5th Year in the Game: It’s My Blogger-versary

It’s my 5th year blogger-versary, y’all. *Tosses Confetti*

Damn, I’m old.  

This week back in 2013, I decided to start another blog (the two previous ones had failed). I had no clue what I was doing. No fancy camera (just a grainy ass android). No experience in styling or makeup.

Drake said he started at the bottom, girl, I started way beneath the bottom.  

I was married to a man who didn’t support what I was doing. He hadn’t understood my purpose, my vision. He wasn’t the cheering section that I thought and needed him to be. He did the bare minimum. I had to push myself and pick up the slack.

When I first hit the scene as a baby blogger, I was glared at by not only straight-sized bloggers, but the plus-size ones as well. I wasn’t good enough to be in their groups. I wasn’t good enough to be included in the photos with their fancy DSLR cameras. I was the newbie on their little turf and was underestimated. They hadn’t thought that I’d be the most successful blogger in Detroit, who’s not only been featured locally but nationally and internationally. If you are one of those people reading this, how does those apples taste? 

I hadn’t told my family because they didn’t understand why I couldn’t ‘use my degrees’ to get a real job. Work a job I hated for 30 years and not ever make a difference. I couldn’t do that. Not for them, I couldn’t.

I was made fun of. Told by Muslims that I should blog about religion instead of fashion, that what I was doing would embarrass my husband and that it wasn’t fitting of a Muslim woman to ‘model’ and wear makeup. That I shouldn’t bring attention to myself. I did that shit anyway.

I was picked over for white bloggers with way less of a following just because ya know, I wasn’t white.

For some hardheaded ass reason, I persisted. I paused, but I never, ever stopped.

The reason I started Beauty and the Muse was because I needed an outlet for my creativity, my pain, my voice. I wanted to be what I never got growing up. I wanted to see proper representation that the media fails to acknowledge. I wanted to be the change I wished to see. Instead of talking, I chose to do.

So, here we are. Five years later. It’s been a helluva ride. So much has happened good and bad. But, mostly good.  

I want to leave you with a bit of inspiration. If you want something, then go get it. Do not ask for permission. You will be your own biggest fan in your journey to creating the life that you want to live. Do not ask for permission for the reigns that control your life. It’s already there for the taking. So, what are you waiting for?

In celebration of my anniversary, I’m gifting you with a dope ass video with the song titled “Fuck They” by Sofi Tukker because who wouldn’t want to celebrate a carefree, Black, fat Muslim living in her truths.

Question, what year did you start following me and what made you follow? 

***Shout out to Daniela Lisi for thuggin it out with me to make this video very late at night.

xoxo,

Leah V

Am I Not Muslim Enough For You?

I really hate the internet sometimes. Seems like in every crack and crevice is a someone lurking in the shadows to call you out on a misplaced period or find a sliver of your ankle meat showing so they can immediately tell you that you are soooo not a Muslim and to immediately remove your hijab because you are disgracing Islam.

Last week, I had to block multiple Muslim sisters who felt the need to tell me that I’m haram (forbidden by Islamic law) and the things that I do are haram. Mind you, these are folks that have followed me. I’ve been called haram for the most part of my life. And, the things that I do are most likely looked down upon in a traditional sense. That’s totally fine. I get it. There are certain rules in Islam that I just don’t abide by. Modesty is one of them. My clothes are way too tight. I don’t cover my neck. Heck, you might even see some arm meat once in a while. My face is usually beat to the gawds *tongue pop*.  I could lie and say that I’m working on it just to appease the Haram-Police, but I’m not. I’m not working on my level of modesty. Why? Because I don’t want to right now.

One girl direct messaged me saying that men could ‘see me’. That she was all for my Black Muslim empowerment but she thought I was taking my freedom too far and she hadn’t followed me for that purpose…

Another said that I was sinning so hard that I should just take my hijab off.

Booties: ELOQUII 

Leah V, you are such a bad Muslim that you should take your hijab off. Just throw the whole hijab away. It’s so sad and so funny simultaneously. I kinda want to make a parody of reasons why Muslims tell other Muslims to take their hijab off.

OMG. You’ve stepped into the mosque with your left foot. Take your hijab off!

You prayed way too fast. Take your hijab off!

You ordered a chicken sandwich on a Tuesday. You know what? Just take off your HIJAB!!!

It’s mind-boggling that someone would tell you to sin again because you already sinned once. So, basically, what they are saying is that when you do something wrong, there is no coming back. Just quit. Because you’ve failed. And, if that ideology is true then they are far less of a Muslim than I thought.  

