I knew it was coming. It was way too good to be true that I could stuff my face with baguettes for a week in Paris then come back to New York and fit into samples.
Getting measured for resort collection yesterday the design assistant asked me if I'd gained weight- to which I responded "well I have been in Paris surrounded by baguettes for the past week". As a joke, meant to be funny. Then she pulls out the measuring tape and tells me the exact change to my waistline down to the quarter inch. Good to know..*gasp*
So this morning I got on the scale to assess the damages. I only gained three pounds, which is really nothing- but it makes a world of difference in how good I am at my job. Sick and twisted? totally. Do I take it personally that the button on a pair of sample jeans flew across the room when I tried to buckle them at a meeting this morning? No, I laughed.
Because the fact that these pants were small on me is only in part my problem. I was forewarned that they had come from the factory exceptionally small, and had somehow managed to survive three markets with only a busted leg zip (samples are made fast, not to last).
These are realities that I must remind myself to avoid internalizing and stressing the fuck out that I'm slowly morphing into a ravenous unemployed whale. Because I'm not a whale, I'm just human and it happens. Not to say I didn't book my ass into a series of Bikram and spin classes that very moment. I'm going to pedal and twist until those baguettes are just a vague memory. Because I mean business. It can't become personal.
My body is my business, and business is about to get bangin'.
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