24 The Times Magazines I sat bare-arsed on an armchair
that was not my own on Sunday
afternoon, wishing that the room
was a bit chillier so that my boobs
would perk up a bit, I had time
to think about my relationship
with my body. It was hard to think
about anything else because, three
feet away, the British artist Hester
Finch was furiously sketching
my nude form in vivid pastels. Whenever she
looked away from me and concentrated on
the sketch on her easel, I would surreptitiously
tweak my nipples – they’re much more
laid-back than I am – to attention.
I met Hester last December, when by
chance I was seated next to her at a Christmas
dinner party for Partnership Editions, an
online platform that works directly with
a growing roster of hand-picked artists
on bi-monthly drops of art. Art isn’t my
usual beat – I’m a fashion editor – but I’d
interviewed the founder, Georgia Spray, whose
background at White Cube and Christie’s
had inspired her to launch her own platform,
with none of the elitism of the art world, to
encourage a wider audience to start buying
art. I’d been eyeing Hester’s work on the
website for weeks, and here she was. Ever
the nosy journalist, I asked about the sort
of women who commissioned nudes of
themselves. Some wanted a record of
pregnancy bodies. I could understand that;
less so the many nudes commissioned by
women as gifts for their partners.
At the time, I marvelled at the thought
that anyone might like their naked body
enough to commission an artwork of it
and to be confident that someone, even the
someone who loves you most, might want to
hang it on the wall. Possibly that says as much
about my past relationships as it does me, but
either way, the thought of an artist making
a study of me nude made me feel physically
sick. Maybe if I lost a few stone... Could I?
No, probably not. I was still the 10-year-old
who stopped eating her packed lunches to lose
weight, the 15-year-old who wore a roll-neck
to a school disco to cover the acne on her
chest, the 21-year-old who wore jeans on
the beach and a T-shirt during sex.
Now 32, my weight fluctuates, but I’m not
overweight. I’m in the “healthy” BMI bracket.
I wear a size 10 or 12, depending on the shop.
As a small child growing up in Australia,
I would disappear with a paint set and emerge
proudly naked and painted all over with swirls
and dots before asking my parents to take
my picture. But since puberty, and self-
awareness, struck, I’ve hated how I look
naked. I’ve never much liked how I look in
clothes either, but it’s the lesser of two evils.
There are more places to hide and more
opportunities to wear giant knickers.Fashion’s power to transform is, in part, what
drew me to the industry.
Google my name and you’ll find hundreds
of pictures of me taken for various articles
I’ve written, or during my stint at Elle, where
a photographer came each Tuesday to snap
the team in their outfits (optional for most,
but not for those of us working on the fashion
desk). You’ll be hard pressed to find one
where I’m not wearing long sleeves, trousers
or a long skirt. Not for modesty or religious
reasons, but because I’ve spent the past two
decades hiding as much of my body as I can.Women come to understand that a “good”
figure is synonymous with a slim figure.
“Good” arms are ones that are toned from
tennis backhands. “Good” legs are long and
don’t meet in the middle. The feminine ideal
set out by our society and, in large part, the
industry I’ve chosen to work in is a narrow
one. I know men face it too, but then “dad
bods” are often called sexy. Ever heard that
about “mum bods”? “I don’t like my body at
all,” said KATE BLOOMIN’ MOSS in a 2017
interview with W magazine. Audrey (bloomin’)
Hepburn “thought she had a big nose and bigA
I don’t look at the women who sit for her
and think: tummy, tits, potato-smiley knees,
cellulite. I don’t wonder how much they weigh
Charlie sits for artist Hester FinchHESTER FINCH (ARTWORKS AND COMMISSIONS AVAILABLE VIA PARTNERSHIPEDITIONS.COM), DAN KENNEDY