I had always dreamed of a career in fashion, but on my very first day, I was greeted with whispers, judgmental glances, and a boss who seemed to focus solely on my size rather than my talent. They didn’t believe I belonged in this world—but I had a plan. As the runway lights flickered to life, I knew it was my moment to prove them all wrong.
Walking to my new job, I tightly gripped my bag, struggling to steady my breathing. My palms were clammy, and my heart raced uncontrollably in my chest. It was my first day, and though I often found reasons to worry, this time it felt justified. What if they didn’t like me? What if I messed up?
Once inside the sleek glass building, my nerves spiked. I fumbled with my ID, scanning it twice before the elevator chimed, signaling my ascent. Watching the numbers tick upward, I whispered to myself, “You can do this.” When the elevator stopped and the doors glided open, I exhaled deeply and stepped into the unfamiliar territory of my new workplace.
At the reception desk sat a stunning young woman, radiating confidence with her perfect hair and makeup—she looked like she had just stepped off the cover of a magazine.
“Hi, I’m—” I began, stepping forward.
She glanced at me briefly, then interrupted. “Oh, you must be the new cleaning lady. Let me show you around,” she said, standing up and grabbing a clipboard.
I blinked in shock. “No, actually—”
“Come on,” she insisted, briskly walking ahead before I could finish my sentence. “You’ll need to know where the cleaning supplies are. The bathrooms are just down the hall; you’ll want to check those every couple of hours.”
Confusion washed over me as I reluctantly followed her, trying to make myself clear. “I’m not—”
“And you’ll also be responsible for taking out the trash,” she continued, not bothering to look back. “Do it at the end of each day, or sometimes mid-shift if it gets bad. Oh, and make sure the break room is tidy. People here can be quite messy.”
I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. “I think there’s been a mistake—”
Before I could say more, we rounded a corner, and there he was—Aiden, the designer I was hired to assist.
“Christy, where’s my assistant?” he barked from across the room, his tone sharp and impatient. He glanced at me, frowning. “I hate when people are late. And who’s this?”
Christy smiled, but it quickly faded. “This is our new cleaner.”
“Actually…” I stammered, my face growing hot. “My name is Natalie, and I’m your new assistant.” I extended my hand, hoping to salvage the situation.
“Oh,” Christy murmured, her face falling as she realized her mistake.
Aiden scrutinized me, his gaze critical. “Did HR see you when they hired you?” he asked coldly.
I swallowed hard, fully understanding what he meant.
“Yes,” I replied firmly, striving to keep my voice steady. “I’m a professional, and I’m confident I can help you.”
He didn’t bother shaking my hand. “We’ll see,” he muttered, turning sharply on his heel.
As he strode away, I stood frozen until he snapped, “Are you just going to stand there?”
I hurried after him, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Hmm,” he said under his breath. “With that weight, I doubt you can move fast. Let’s hope she doesn’t break half the equipment.”
His words hit me hard. I bit my lip and kept walking, pretending I hadn’t heard. But I had heard every word, and they struck deep.
Two weeks dragged on, each day feeling more exhausting and disheartening than the last. What I had envisioned as my dream job quickly turned into a nightmare. I arrived each morning with hope that things would improve, but they never did. No one seemed to take me seriously.
I overheard cruel whispers when they thought I wasn’t listening.
“Why can’t she just lose weight?”
“How can someone like that work in fashion?”
“It’s ridiculous—has she even looked in the mirror?”
Every remark stung, slicing deeper into my already fragile confidence. I wanted to share my ideas and prove I belonged, but the fear of rejection kept me silent. After all, who would care what I thought?
One afternoon, as I organized sketches for Aiden’s new collection, I noticed something odd. The measurements listed for the clothes only ranged from 2XS to L, and upon closer inspection, the L size was shockingly small—more like a snug M.
“Why are these sizes so small?” I asked Aiden, holding one of the sample dresses. The delicate fabric felt nice, but the size was alarming.
“They’re not small—they’re standard,” he replied, barely glancing up from his tablet.
“No, they’re not,” I insisted, shaking my head. “Most women wouldn’t fit into this L size. And we advertise our clothes as being for everyone.”
“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension, “just because you wouldn’t fit doesn’t mean no one else can.”
His words made my face burn, but I didn’t back down. “My body is average. So who are we making these clothes for—models?”
“For beautiful women,” he said, his tone smug, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Beauty—” I started to say, but he raised a hand in front of my face, cutting me off as if I wasn’t worth his effort to listen.
“You’re getting awfully bold,” he said, his voice icy.
I froze for a moment, then turned away. I wasn’t bold. I felt small, shrinking under his gaze.
If I were bold, I would have argued until he listened. Instead, I sighed and returned to sorting the racks, swallowing my frustration.