The reason why I’m writing about this is because I was triggered, and I know many other hijabis (and non-hijabis) who go through this daily.

Fit: Rainbow Shops

For many years, my body has been heavily policed. I’ve never been Black enough. I wasn’t thin enough. And, I was never Muslim enough. Even when I tried to be super-holy Muslimah, it never was enough. During those times, I wasn’t even dressing modestly for Allah (swt) I was doing it so no one from the community could call me a whore or a slut. I was doing it so my mom would think I was a good and abiding Muslim girl. I did it so my ex could be proud of how outwardly Muslim I was.

Many of us miss the point of Islam. We aren’t doing ‘good’ things to please people. We do them because we love Allah (swt) and because good things boost our spiritual connections. And, your ‘good’ isn’t one size fits all. Your good can be so many things. Being a Muslim isn’t a one size fits all and it’s definitely not I-shame-you-into-submission.

The Muslims, people that like to shame others, the ones who circle around your head like a crow waiting for you to do something ‘haram’, and the ones who project their own insecurities onto you don’t deserve your or my time.

I’ve just gotten to a point where I’m okay with me.

My hijab, or lack of, is my business. I can wear the hijab, an abaya, and even a veil, and be Muslim. I can wear no scarf, shorts, and a tube top, and be Muslim, still.

And, if you don’t agree, then peace be unto you. But, your negativity won’t stop me from practicing.  

Are Muslims supposed to cover, be modest? Yes. Do we do it all the time? No. Why? Cuz we’re human. And humans do what they want to do at the end of the day. Let my struggle be that, my struggle. Let my spirituality, be that. My spirituality.

I’m not obligated to share with you how close or far I am from my religion.

I find it odd that Muslim men never get policed as much as Muslim women do. They can go out into the world and be anonymous, when hijabis are visible and at risk. We’re the ones getting attacked and we still wear hijabs faithfully and rock our religion with poise and confidence.

I’m tired of people policing my faith and the faith of others and telling me to take off my hijab.

You think I’m not Muslim enough. Well, that’s your right and prerogative. Delete me. Think I’m not representing? Delete me. Think I’m a bad role model? Delete me. No hard feelings. Honestly. Why follow someone you don’t think is living right? I’m so shooketh, but also not really. LOL.    

Who else has experienced such body policing? We need to put this all on the table. Let’s chat.

xoxo,

Leah V 

Accepting My Body As It Is

My body has done some pretty amazing things lately. I mean, some things that I’d never thought it would do. It breathes for me when I sleep. It’s able to do an hour of cardio without stopping. It has allowed me to successfully complete a five-city college speaking tour. And, yeah, in between those good times, it’s been achy, moody, and fatigue, but it still pushes even when I’ve given up.

Do you ever take the time to appreciate your body?

There was a time for me when I hadn’t. I fully underestimated my body, my self. I fully allowed others to dictate how I viewed it, how I treated it. I policed its every move to the point of self-harm and self-hatred. I loathed everything about it. The way it spoke, the way it awkwardly moved and hid itself in the shadows of beautiful, thin people. How the light drained from it once I stepped on a scale and saw that the first number started with a 3 instead of a 1. The ‘you shouldn’t eat that’ and the ‘you shouldn’t wear that’ crumbled me to the point of extinction.

I couldn’t find one part of me that was acceptable, beautiful, worthy. What a cruel life to live. Walking around like an insecure shell of a human. That was me. For many years. An empty vessel filled with worthlessness.

How many of us are walking around like that right now? With our heads down, scanning the internet for #Thinspo and #BodyGoals. In search of the next quick fix DIE-t plan and flat tummy tea. Scrolling aimlessly through a Kardashian’s feed, pinpointing all the spots of skin with no stretch marks and wishing our thigh gaps could be as wide. Adding seventeen different filters to a selfie that we took out of a hundred selfies that all look the same. Swipe left. Swipe right. Swipe left. Swipe right. That’s my better angle. Hiding double chins and smoothing out cellulite from an app we paid 2.99 for. Comparing ourselves to the perky-breasted super-model on the cover flap of a popular magazine without knowledge that she has an entire team to make her look so ‘picture perfect’.

Comparison is the thief of joy.

I, too, have fallen into the media trap where I’d fallen so deep that I couldn’t get up. One perfect page leads to the next perfect page and I’ve found myself comparing and contrasting my body to hers. Wishing I could have some of what she had. This perfect Insta-Model has got it all. And, I had nothing at all. Why had she been so lucky?

