Stretch marks peeking through jewelled panties, love handles spilling over tight spandex, and stomachs that proudly jiggle and bounce with each step are all tell-tale signs that you’ve made it to Notting Hill Carnival. Women of all shapes and sizes revelling in the power their bodies hold in a space where judgement is thrown out the window is where I get my yearly reminder: snap out of it girl and accept your body as it is.
Each year watching a kaleidoscope of women’s bodies at Carnival, I am awed, inspired, and renewed by their confidence to bare it all so freely. Notting Hill Carnival for most is probably the only time of year where they have full agency over bodies; it’s theirs to glam up in feathers and jewelled wings; everything from a modest monokini to a daring G-string is welcomed in this judgment-free space.
Seeing women brazenly flaunting their bodies in front of men and strangers alike without worry or concern has made a lasting impression on me. I think it’s because I know deep down I wouldn’t dare, but each year the more I see women that have the same ‘flaws’ as me – sweaty and smiling with friends as the parade weaves across Ladbroke Grove – I realise maybe I should dare. It reminds me of the culture of my island home.
I was born and raised for a short period in the countryside of St. Elizabeth, Jamaica. “Go to Jamaica after a breakup or when you’re feeling down about yourself” is something I’ve told my friends for years.
There’s no way you won’t leave with a renewed sense of self because the men and women on the island possess the unique ability to make you feel special by simply showering you with compliments. These are the comforts of being born on an island; insecurities are yours to learn through Western magazines and TV shows; they aren’t innate and built into the fabric of island life. Instead, I collected them like infinity stones when I moved to Canada, picked up even more after a couple of years in the US, and topped up on new ones when I finally moved to England.
I grew up around plus-sized women in Jamaica, but that wasn’t the word used to describe them, ‘mampi’ or ‘fluffy’ were used. I grew up seeing these women being loved on by men half their size; I’d watch curiously as a kid as they moved confidently through the market, not a sliver of self-doubt in sight. I think this is because, in the Caribbean, people spend their time focusing on what’s actually there, things they can see, whereas, in England and North America, we are socialised from a young age to focus on things that aren’t there. If you didn’t have insecurities by the time you were 12 – and even that’s a bit late in the game by today’s standards – were you even living life?
The first time I attended Carnival was in Toronto; I was a pre-teen. And oddly enough, as young as I was, I think I needed that visual reminder of the freeness Caribbean women possess. At Carnival, bodies are governed by no one but their owner, and the confidence in the air is palpable. It’s in the encouraging smiles of women in their 50s playing Mas with their group of girlfriends, it’s in the self-assured posing when approaching them for photos, and it’s in the suggestive dancing.
Beauty standards be damned, cellulite and rounded tummies baring stretch marks from carrying new life into the world were on display for all to see.
Moving from Jamaica to Canada, America, and eventually, England is when I realised the beauty standard wasn’t a reflection of myself. As a teenager, I was always too tall, I towered over classmates, and this random growth spurt left me with stretch marks on my hips – an act I thought could only happen after childbirth (boy, was I wrong). In my late twenties, breasts far too big for my body settled in, my stomach took on a new unfamiliar roundness and every now and then, I spied the cellulite on my thighs when I crossed them.
My body was changing, curving in ways I wasn’t accustomed to; it made me uncomfortable, especially because I was slim my whole life.
Want to hear something messed up? In Jamaica, my current body type is described as slim, a body I had written off as curvy because social media told me it was. This is why Notting Hill Carnival is such an important event for me; for two days out of the year, I am surrounded by an entire spectrum of body types on women of all ages and nationalities.
More importantly, the rainbow of every shade of Black and Brown women proudly flaunting their melanin without feeling lesser is a sight comparable to no other. Carnival is a boisterous reminder to be gentle with myself, accept my body, and just live no matter what the beauty standard says.
So, here’s to the parade of gyrating bodies covered in brightly feathered, barely-there bikinis that continues to empower me and change my relationship with my body for the better.