Later, I noticed Aiden had disappeared. Deciding to grab a quick snack, I headed towards the vending machine. As I did, I caught snippets of his voice coming from the open HR office door.
“I can’t have her working here any longer. She ruins the company’s image,” he said sharply.
“She’s talented, Aiden,” the woman in HR replied. “We haven’t found anyone with her skills.”
“I don’t care,” Aiden snapped. “I can’t stand having that fat girl around anymore.”
My heart dropped. His words hit harder than I expected, ringing in my ears like a slap. I clenched my fists and turned away before they could see me.
Tears blurred my vision as I made my way back to my desk. His words echoed in my head, sharp and cruel.
He hadn’t even taken the time to see my capabilities. To him, I was nothing more than a joke, dismissed without a second thought, entirely based on appearance.
My chest tightened, and I bit my lip to stave off the tears threatening to fall.
But as the sting of his words settled, something shifted within me. Sadness morphed into anger, and that anger ignited a powerful resolve.
I clenched my fists. If he wouldn’t believe in me, I’d let my work speak louder than his insults. I would prove him wrong.
A week later, the big day arrived—the debut of the new collection. The atmosphere in the office was electric, with staff rushing around to finalize last-minute preparations. A knot twisted in my stomach, but I had made up my mind. I didn’t have much time, but I was determined to take a stand.
This was my chance to create something truly reflective of inclusivity—something for every woman, irrespective of her size.
I sacrificed sleep, spending countless nights designing and sewing, pouring my heart and soul into each piece.
Every stitch became a small act of defiance, a commitment to prove to myself and others that beauty wasn’t confined by size.
Finding models who embodied this vision proved challenging, but I succeeded. These women weren’t models—they were everyday people with real bodies.
On the day of the show, I made my move. I canceled the lineup of models Aiden had originally hired and instead brought in the women I had selected.
Then, I swapped out his collection with mine. My heart raced as I watched everything unfold backstage.
Aiden, too busy mingling with guests and soaking in their praise, didn’t notice anything at first.
I stayed quiet, blending into the chaos. But as the clock ticked closer to showtime, the tension within me grew.
When the lights dimmed and the runway music began, he finally noticed. His expression hardened, and I braced myself. This was it. The moment of truth.
“What is this?!” Aiden yelled, his voice echoing through the dressing room as he spotted the models I had chosen. His eyes widened in disbelief as he saw the plus-size women adjusting their dresses.
“These are our models,” I said, striving to keep my voice steady, even though my hands trembled.
“Are you kidding me?!” he screamed, marching toward the clothing racks. He pulled one of the dresses off a hanger, holding it up. “Where is my collection?!”
I shrugged, forcing myself to appear calm.
“Cancel everything!” he roared, throwing the dress onto a chair. “Get my clothes and my models back here now!”
“Oops,” I replied, pointing toward the runway, where the music had already started and the first model had stepped out. “Looks like it’s too late for that.”
His face turned crimson with rage. “You’re fired!” he bellowed, his finger shaking as he pointed at me. “And if one review is bad—just one—I’ll sue you for every penny! You’ll never work in this industry again!”
I stood my ground, meeting his furious glare. I had anticipated his outburst. I was ready for it.
But in that moment, I felt unfazed. My heart raced, but not with fear; rather, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride. I was standing firm in my choices. These designs weren’t merely clothes; they were a powerful statement.
As each plus-size model stepped onto the runway, the applause grew louder. The crowd’s excitement was palpable, voices erupting above the music.
“Bravo!” someone called out.
“Finally, real inclusivity!” another cheered.
“These designs are stunning!”
I glanced at Aiden. He stood frozen, his face pale, mouth slightly agape in disbelief.
Slowly, he turned to me, his eyes narrowing as if he couldn’t grasp what was happening.
“Fine,” Aiden said through clenched teeth. “You can stay. But when this is over, I’ll go on stage and present this as my collection.”
“No way,” I retorted, my voice unwavering despite the fear stirring within my chest. The words came out before I could second-guess myself.
“This is my work, my ideas, and my effort. You had nothing to do with this.” I paused, then added, “The best I can offer is to say that working with you inspired me, but I seriously doubt that would please you.”
“Who do you think you are?!” he snapped, his face twisted in anger.
But it was too late for Aiden to stop me. The announcer called for the designer, and I knew this was my moment.
My legs felt shaky as I stepped onto the runway, but I forced myself to hold my head high.
Wearing one of my own dresses—a vibrant, flowing design—I finally felt powerful for the first time in weeks.
The crowd erupted in applause, standing in unison, clapping and cheering. Cries of “Bravo!” filled the room.
The applause was deafening, but what struck me most were the smiles I saw all around. In that moment, every insult, every doubt, and every sleepless night became worth it.