One day, I decided to not compare myself to others. Well, not completely, but much less. It’s humanly impossible to not compare. Less is better.

One day, I asked myself what if I loved and appreciated my body how it was in that exact moment? What if I worked on being healthy and strong and built my endurance, instead of weighing myself twice a day and starving to the point of migraines? What would it look like to accept my body as is?

I hadn’t known what it looked like because I’d never seen it before. But, I was willing to try.

I started with looking in the mirror instead of passing them by. Avoiding them. I started dancing in public. Instead of dancing on the sidelines, I moved to the middle where the action was. I became less aware of my jiggly parts. Thin bodies hadn’t jiggled. So, I was always conscious about my folds moving when I moved. That had to stop. I took selfies and I posted them. I tackled my insecurities head on and exploited them instead of hiding them. I told people to look at the parts that I tried so hard to hide. I claimed those parts, no matter how upsetting they were.

Why had they upset me so much in the first place? Because they hadn’t fit into the mold of traditional beauty? My jiggly parts, my spaced teeth, large forehead, wide-set toes, and hip pockets weren’t considered beautiful. They were very much so the opposite attributes of beauty that we seen growing up.

I hated myself because everyone told me to.

But, I had a choice. And, I chose to live life with my body as it was.

Many of times we go on these rants and raves about finding the answers to life’s questions. We go on these quests to figure out the root of our happiness. When the answer is always within us. It’s there the entire time. We just have to go through the process of internal self-discovery. And, that means making the choice to do something different. Making the choice to pull ourselves out of the loop. To view it from a different angle.

xoxo,

Leah V

Dating in a Fatphobic World

There’s been many, many fat activists and body-positive folks responding to the topics of dating, finding love, and intimacy while being fat. And, let me tell you, the responses have been ridiculous and the backlash agonizing. Anytime, I post commentary about plus-size dating, the conversation grows long and weary. I mean, dating in general has become trash since the boom of internet faux-ness, where you can get anything and everything in the matter of a few clicks, but dating for straight-size versus plus-size is very different.  

When I got divorced, I went on a dating frenzy. Like, I had something to prove. I had never been boy-crazy prior to my marriage, but something about asserting my sexuality after years of being repressed was attractive to me. It became a sick obsession.

I had four dating apps in rotation. I’d spend hours swiping to the left or swiping to the right. I was on them so much, that I started to see some of the same guys on different apps. At a few points, I came upon the profiles of a friend’s ex and dudes I worked with in real life. So, if I saw them then they had to have seen me. And although embarrassing, it hadn’t deterred me from having seventeen separate conversations with different dudes in the city.    

I was born in an era with one foot in the age of online dating and one foot out. Basically, I was still a bit clueless on how to navigate them. I thought the guys on the other end were like me. Just wanting to test the waters and perhaps find real companionship. Boy was I wrong.

On my dating profile, I was covered. Like if you were to go on my Instagram account, you’d see the same photos. I mixed in face shots with full body photos. I wasn’t trying to catfish anyone because I wouldn’t want anyone to catfish my ass. I wanted the possible suitor to know that I was, indeed, a fat woman.

The first message I got was a couple trying to have me as their third, as in third wheel, as in a threesome. I politely declined. The following messages would start off with men requesting that I ‘sit on their face’. No hi, hello, or how are you? They’d make disgusting comments about my hips and butt. Some of the white dudes, especially, would objectify my Black body, highlighting the size of my lips and what they’d do to them. I was sent unsolicited dick pics by the dozens. Being asking to send nudes was a common request. I was also fat-shamed by angry users who I wasn’t interested in.

I would tell my smaller friends who were using the same dating apps my stories. They’d shake their heads and tell me that they weren’t getting the same messages. They weren’t having men ask them to sit on their faces or make comments about how big their butt was or any body shaming comments.      

I decided to delete every dating app because I was tired of being reduced to the curves on my body or the thickness of my lips. I decided to do some research on dating while fat and found so much stuff. I was not alone in my struggle. Women shared stories about being hidden away by their boyfriends because of their weight, being oversexualized and objectified based on the shape of their body, being fat-shamed, called names like pig and fat bitch when they declined sex or dates.

For women online who were plus-sized bloggers who dated or married a muscular or a socially ‘attractive’ man, trolls would leave nasty comments about how could someone so fat be with a fit guy, or he’s only using you for sex, or that’s impossible for him to actually love her.  

