Last week a documentary filmmaker approached me about taking part in a docu-series on "body change". (For the purpose, of this article, I will call him Mr T.) Mr T. wanted to interview me, as a plus size model, body positive activists and blogger, on the reasons as to why people want to change their body, and why some don't. Without much dialogue, I suspected he believed my résumé suggested I don't want to change my body and therefore would in some way represent women of a size 16 and above on why being fat is fabulous.

That was a joke; he didn't say being fat is fabulous...and neither did I, being YOU is fabulous, but I digress!

His email triggered something within me. How can I call myself a body positive activist, but want to fly to Atlanta to visit Crawford Plastic Surgery, and get my tatas done - I watch way too much Lifetime Television, forgive me for the specifics.

For the last five years, my weight has yo-yoed and so have my boobs. Between genetics and my fluctuated waistband, my 19-year-old chest doesn't point to the ceiling, or the wall...they stare with intent at the floor. Now, I've never had any complaints from anyone...not that I show off my tits to everyone, making my statement slightly invalid, or particularly care about what my lovers think about them. But the idea of going braless gives me nightmares and having to go bra shopping because my bulldozers have fucked up the new scaffolding that a bought just three months ago, is the biggest bane of my life. Not to mention how expensive bras can get once your pass a D cup, and I'm well and truly passed that.