Does Size Matter On Stage?

Chloe Angel first felt the sting of missing out on an audition because of her weight at the age of ten. She opens her soul to discuss how to manage perceptions of being over-weight with a career in performing arts.

I remember the second it happened. It was a Friday afternoon in 1997 in the assembly hall and we were told to pair up with someone our size.

I reached out to Sandy, who pulled away her hand horrified, screamed, “we’re not the same size” and stomped away. That is the moment I realised I was fat.

Skip past all the awful pubescent and cut to today.

Here I sit, a relatively successful 29-year-old running her own business, who has lived and worked in a handful of countries as a professional performer, with an audition success rate of about 50%, yet I feel completely destroyed, crying onto my keyboard and filled to the brim with this insane, bottomless ache to be thin.

I got a snapchat today. A simple, seemingly blithe snapchat of a person I used to know in a cute little Santa’s helper dress and beige fishnet tights. That was the catalyst for my meltdown.

Fifteen years of disapproving looks, unsolicited comments and rejection came flowing back and hit me like a tonne of bricks.

A little about me. I try my best to treat others the way I want to be treated. I cry at romantic comedies, I love cute animal videos, I love escape rooms and every year I go bowling for my birthday. And I am also a great singer. That sounds conceited, but it is true.

In High School I spent my lunchtimes practicing in the music room, I skipped Schoolies in favour of more practice, I went to Uni and studied opera, practicing between three and four hours every day for four years. When I was in London I spent six months doing La Boheme – which won the Olivier Award for Best New Opera. I performed at a fundraising concert in Covent Garden and I worked backstage in the West End.

When I wasn’t in paid employment I was busking in the streets of Covent Garden and going to every course, workshop and audition I could get to.

The first time I was turned away from an audition with what, unfortunately, has become the obligatory “she has an amazing voice, but…” was at 10 years old at a children’s chorus audition with a professional Opera company with a “she has an amazing voice, but she’s just too big to be a convincing child”.

I understand the need to cast certain body types for specific roles, e.g. starving orphan, but this nameless person delivered the feedback directly to my mother - while I was standing right there. Remember I was fat - not deaf.

I have become more discerning of labels. I now know that ‘Fresh Faced’ means mustn’t-look-a-day-over-12 and ‘Energetic’ means fatties-need-not-apply. ‘Clean look’ means young-republican-vibe and ‘Plus-Sized’ means 6-foot-svelt-amazonian-princess (and, yes they are as intimidatingly stunning as they sound). My brief keywords are ‘homely’, ‘attainable’, ‘funny’, ‘quirky’.

Why can’t people see me? This question has been bubbling away at my core for the past couple of decades. Is my subcutaneous tissue really the sum of my parts?

People lovingly try to ‘help’. They link me to articles on weight loss products or systems, to diet companies, dieticians, cleanses. They tell me I have a beautiful face. That’s the one that kills me. I’m very lucky to have been blessed with a symmetrical face. I have my mother’s eyes and nose, clear, healthy skin and straight teeth.

But every time I hear someone remark on my ‘beautiful face’ I wait for the ‘if…’ or the ‘but…’

I had a woman walk up to me while I was working as a singer and say “you would be just stunning if you lost some weight”, hand me a card and give me a bear hug, then holding me at shoulder’s length while grinning as though she had just done me a huge favour.

My ex used to say ‘soft bodies are attractive’, then spend hours trying to find the most slimming outfit and shoes that were the most flattering. People I have shared dressing rooms with say abhorrent things about their own bodies and ‘jokingly’ fat shame each other. I have to get undressed in front of these people. On the rare occasions it has become too much and I have said something I get an “oh but not you, you’re beautiful - you hide it well because you’re in proportion - it suits you!”

All of these people think they are helping, but it grates. I have to retreat into my studio, sing and sing and watch mindless sitcoms until I build myself back up to the point where I can take it again.

I have a self-deprecating sense of humour (many performers do) and was the face of a campaign to do with weight-loss at the same time as a dear friend of mine, Rose, was featured in an advertisement for a fast food company.

She is perfect in my eyes but has struggles of her own. I had jokingly remarked to her how ironic it was that she had this advert and I was ‘the new face of fat’ to which she responded, ‘But it’s the most beautiful face!’  My stomach dropped.

A week later she comes over and tells me that a different group of mutual friends were talking about seeing both of our adverts and she responded with “yeah and it’s funny because Chloe isn’t on a diet and Rose doesn’t eat” and the group laughed.

The number one response I get from people whenever I try to talk about it is “why don’t you do something about it! You’re strong, you can do it!” It’s meant with all the love in the world, this I know for sure. But it hurts.

My response - here for everybody to read and judge as they will - is why should I do something about it? Why can’t you value me as I am? Why does the size of my clothes have to directly correlate with the size of my worth?

I am healthy. I am strong. I have a powerful body that has gotten me through 29 years, that takes me and my dog for two walks every single day, that can cope with three hours of intensive movement, that can sing and dance at the same time. 

I have low cholesterol, good iron, all the markers are where they should be. I have a healthy waist size and clear skin.

Why can’t you see past the jiggle, the cellulite, the faded stretch marks left from puberty. It is okay to appreciate parts of me - my face, my voice, my skin, my heart. Why not the whole of me?

Chloe’s theatre school isthe Sydney Broadway Chorus in Parramatta.The school’s ethos is that“just because a student doesn’t fit a certain mold, does not mean they aren’t good enough or should stop trying and that every single performer and person, has value. SBC’s programs encourage a healthy and supportive environment where aspiring performers support each other.”

http://www.sydneybroadwaychorus.com/

Top image: Chloe in It Shoulda Been You at Chatswood Musical Society. Photographer: Alan Roy.

Originally published in the March / April 2017 edition of Stage Whispers.