So, according to the census, fat women don’t deserve love, their bodies are only reduced to an object only used for pleasing sexually, and no one who is socially attractive should ever want a fattie.

Kimono: Black Lace Boutique

Before, I go any further I want to give folks who indulge in fatphobia a few facts:

Fat people are human beings. Stop asking fat people to hide themselves. We are allowed to take up as much space as we want. Don’t worry about why fat people are fat. Do you worry about why skinny people are skinny? You are not a physician. Clearly, you aren’t smart enough. Fat people deserve love. Fat people deserve intimacy. If you like fat women, that’s okay. Stop allowing your friends to dictate who you love. Stop being a coward and enjoining in fatphobic rhetoric when you truly don’t feel that way. And, lastly fat people aren’t fetishes.  

By no means am I saying that smaller women and men don’t get picked on or objectified, but we don’t experience mass skinny-phobia were a model has loads of trolls under her photos saying things like omg, she’s just so small, is she even healthy? Is she anorexic? Why doesn’t she just eat a sandwich? She’s so ugly, who’d want to be that thin?  

Instead we see comments praising her, we say that her body is bodygoals, we demean our own bodies, and skip a meal, we show our little girls that skinny is good and fat is bad. That if she is thin, she will be deserving of intimacy and love and money and beauty, but if she is big that she should go hide behind ill-fitting clothes and shrink herself. That she should just be happy with any man who deals her any ole kind of attention. That she shouldn’t strive for better because of the shape of her natural hips or the hugeness of her breasts and stomach.      

Stop allowing men to body-shame you. Nip it in the bud every time, so that the next time he approaches a big girl he’ll know what’s up. Stop allowing thin privilege to shrink you. You do not have to be skinny to live your best life. Stop teaching your little boys and girls that they don’t deserve to take up space. Teach them to be healthy and confident at any size.  

It’s time we nipped fatphobia in the bud.

Xoxo,

Leah V  

Mistaking a Woman's Trauma as Bitterness

It’s been nineteen years since I witnessed the first physical altercation between a man and a woman. Mom and my brother’s dad. Fifteen years since I saw my brother choke one of Mom’s temporary husbands because of yet another domestic dispute. Five years since I, myself, was incarcerated for domestic violence because that boy I used to be married to called me a ‘slut’ for wearing pants. Two and a half years since I was betrayed by him and a bitch at his job who stated he was a ‘good man’. Fourteen months since my messy divorce ended. And, four months since I saw him parading around the local mosque like an idiot, putting on a show for my family.   

I counted in the dark last night before I drifted off to sleep.

“Men are trash,” I said to my two closest friends.

The phrase that I’ve been living by for the last year. I mean, I knew they were trash before, but I just couldn’t openly say it since I was married and all.

Coat Courtesy of Addition Elle

“I don’t think you should make ‘all men’ statements,” she said. “That’s just not the case since you haven’t met ‘all’ men.”

I rolled my eyes. I mean, I do hate ‘all’ statements because it’s just not possibly true. Buuuuuut, humans make assumptions and have valid reasons of feeling how they feel from past experiences. And, you can’t invalidate someone’s experience, even if it’s farfetched. All you can do, really, is redirect.

You know when you’re doing or saying something it doesn’t seem that bad? I don’t trash men as bad on the internet as I do in person. Like, if I’m chilling with my friends, I will go into my ‘trash men mode’. Why? Because it’s relevant and they do it sooooo much. Trump grabbing em by the pussy, girls overseas being forced to marry old men, female genital mutilation, sex-trafficking in my home state of Michigan. Every time I see a #MeToo post or hear a story about yet another executive pulling his little dick out and waving it at a young actress or witness a hyper masculine douchebag trolling a sexual assault victim on Facebook, it really traumatizes me.

As a woman, I am traumatized by men. To be truthful, I’ve been traumatized by them since I was a little girl. Men scare me. Even now. They could hit me in the face or rape me or pretend they love me then drop me for another girl, or guy. Shit, I don’t know.

Shoes Courtesy of Evan's UK

I witnessed my first domestic violence fight at the tender age of six. It’s one of my earliest memories actually. I remember just standing there, watching as Mom tossed a computer at him and my brother’s father hitting her. Neither of them cared that I was there. Maybe I had become a fixture in their fucked-up world. What kills me now just thinking about it was that I never screamed or ran away or hid. I just stood there as if two adults throwing blows was a normal, everyday occurrence.

