MY normal. And I’ve learned to own it.

So, I put the diaries in a Rubbermaid container and slid it under my bed. Sometimes the past is hard to remember, but even when it’s rough, it is not always something one should forget.


My Raison D’Etre


I’m not the average girl from your video

It didn’t take me long to realize I wasn’t quite like the other kids. While other 4 and 5 year olds were blissfully riding bikes, catching frogs, and playing in mud puddles, I was holed up in my grandmother’s house reading. Ok, well, I did enjoy the occasional mud puddle, but if there was a book about mud puddles? Damn the actual puddle! Let’s go and see if someone was gonna go on a journey inside of one in my book.

This love for the written word became my crutch in later years. When I didn’t think that folks would love the rest of me: with my fat body, bad skin, glasses, and crooked teeth–I leaned on my intelligence. If nothing else, I figured, I’d at least have study partners. And maybe one could look past my flaws and be my friend. And they were, except it wasn’t my brain that brought them to me. It was my personality, which, despite my low self-esteem, I had a bit of. Except I wasn’t ready to understand that just yet.

And I ain’t built like a supermodel

Even though I knew that I was a pretty smart child, I didn’t realize how much emphasis people put on looks. That is, I never noticed until my first stepfather. One year, for my birthday, I came home from school to a treadmill in the kitchen. “Now that I’ve bought this,” he intoned, “you’re gonna run on this thing for 30 minutes a day, every day. No exceptions. You’re fat, and we need to stop it now before it becomes an issue.”

I’d just turned seven.

Once my mother realized what my stepfather had been saying to me (and he’d been saying the same things to her, but for cripe’s sake! a child doesn’t deserve that!) she left him. As I’d never liked him (but I never said a word because I wanted her to be happy, which she was at the time) I was ecstatic. But his ugly words wormed their way into my psyche and laid eggs. Once the larvae of self-doubt were born, I had an infestation of horrid thoughts about myself like you wouldn’t believe. My mother noticed, and tried her best to show me that no matter what the size I was beautiful. On a weekly basis, she’d bring home clippings and articles about plus-sized models and let me know that I had the ability to grace a runway or a magazine cover, no matter WHAT anyone had to say about it.

And I wanted to believe her. But since the kids at school all said otherwise, well, my mother’s voice was lost amidst all the negativity. It was like trying to hear someone shouting across Grand Central Station during rush hour: impossible. But I hid behind my books: Alice Walker never made me cry because of my looks. But I tried to rebel: I dressed as fashionably as I could afford. This, naturally just make the teasing worse. Who the hell do I think I am? I don’t get to have style. I should simply wear whatever makes me fade into the background. I stuck with that mentality until my freshman year of high school, when I adopted the sweats and tees uniform. Now, I don’t knock ANYONE who lives in sweats and tees. In fact, I envy you, cause sweats and tees are mad comfy. But I’m sure most of y’all live in sweats and tees because you WANT to, and not because you wanted to become invisible, as I did. And for the most part, it worked. I was bothered only for folks who wanted me to do their homework or let them copy a test. And for the right price, I obliged.

Hey. I had to benefit from this some kind of way, you know?

But I learned to love myself unconditionally

The summer after I graduated high school, I hunkered down to do diet number 34872687586586. Now, by this time, I’d secured my arrogant personality, gotten into several colleges, earned several scholarships, lost my virginity, gotten braces and contacts, and gotten a new stepfather who loves me as his own daughter. But see, I was still lacking.

I was still fat.

So, hell bent on ridding myself of the final scourge that stood between me and perfection, I began working out daily, restricting my diet, and regarding all things fatty, sugary, and generally delicious as evil. And it “worked”. I lost 15 pounds before my freshman year of college. My family congratulated me, but warned me about the evil freshman 15.

They didn’t have to worry. By spring semester, I’d lost another 16 pounds. Only eating one plate of food for lunch and dinner, no breakfast, limited snacks, and deliberately walking massive hills in 90+ degree weather will do that to you. When I went home for winter break, my family was excited. “Girl, you keep this up, and you’ll get you a man in no time!” Heh. They still thought I was a virgin. I was single by choice, having adopted a “free love” lifestyle. Getting men was no problem. But I still had to lose weight, cause otherwise I wasn’t gonna be able to keep one.

It wasn’t true. Before I graduated college, I’d been engaged (we broke it off) and had numerous boyfriends. The relationships ended for various reasons, but my weight had nothing to do with it. Yet I still wasn’t ready to believe it. By the time I ended up back home with mom, I’d gained all the weight back. I still felt pretty, but clearly fat is unhealthy, so I had to do something about it. So, one day, I ended up on Elastic Waist looking for workout playlists so I could get on the evil elliptical machine, and I came across Kate Harding’s blog.

I read. And read. And read more. And the more I clicked through the Fatosphere I realized: these folks are talking about me. I am the way I am because it’s how I’m destined to be. Yes, I gained my weight back, but it isn’t a moral failure. I’m not some terrible, awful person.

And then, I was ready.

Because I am a queen.

It’s been a journey, y’all. Although it hasn’t been a year that I became enlightened, more and more each day I find different things to investigate and inform myself of. I’m learning how to listen to what my body wants to eat despite what my annoying diet-brain THINKS I should be eating. And to help solidify what I believe and practice, I started this blog. Sometimes the going gets tough. Sometimes I feel accused of things that I feel are untrue. But I push on. I continue to learn, and I hope to help teach others as well as being taught. I finally accept my crown that’s been carved for me since birth. Numerous times that crown has been offered, and I shoved it aside because I didn’t feel worthy. Now I do, and I wear it with pride. Each lesson I learn is a new jewel to place in the points. I know countless others have been shoving their crowns aside as well. I’m hoping that what I write here helps folks to place their crowns on their head and strut because they know they deserve it.

This is why I blog. This is why I’m here. And even when the going gets rough, I’m gonna stay here until I feel my purpose is served.

The lyrics in italics are from India.Arie’s song “Video”.


Under Construction

I’m sure, if you’ve recently come by to visit, you’ve noticed that A) I haven’t written in a month and some change, and B) the name of my blog (and tagline) have changed. Yep. I’ve made some changes, all of which will be explained in time. Keep an eye on the “Why I am Photophobic” page. That’s gonna be changed soon so you can understand the new blog name, and wait on a post that will cover the new tagline.

For those of you who have me on your readers (thanks, by the way!), go ahead and put the new blog name in if you like. But don’t worry, the url is still the same (it’s why I placed the blog under my screenname as opposed to my blog name. Even the smallest of things in my life are changed on a whim!) So for those who check on me regularly, don’t worry. I should be back up, running, and posting regularly by Tuesday.


Welcome To My World


Welcome to the mind of a baby Fat Acceptance blogger. Oh, that picture up there? That’s me. Or at least, as close to me as I’m comfortable with letting people get. (I’m, in truth, wider, but this is as close to plus-sized as Yahoo gets.)

*Deep Breath* Hi, I am FashionableNerd, and I am photophobic.

It’s weird, because I take pictures of myself all the time. It’s also weird because I am so narcissistic. I even got bold one day and put them in a profile. And then the comments got on my nerves so bad…I didn’t bother with taking them down.  I simply left the entire site alone. It was like I was temporarily transported to my childhood (see tab above for background) again. I was, yet again, worthless and unlovable, although I knew in my mind that was total and utter bull.

And so begins my journey. I’m a fat acceptance blogger who is still learning to be happy about her fat, learning to love herself more every day, and wanting (waiting even!) to bring along anyone who needs to take this journey too.

I am the PhotoPhobic Nerdy Fashionista. Welcome to me.

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