There’s a lot to laugh at in any given issue of Glamour magazine: prose that makes a new party shirt seem life-defining or five point lists that, if followed, will eradicate all of life’s pesky little problems. When I flipped through my spring-is-in-the-air fresh copy of Glamour’s March issue and found three whole pages devoted to plus-sized ladies, however, I didn’t laugh, I stopped to investigate.

To begin with, I applaud a fashion magazine for making a concerted effort to include women in its coverage who look a little more like normal people. After flipping through pages and pages of fashion spreads, I find that my eyes adjust, and I look at the women staring back at me as though they were normally proportioned. Time and again I forget that exposed collarbones and thighs only slightly larger than calves aren’t normal. Magazines don’t print disclaimers at the bottom of pictures to remind you of things like that. Wouldn’t it be great if they did? WARNING: model makes herself look this way FOR A LIVING. With a diet like hers, being photographed is about all she can handle. Please don’t try this at home.

I guess that’s why the two page Lane Bryant ad on pages 68-69 took me by surprise. The flowing pastel gowns meant to cover up as much of what ever makes a women get classified as plus-sized: gone. The big jackets and full skirts: gone. The slimming black, the shapeless: gone, all gone. The ad features four full-figured women with brazen red lips and exposed bellies sitting up and looking four alarm H-O-T. One chica is wearing sexy lingerie. (Who knew that full figured women wore lingerie?) Another (gasp!) isn’t wearing anything but her bra and a pair of tight jeans. They’ve each got this badass, I-could-out-drink-you-and-go-home-with-your-man look on their faces. Hot damn, there’s even a boy toy thrown in for added measure. The message: we’re not bony, but that doesn’t mean we’re not beautiful. Great, I say. Shimmy your voluptuous self out there in clothes meant to show off, instead of cover up, whatever you’ve got. After all, the more of you there is, the more there is to make him lust after. But it appears that the Lane Bryant ad is more than just hot chicks in hot clothes. It’s a kind of mental preparation for the plus size portion of the mag. The following page, entitled “Dressing Room” features Ali, a fair-skinned plus size model with a big, confident smile and five different outfits for five different occasions. Oh, goodie! If a woman isn’t stick-thin, she’s still got choices about what to wear. The caption asks: “Not a size SIX? Who cares?” Well for one, it seems that Glamour doesn’t care. But on closer inspection, they might care a little more than they let on.

You see, if you flip back to pages 66 and 67, immediately preceding the Lane Bryant ad is a spread called “Ready to Wear.” Eight trendy outfits, eight skinny models. There’s the first date outfit and the groovy casual outfit, the party dress and the work suit, everything a girl could need to look her best for any occasion. Everything, that is, if you can fit into it.

So the normal girls go over here and the plus-sized girls go over there. Glamour has decided to include a size 16 style setter (that’s what they call poor Ali-girl) but she has to be on her own page where her I-eat-three-meals-a-day size is the focus of the spread.

Even the spread’s layout speaks to this fact. Forgive my penchant for close reading here (I am, after all in the thesis home stretch) but most of the caption is written in a moderately large, dark red font. The word six however (as in “not a size SIX?”) is bright pink and a whole lot larger. The layout draws your attention to the fact that Chubby doesn’t look the way she should, that the fashion designer has had to work extra hard to make her look decent in the light of day. Sure, wear a bright red skirt, but pair it with a slimming shirt that takes eyes away from that unsightly thing called a stomach. Thinking of wearing a crisp white tank top? Why don’t you put an oxford shirt over it—wouldn’t want to show off those jello-jiggley arms.

Maybe I’m being a little too sensitive. After all, there is an equally eye-catching tip on the bottom of the page that tells women to “forget about covering up. Wear what you like and what makes you feel good—even if it’s kind of bright and kind of tight.” A magazine is trying to get both the avid reader and the casual peruser interested in buying the merchandise. Thin is in, and unfortunately, until that changes, the photographers and designers are going to accentuate what some women wish they looked like instead of what they really do. It’s the same old catch: if I buy that $300 pantsuit, I’ll look like the 6-foot 1-inch, 120 lbs. girl wearing it. Men will throw their coats over potholes and puddles as I walk by, women will sneer at me with envy. And perhaps I’ll cure world hunger and save a few lost puppies before heading to the gym.

Ali’s fashion spread, though separate and somehow kind of abnormal, is a step in the right direction, I suppose. A baby step, yes, but progress nonetheless. I can’t wait for the day, however, when Chubby and Twiggy can be friends. None of this size segregation or special attention for the girls who don’t consider water (no ice please, I’m on a diet) a complete meal.

When they can both appear in the same fashion spread and represent a little more of the real-life variety that makes people-watching more interesting than flipping through a magazine anyway.

Antoinette C. Nwandu ’02 is an English concentrator in Cabot House. Her column appears on alternate Mondays.