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The camera never lies, but the mirror might

I DON'T know who was more shocked by the recent workout photos of weather girl Clare Nasir. The general population, or the woman herself.

She's overweight. She's cellulite-riddled. She's soft as rotting fruit. But that's not our concern, nor should it be. It's the outfit that beggars belief.

The garish, three-sizes-too-small, fluorescent yellow two-piece leaves little to the imagination, but rest assured, the mind is prevented from wandering when you see what she has squeezed into it.

In all the gyms I've visited, in all the world, I've never seen a woman wear workout get-up like it. Somebody, somewhere, sells this outfit. Somebody, somewhere, sold it to Clare Nasir.

Fluorescent yellow screams "look at me". Hotpants beg for attention. As for donning an outfit like this to work out in a public park...my God! What were you thinking, woman!

Of course, we all delude ourselves from time to time. If you are a well-padded woman reading this, ask yourself if you've ever looked in the mirror and seriously debated whether to wear the micro-mini or leggings?

I know I have. The weighing scales dial took a giant leap eastwards a few years ago. To the rational-minded person, this is known as weight gain.

I attributed it to a faulty weighing scale. When my clothes stopped fitting, I blamed the washing machine, which was clearly shrinking my laundry loads.

The orgy of eating continued on a two-week trip to Italy. The menu was pasta for primi piatti, pizza for mains and ice cream with an extra scoop of denial for dessert, before repairing to the hotel for a snooze.

I didn't notice my then-boyfriend waving away the bread basket. I didn't notice that the moped slowed to a crawl when I jumped on the back. I thought I was Audrey Hepburn in Roman Holiday; my wardrobe reflected the delusion.

That was until I developed the photos. At first I didn't recognise the chubby girl harpooning a forkful of lasagne. Then I saw the hotpants and realised it was me. The horror.

Reality always dawns with a tangible photograph. For some reason, we skew the image that stares back at us in the mirror.

In the most part, women consider themselves heavier; in rarer cases -- like my Italian adventure -- plumper wonen think they're gorgeous.

Perhaps we should applaud Nasir for her complete lack of body consciousness. Bravo for "real women", and all that. Only, I really don't think she was conscious of how her body was looking -- until she saw the immortal photos, that is.


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