Page 86 of My Real Love Affair

I walked to my car and climbed in. After starting the engine, I leaned back and closed my eyes. Why was I such a fuck-up? Why did I always fuck up anything good that happened to me? Was Iself-sabotaging? Maybe I needed to just pack my shit and leave. Again. I didn’t need my full trust fund. I could travel light.

But running was quitting and I was tired of being a quitter.

CHAPTER 26

MELODY

Three weeks later, I sat on a velvet couch in a studio in Brooklyn, trying not to completely fangirl. I hoped I was giving off cool and confident. I remembered not to smile too big while keeping my back straight without looking like there was a two-by-four under my dress.

“So, Melody.” The host of the very popular style podcast leaned forward.

Stylin’ with Stacy was a big deal. She was who I wanted to be one day. Cleo and I talked about starting a podcast. I had the platform, but I wasn’t sure I was interesting enough to fill an entire hour.

“Let’s talk about your approach to plus-size styling,” Stacy said. “You’ve built this incredible platform around the idea that fashion isn’t just for sample sizes. What made you take that leap?”

I’d been listening to Stacy’s podcast for years. She interviewed designers, influencers, activists—anyone doing interesting work in the fashion and culture space. And now I was here, sitting across from her in my carefully chosen outfit. It was a beautiful burnt orange wrap dress with statement earrings.

“I think it started from a place of frustration,” I said, finding my rhythm. “I was tired of walking into stores and being told ‘we don’t carry your size’ or being directed to a tiny corner in the back with limited options. And I realized, I’m not alone in this. The majority of women wear a size fourteen or above. So why is the fashion industry treating us like an afterthought? We want to look pretty. We want to be fashionable. We don’t want to wear tents or stretchy clothes. I thought if we could bring some light to the situation we could get some designers to start giving us some cute stuff.”

“Exactly!” Stacy’s enthusiasm was infectious. “And you’ve made such an impact in changing that conversation. Talk to me about your styling philosophy.”

We dove deep into the work I loved. I gushed about how to dress for yourself rather than hiding your body. How women could find pieces that felt authentic rather than following trends. And my favorite about how fashion could be a form of self-expression and empowerment rather than a set of rules to follow.

Off to the side, just out of frame, Cleo sat in a director’s chair giving me encouraging nods and the occasional thumbs-up. She had come as my “assistant” but really she was here for moral support. And to make sure I didn’t say anything she’d have to clean up later.

The conversation flowed easily. Stacy was a skilled interviewer, asking thoughtful questions and genuinely listening to my answers. I felt confident, capable, like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I could talk for hours about fashion and styling. In the back of my mind, I was beginning to think I could really do the podcast thing. Maybe start with some short form at first and work our way up.

Then Stacy shifted in her seat. I recognized the transition. The tone was about to change. I glanced over at Cleo. She noticed as well. She was sitting up a little straighter.

“So, I have to ask about the Femme Curve situation,” Stacy said.

I had prepared for this. I knew it would come up. But my stomach still knotted.

“The brand released a public apology a few weeks ago,” Stacy continued. “They took full responsibility for editing your photos without consent. They’ve been dealing with some backlash since then, implementing new policies. From your perspective, do you think it was genuine? Would you ever work with them again?”

I chose my words carefully. It wasn’t just Femme Curve I would be talking to. All future collaborators would want to know how I handled the situation. If I threw a fit, I wasn’t going to get another brand collab.

I took a deep breath and put on the smile I practiced so often. “I think the apology was necessary. And from what I understand, they are making real changes to their practices. That’s important.”

“But would you work with them again?”

I paused, weighing honesty against diplomacy. “I’m not sure. I don’t want to trash the brand. I think they made a mistake, and they’re trying to correct it. They have beautiful clothes and I’m so grateful I was able to explore their new catalog. But trust—once it’s broken, it’s hard to rebuild.”

Stacy nodded, encouraging me to continue.

“To be honest, I think I’m done with brand deals and sponsors for a while,” I said, surprising myself with the admission. I had not planned to say that. “I’m enjoying being independent, operating on my own with my bestie and assistant.” I gestured toward Cleo, who beamed. “I’m happier when I have full creative freedom. And I have more time toactually engage with the women in my community this way, because I don’t have deadlines from companies hanging over me.”

“That’s a powerful choice,” Stacy said. “Walking away from that kind of revenue stream to maintain your integrity and independence.”

“It’s scary,” I admitted. “But it also feels right. Like I’m building something that’s truly mine, you know?”

“I do know.” Stacy’s smile was warm. “And I think your community is lucky to have someone who’s willing to make those hard choices.”

I felt a swell of pride. This was going well. Really well.

Then Stacy leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. That’s when my stomach flipped and twisted. “And what about you-know-who?”

I frowned. “I’m sorry?”