Mom had mental issues. Which didn’t help in her male selection process. We saw most of the dysfunction, if not all of it. In our home, men were disposable. If she didn’t like how they were, then she’d get rid of them and add another to the list. Mom was married about seven times before I’d turned seventeen, and I’m being modest by not including boyfriends or fiancées.

Mom taught her girls, in a nutshell, that men only wanted your body, they only wanted babies, and to use you, so to never, ever depend on them. Never tell them your finances, keep a secret savings because they weren’t to be trusted. Mom never trusted men. And, neither do I.

I’ve become her when I really never wanted to. Deep. I know.   

Turban Fabric: Flossy's Suitcase

I got married young because I loved him, I thought I could change him, and I was Muslim and hadn’t wanted to sin anymore. I wanted to be a good Muslim girl in the eyes of God.

He brought the worst out of me. He also brought the best, too. Unfortunately, he brought more of the worst than the best.

At first, I didn’t trust him. Slowly, I started to. Then I let go and trusted him wholeheartedly. It took a while, but I’d done it. Growing up the way I had, I never thought it was possible. Then he betrayed that trust, and I reverted back to my old ways. Just like that.

And like an idiot, to curb my pain, I entered the dating scene right after the divorce. Bumble. Tinder. Plenty of Fish. You name it. Trying to flex the muscle that hadn’t been flexed in over a decade. Bad idea! What I needed was time. Time to heal.

I got messages from randoms asking me to ‘sit on their faces’, propositioning me for threesomes, and polyamorous relationships. I’ve had white men objectify me, commenting on the thickness of my lips and thighs. How they’ve never been with a Black chick. I’ve had men fetishize my hijab. Body-shame me. Tell me how intimidating I am because I have two masters and that I might be ‘too smart’ for them.

“I’m a feminist,” I told one dude, while on a date.

“So, you must hate men, then.”

“I do now…” I replied, in my head.

For additional winter coats check out Simply Be

Another guy told me that I hated men. I think he high-key wanted to call me bitter. And, that’s fine. If the shoe fits, right? Maybe it is me. Maybe I attract shit dudes because I’m a shit person.

“Maybe you should switch teams,” one friend suggested.

I cringed. “I’m not touching boobs.”

My other friend, who happened to be gay said, “Actually, same-sex relationships have many of the same problems as hetero relationships do.”

“Fuck,” I said. “Then it’s back to being asexual.”

And, who knows, maybe one day I will trust a dude again. Maybe all men aren’t trash. I’ve just come across some trashy ones.

xoxo,

Leah V

Do You Wish You Weren’t Fat?

As a fashion influencer, I get this question all the time. Especially from straight size individuals. Do you wish you weren’t fat? I know that a lot more people want to ask, it’s on the tip of their tongues, but because they don’t want to offend me they just keep it buried with all the other questions.

“Let’s say in a perfect world you could choose your body. No strings attached. Would you still choose to be fat?” a close friend asked.

The topic was on fat activism and body positivity.

Each time, I pause and think about the pros and cons. Because the westernized part of my mind goes straight to ‘thin is better’ or ‘thin is beauty’ without even hearing any other options. Our minds have been conditioned to immediately associate beauty with fair skin, slim noses, and flat tummies. Thick hair, full lips, long legs. But as I dig further into my own ideologies of the true meaning of beauty through my lens is when the answer starts to reveal itself.

It’d be amaaaazing to walk into a store and they have all of your sizes available in the front and not buried away in the back near the restrooms. It’d be amazing to have more than two or three racks of shapeless clothing (H&M…) to choose from. It’d be cool when you date a guy that he wouldn’t assume that you’re easy with low self-esteem because you have stomach rolls and that clearly no other man wants you because you’re fat and he’s doing you a favor. And we can also assume that it’d be cool not to be asked how many months pregnant you are when you’re not pregnant at all. Or to be trolled on the internet because you’re promoting obesity even though you go to the gym five days a week. Or not be looked at with disgust when you’re clearly nourishing your body with food at a local restaurant.

But, with all that said, I wouldn’t change being fat. Why? Unfortunately, as humans, and especially as girls and women, we always want what’s in. What’s trendy. Our bodies have become trends, objects. The body that was popular in the 70’s is totally different than the body that’s ‘in’ now. So, are we going to alter our bodies every decade to fit the mold of this ‘new’ beauty standard? Or are we going to embrace the curves (or lack of) that we’re working with now?

The true goal is to be healthy and fat or healthy and thin. Not to lose (or gain) weight so the scale can flicker to an agreeable number for other’s comfort. That’s my motto. And my life has been so much more fulfilling because of it.  

