Dear Mr. Mike Jeffries,
You’ve gotten a lot of flack lately. And it’s been well-deserved.
But I feel sorry for you.
I feel sorry because at the end of the day, you don’t know the hurt you’ve inflicted, because you’ve never been so wounded that you starved yourself for four years. You’ve never been so picked on that you planned your outfits out, weeks in advance, so the kids would think you fit in–or at least, so they wouldn’t notice you. You’ve never felt so ugly that you spent hours squeezing your fingers around your wrists wondering when you’d be the perfect size. Wondering when you would matter, to someone.
What is your story, Mike Jeffries? Because all of us have one. And you’ve got this curl to your lip that makes me think that you’re hiding something. Something deep and cutting, and maybe I’m wrong. Maybe something hurt you so badly that you created a multi-billion dollar company catering to the cool kids because it was the only way you knew to salvation. It was the only road you could take to find a name.
We all do it. We all try to find that road. And we all want to be cool. We all want to matter. I see this in the blogging world too. I see the cool blogs and the way we try to fit in.
So many of us just don’t say it. We don’t say that, deep down, we believe that fat is bad, that the cool crowd is where we belong, and that being picked on is deserved.
You had the guts to say what you believed. Unfortunately, what you believe is wrong.
|Me, when I was anorexic|
Because beauty is not a number. I know, because I got down to size zero. And it wasn’t enough. I still cried myself to sleep every night.
I’ve gotten rid of my weigh scale. I shop at thrift stores because I don’t want to support men like you. I am striving to make my blog nerdy again because for too long I tried to be cool. I had forgotten that Jesus said, the last shall be first.
Jesus pissed a lot of people off too, Mike. But not because he didn’t like fat people. It’s because he saw people’s hearts and he called them for what they were. He saw the truth.
And I’m looking at you, Mike, and I’m seeing a hurting boy, who hides behind fancy suits and a multi-billion-dollar career and secretly wonders when he’ll feel like he matters.
And I hope you find him, Mike.
The God you’ve been desperately searching for, in all of your cocktail parties and high-priced collars. Because in spite of everything you’ve said and done, you’re still dearly loved by him.
And because of that, I choose to love you too.
In Him Whose Name is the Only Brand Worth Wearing,