Paparazzi!

One week has gone in best paparazzi style, hiding around corners, hoping to snatch the well kept secrets of the skinny-French-girl. How does she get so skinny that the highest point on her body while laying down is her hipbones? How does she manage her diet so that her thighs never touch? And how does she get upper arms almost as tight and skinny as her wrists? Having only seen those women assembled is such large groups when flipping through Vogue and knowing those pictures are photo-shopped too perfection, there logically must be a secret.

Day 1: Having chosen two skinny-French-girls in my office get’s more difficult as we move office. They now sit in the other end of the room, in the corner even. Luckily the table right next to them is the official cake/coffee table, so I have an excuse to drop by now and then. But as I don’t drink coffee, going to the cake-desk 3 times a day is not doing any good to my behind, so a discreet stretch now and then off my chair gives me a small peek of their status. Hopefully my new neighbor likes my deodorant.

Result: Has not observed anything but coffee going in.

Day 2: Having respect for them not taking a single piece of cake – I think I know where this is going – but maybe they just don’t sugar on Mondays? Ate lunch close to them today: Noted intake of salad, the obligatory yoghurt and a piece of fruit. Plus more coffee and even more cigarettes.

Result: Can someone actually live on coffee??

Day 3: Colleague brought sweets to celebrate becoming a dad, lots of kisses but not a single piece of chocolate gets near the lipstick. Lunch is salad, fruit, the tiniest yoghurts I’ve ever seen and more coffee with cigarettes.

Result: They must be non-human. Sitting an arm’s reach from a pile of kitkat’s, twix’s and other goodies, without as much as recognition of their presence is amazing will-power.

Day 4: Went out with a friend from work to celebrate pay day, this always calls for ice cream at the little café by the park. Spotted my experiments at a table nearby – having espressos and cigarettes. For a moment I considered to curl in shame when the huge banana split landed on the table between my friend and me. We looked at each other and I could see she was thinking the same thing, but then a smile spread across her face –‘you know what?’ she said ‘we only live once, and when those skinnies become 50 they are going to be nothing but bones and loose skin with lung cancer.’ So we dug in – and it was good!

As we were fighting over the chocolate pieces, the skinny-French-girls started stealing glances towards us. They were jealous! Obviously they didn’t want us or each other to notice, but the conversation dipped to nothing as the attention shifted to our calorie feast. I could see the cravings in their eyes for the first time in a week and made me realize that they have cravings just as everyone else, they just choose not pursue it, but instead drown it in coffee and nicotine.

Result: They are human and they might be unbelievable skinny, but are they really happy? I’m sure having a body like Gemma Ward gives you a load of recognition and you don’t have to worry about your belly fat bringing too much attention when wearing a thin t-shirt, but living on coffee and cigarettes to get there is not my definition of enjoying it proper.

BUT until I convince fashion, Vogue, my mirror, general opinion but most of all me that skinny equals unhappy, I will accept this, until then the fight against the 5 pounds will continue. But without the caffeine and ciggies, there are limits to this craziness.