Plus, the upside to being fat is that I don’t shop at the same stores that my thinner friends go to so that means no embarrassing twinning moments. I’m forced to be creative with my ensembles because my clothing options are so much more limited. Can you say, slayage? When I fall down the stairs, my butt cushion saves the bones from breaking. If I lose or gain five pounds, you won’t notice it. And, of course, I’m a pretty good cuddler.

*Winks at the guys* 

xoxo

Leah V. 

Ghetto DIY Tumeric Face Mask

Leah V. shows ya'll how to achieve the perfect crust-less face utilizing tumeric and other household items. 

xoxo

Leah V. 

Who Said Fat Girls Can’t Slay? Top 7 Outfits of 2016

OMG! We’ve made it into the new year. Bless up *DJ Khaled voice*. Ready for new beginnings? I know I am. We’ve shed some negative people: ex’s, frenemies, and maybe an annoying co-worker or two. Get your bucket list ready because I’ve asked my fashionable followers to vote for their top seven outfits of 2016. This list isn’t about my own self-gratification, or maybe it is… It’s about self-love. Confidence. And acceptance.

Anyone can put on makeup and slap on a bomb ensemble. But how many of us are sitting at home with stretch marks on their boobs, cellulite on them thighs, and a belly pooch that hangs over their pants? *Raises hands* I am as I’m compiling this list. Real life, bro!

So, for 2017, I want you to harness your inner Leah V. divaliciousness and as I always say, fuck it up! And by “it” I mean the world. Wear a color you’ve never thought to wear. Red lipstick? Smear that shit on. Dance when everyone is watching. Travel the world. Alone! Don’t let society’s standards stop you from living. FUCK IT UP! And when they ask why, tell em cuz Leah V. said so…

Check out these amazing ensembles from the last year of my blog, and see which styles made the list: 

#7 That pop of color though!

Photo: Adele Lane Photography

#6 So Parisian. Oui?   

Photo: Richelle Marie Photography

#5 Turbanista in red.

Photo: Danni Little

#4 Couldn’t nobody tell me nothin that day.  

Photo: Madinah Muhammad

#3 *Finger snaps in Z formation.

Photo: Brooklyn Cashmere

#2 I’ve always wanted to be a fairy.

Photo: Reel Clever Films

#1 On my Riri shit!

Photo: C. Los Productions

Wildcard! Gold Dress. Birthday extravaganza. This dress was designed by me! But I aint sew it though.  

Which one is your favorite? 

Leah V. 

Upliftment Through Style: Detroit’s Body Positive Movement

I haven’t done a collaborative photoshoot in a while. So, when local Detroit based blogger, Alayna of FashionLayne on Tumlbr, asked me to do a conceptual project I was all ears! We met up at Bigby’s Coffee and chatted like we’d known one another for years. I enjoyed her spirit and flyness. We set a date and hoped for the best. But deep down, I knew when dope people come together, only greatness occurs.

MUA: (My face) Madinah M.

Alayna wanted to do the shoot at the beautiful Heidelberg Projects in Detroit. I’d never been there before, but it proved to be an awesome background for our stripped looks.

And, she brought along her very much so talented photographer (adding to all the #BlackGirlMagic), Richelle of Richelle Marie Photography who captured all of our ‘moments’.

LV: Why did you start FashionLayne?

FL: I’ve been blogging for almost two years. I started solely to boost my confidence and after that I began to love myself more and more. Ultimately that is what I want people to get from my blog is confidence. I want them to learn that you can wear what you want and feel amazing and confident. Nobody should feel uncomfortable in their own skin. I want all girls and women to embrace their bodies.

LV: Why choose to collaborate with Leah V.?

FL: I decided to collaborate with Leah because she unconventional, in a good way. She doesn't follow the rules of the fashion industry or the magazines. She does what she wants and wears what she wants and I admire that from fellow plus-size blogger. She is a risk taker and that is exactly what I was looking for in this ‘Body Positive’ project.

LV: What do plus-size Detroit bloggers bring to the table?

FL: Detroit plus-size bloggers understand the struggle. We come from a city that had nothing but blight, now it is the "come up city’. For me, I use my platform to show people where I'm from instead of just selling the outfit. I want people to view my blog and love the outfit and love the background, which is Detroit. My blog is like a to-do list for others looking to visit the city of Detroit. We have art here, fashion, everything.

My normal face... HAHA!

XOXO

Leah V.