Hot vs happy

"What can you possibly mean by that?" she asked me, not bothering to hide her astonishment. "All day long I hear fat women whine about how unhappy they are with their bodies! How can you say fat women are happier than thin women?"

Well, I didn't really. I was only speaking for myself.

Because you see, I've come to a weird realisation over the last year: since I've lost my self-loathing, my looks have really gone for a dive. It's a shame really… It seems I have to choose between being hot and being happy.

There's no more getting up at six to go to the gym. No sticking to two glasses of white wine a week. No cutting out starch. Or hearty stews. Or salad dressing. No more obsessing about being thin.

Which is not to say that I don't sometimes wish I was thinner. I mean, doesn't everybody? It's just that somehow, the self-loathing and body issues that I've carried with me for such a big part of my life has turned into that. A vague wishing.

The problem is though, if you're born into a body that can only look good when it's beaten into whimpering submission, you need that self-loathing to motivate you to do all of the above.

Because, God knows, vanity isn't enough.

And I'm not just talking about weight. I can remember a time when I used to blow dry my hair before a night out. And spend 20 minutes on my eye make-up. And try on 5 different outfits.

I don't do that anymore. I've – to use a term that I loathe – let myself go. Looking great doesn't mean as much as it used to. I don't feel inferior or stupid or shy if I meet someone in a supermarket and I'm wearing tracksuit bottoms and no mascara. I don't feel useless because my body mass index is on fair instead of elite. Sure, there are pros and cons to my new-found happiness and self-acceptance.

Pros: