I watched Shrill in an airport. And in my living room. And in the second-floor student room in Walker Center for Arts and Sciences. As soon as I finished the limited series, available in six episodes on Hulu, I started watching again from the beginning.
Shrill follows the story of “Annie” (Aidy Bryant) as she navigates her complicated job as a writer alongside her personal journey to self-love. Annie argues with her rude boss, attends a pool party, eats spaghetti, and confronts an online troll. Annie lives with an outgoing roommate and a lovable dog and sometimes disagrees with her lazy on-again-off-again boyfriend. She wears really cute dresses and, oh yeah, I forgot to mention—she’s fat.
The show is quick to use that descriptor. Whether it comes from online comments or from Annie herself, she embraces her own body even when it takes some time. In the first minutes of the first episode, Annie is targeted by a personal trainer who assures her that she could be “so pretty” if she lost some weight, but the show is not about Annie struggling with being fat. Instead, she lives a normal life. In no way is Annie funny, embarrassing or noticeable because she’s fat. She’s funny, embarrassing and noticeable because she’s a complex person and she’s allowed to be all of those things at once.
In the same week that Shrill was released online, Anthropologie released #APLUSBYANTHROPOLOGIE, a plus-size line exclusive to the elevated fashion store that describes itself as a place for a “creative-minded woman who wants to look like herself.”
At this point, the Oklahoma City Anthropologie does not carry the entire A PLUS line. A sales associate told me that they have some items available in store and are happy to order others if requested, but all items are available for purchase at Anthropologie.com. But what if I don’t want to order items online? It’s the same problem with stores all throughout the city, from Old Navy to Madewell, brands consistently say that they are size-inclusive, yet they don’t carry larger sizes in stores.
I remember my junior prom. I fell in love with an Anthropologie dress months in advance and saved up to afford it. At the time, a 14 was the largest size that Anthropologie sold, and believe me, I searched to find that dress in a 14. The night of the dance, I felt absolutely beautiful wearing the tea-length dress with stripes and sequins that felt like a piece straight out of an Audrey Hepburn movie. And now, about five years later, I know that I can’t fit into that dress anymore.
There’s a part of me that wants to be sad about that. I find myself wondering what certain outfits would look like on a thinner version of myself. And there are days when I let myself wallow for a minute or two, overcome with sadness about how I don’t look like my 16-year-old self. I try to remind myself that nothing good comes from negative nostalgia, especially not when it comes to bodies and physical appearances. After all, I have much more important things to worry about.
And that’s why Shrill gave me some hope for the future of women growing up in a society fueled by advertisements and Instagram influencer-culture. It didn’t shame anyone for looking a certain way or wearing a certain thing and most characters allowed their judgments to be made based on character rather than appearance. Shrill gave a fat character a chance to be nothing but herself, and that feels like a fresh breath of air.
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