In this op-ed, Trey Campbell shares what it's like to shop as a plus-size man with so few brands that cater to people his size. The only plus-size model to hit the Men's Fashion Week runway over two consecutive seasons, Trey opens up about his experience walking for the ASOS brand.

I wish I could tell you that growing up in Gastonia, North Carolina was easy. Despite the picturesque TarHeel blue skies and the blossoming dogwood trees, it was hard to fit into the beautiful backdrop.

It was very apparent from an early age that I was different, the kind of different that makes you stand out in the best and worst ways. For starters, I was always “stocky.” Stocky, by definition, means broad and sturdily built. That sounds nice, right? Wrong. Especially when it’s the southern, maple-syrup-sweet way of calling you fat.

Shopping for school clothes was always heartbreaking because nothing ever fit right. My southern belle of a mother would always tell me how handsome I looked while the retail associate stared at me with pity. I’d only give myself a two second look over in the mirror because anything longer would result in a thunderstorm of tears I couldn’t bear to drown my Mama in.

My middle school years weren’t my best years. Don’t get me wrong: I had great friends who I still cherish to this day but there were others that weren’t so kind. One year, I was finally able to squeeze my body into a pair of jeans by a popular brand and, momentarily, I felt like all the other kids in the same blue jeans. That was short-lived. As I bent over to pick up a pencil, the jeans split up the back. Luckily, I had a flannel shirt layered over my t-shirt so I wrapped it around my waist to cover the mishap. Unfortunately, everyone in class heard the rip and, later at lunch, one of the star football players informed me that my jeans had ripped because I was entirely too fat to be wearing them.

So, the years went on and I carried not only the weight that God continued to bless me with, but I also carried the weight of the hurt. I was 5’10 and 325 pounds but add on the hurt and it felt like 9 million pounds. I clung to music because I could give you a baritone version of any Mariah, Whitney, or Celine chart topper and that gave me a little bit of social currency.