Where D'Ya Go, Rho? Ep8 BRAvo!

This blog finds me in a freezing cold warehouse in deepest, darkest, Dundee. No need to call the polis, I haven’t been kidnapped. I am here by my own will on a Molke shoot.

What the hell is a Molke shoot you may ask? Molke is a brand of underwear I have been wearing for many years now and since 2018 I have been a model for their brand. Molke is an initially home made bra that gained quick traction and is now a very successful Scottish employer, who sells underwear and other products worldwide. They are an ethical company who thrive on representation, zero waste and building community. They also pay the living wage so care about their employees to boot.

They were initially a brand solving issues of wearing a bra while breast feeding but the design was popular beyond just the mums. I found they were so comfy when in my wheelchair that it was a game changer so much so I am rarely to found in any other type of bra. Now they are seen on figures of all sizes, from teenagers to grannies. They cater for those who want a plain, everyday wear workhorse to a bright and colourful patterned piece of art that deserves to be seen rather than covered away.

Before Molke I used to be regularly stabbed in the tit by an angry underwire making a great escape from its brassiere housing. They would often break free in the middle and slowly creep until I notice by being nicked in the jugular by a rigid semicircular wire as big as my head. Someone call Chief Inspector Taggart, there’s been a murder!

Since the change to Molke I am far more comfy and attempted murders are at an all time low.

How can someone who is lost and their confidence is low be able to do such a thing as modelling? Well, there’s the thing. Few people are consistently one thing or another. I am not permanently down or lost. My symptoms have increased as time has gone on. My mood can initially be buoyant and upbeat but as anxiety hits near to whatever I have agreed to I can become frozen and back out. My mental health is up and down or in and out. It’s basically the hokey cokey.

My mood in, out, in, out, shaken all about, I’m not okay dokey, my stomach’s churned around around, that’s what it’s all about. See!

Thankfully, the pixies who work at Molke are a magical bunch and make you feel at ease. It’s a closed shoot, full of women who are not typical model material but should be. That said their personality and beauty shine through and their image becomes a symbol of representation to those who in past advertising were invisible.

If I had a word with my 17 year old self that as a flabby forty something I would be known for being in my bra and underpants then I would have laughed in your face. As a busty teenager I felt like a freak, when 90s media demanded heroin chic, stick thin women with barely a fried egg in their bra, I was brimming out and with only page 3 Sun newspaper girls having a shape like mine, I aligned with an image I didn’t want to have.

I felt fat. I felt different, I felt othered. I was aware of my disability back then although I could pass much of the time. So when I used a stick, I was not only fat but frumpy with my granny stick and with boobs that weighed me down rather than built me up.

I hid my body in unshapely, masculine based clothing in order to hide what I thought was not an asset but an affront. Breasts to me were an invitation to assault not a sign of feminine power and strength. To me, it was a beacon for men to take advantage so I dressed more manly to detract attention away. There were few women to aspire to. The Spice Girls seemed juvenile, tacky, not my style and downright slutty (sorry Geri and Victoria but to me you did) so Girl Power wasn’t the direction for me. I went to tough male role models instead. I donned adidas and looked to the likes of the Gallagher brothers for style tips. Indie, Britpop women were few and far between and rarely made the cover of NME, Melody Maker or Select so I never had a poster girl of my own. Instead a bought bulky Stone Island jumpers from Cruise. Thinking the price of the item elevated the look from unflattering to fabulous I was very much mistaken. In my Gallagher parka I did not SHEEEEIIIIINNNEEE!

At best, I would dress like a dandy copying my comedy hero Rob Newman in velvet waistcoats and jackets with patent DMs and tartan skirts to feminise the look. I tried to find style but the disproportions of my boobs made me awkward. Shopping for a size 8-10 skirt and a 14 top, these arbitrary numbers tallied to me being a top heavy freak. Sets didn’t fit so rather than question the fashion industry I assumed it was down to me. I wasn’t fat per se but I felt fat. I felt out of step, out of place and out of fashion.

It has taken almost 2 decades for me to be even close to finding a style I like and I still feel ill at ease at times. Society demands we dress our age, follow fast fashion and for women aged 40 and above apparently I should wear bold florals or blacks and greys, wear chunky geometric jewellery and fit in. Lagenlook til I die is my destiny.

I have been blessed with two wonderful girls and I don’t want them to ever hate their bodies the way I did. I don’t want diets to dominate their lives and their worth. I model in Molke for them. I model to be a role model for them. Not the model to emulate but the role model to be themselves. I model to show them that they should be proud no matter what size they are and for who they are. I ask them to look at the women I model with- all different, yet all with value. All beautiful and a whole lot to offer the world. We are a whole lot of woman and we should be seen. We should not be invisible or just for men’s gratification. We should pose in powerful stances and refuse to yield. Regardless of wobbly bits or size of tits we are all valuable.

My feelings of self worth have not been great and at times I let the inner voice win but these shoots with Molke are my continued fight against the monologue. I turn the criticism into dialogue into a debate, a challenge against self hate.

I am aware that doing this is not for everyone and my image may even offend some but I cannot concern myself with those. I don’t do this for the trolls, I don't do this for the likes, for the ‘gram. I do this for my girls. I do this to help shape their future into a more accepting one than the one I was brought up in. I want them to be comfortable in their own skin and to be brave enough to take up space in this world because they have a right to.

I look around at the women I know and the only ones I’ve ever found to be ugly are the ones with an unkind soul. Those who throw shade on their sisters and scorn on any who deviate from their vision of the norm. Women who use the tag of bitch with pride in order to minimise others, in order to elevate themselves. Now that is ugly no matter how pretty the package appears to be.

I have found more beauty in the imperfection than I have in the typical beauty standard. I am more comfy with the women I model with than at other points in my life when I was fitted to the more accepted standards of normal.

I am not standard. I am not perfect and as I try to find myself again, I don’t think I want to be.

Thanks Molke- you are more than a bra to me. You are freedom, choice and self expression and you make me feel less of a tit about my tits. You make me feel brilliant about my boobs and comfy about my body in the world- no matter how it looks