“Aren’t you going to regret it one day? Once you come out as the face of a plus-sized brand, you can’t ever take it back”

I was in yet another hotel lobby on yet another date. “What big ideas do you have for life?” my date asked me a few hours into the evening.

The question thrilled me because at 23, I’d spent years thinking about the answer. “Actually,” I leaned in, “I do have a dream. There’s something I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Really? What is it?”

“I’ve never shared this with anyone before,” I prefaced. I bit my lip, then decided I could trust him. “I want to open a plus-sized women’s clothing company.”

Silence. He broke my gaze and looked away, staring at an invisible speck on the dark wooden floor of the hotel lobby.

Finally, he looked up. “Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked. “Aren’t you going to regret it one day? I mean… even if you’re on the heavier side… once you come out as the face of a plus-sized brand, you can’t ever take it back.”

He was right. At the time there was no one championing on behalf of anyone who wore a larger size than the average.

I wasn’t sure what my date thought was worse — the fact that I was willing to admit I was plus-sized, or that I was willing to admit that I was okay with the fact I was plus-sized.

According to society, us large people are supposed to be ashamed of our size. We’re not supposed to admit it in public. We’re not allowed to be happy with ourselves — but that wasn’t how I lived my life, and it wasn’t how I wanted others to live their lives, either.

I wasn’t naive. I knew people spoke about my size when redting me shidduchim, but at least it was only in whispers. Maybe my date had a point: If I went ahead with these plans, was I giving people permission to openly discuss my size? When I met people, would they think, “Oh, is she the person who started the conversation around being plus-sized? Is she the one who’s trying to tell everyone that it’s okay?”

Did I want that?

I remember swirling the Diet Coke in my glass and thinking, oh, my gosh, I can’t do this.

My dream deflated — and with it, our date.