It’s not just women who have hang-ups about their weight, says Simon Glazin. Here the 27-year-old fashion journalist recounts his addiction to food as a teenager and how, after ten years of yo-yo dieting, he’s ten stone lighter…but still not entirely happy with the way he looks
'If you have a food and weight problem, you have it for life – it’s a constant battle,'
says a downsized Simon today
When I was 17 I weighed 21 stone. That’s almost 300lb. And for me, it equalled a
46-inch waist. In an all-boys secondary school, and as an uncomfortable teenager, that was tough. But please don’t pity me. I ate. A lot. I had been chubby since I was about eight, and a couple of years later I vividly remember overhearing a paediatrician tell my concerned parents that I was addicted to food.
Going from a warm, friendly, fat-embracing primary school to a cold, stark, bully-laced secondary establishment was one of the most nerve-racking experiences of my life. It was bad enough being overweight, but even worse that the school thought they were taking on a bulky rugby player, when all I played was the accordion. So I proceeded to eat my way through my time there. When the bullies laid it on thick – because, let’s face it, when you’re that much heavier than everyone else, you are a very targetable minority – I stuffed my face even more. When I passed the school canteen, the chocolate would coax me in. I forged a friendship with the kitchen manager, who let me ‘take now and pay later’.
When I went home and comfort-ate I always felt happier after scoffing a packet of chocolate biscuits – until the cravings started again.
It didn’t help that I was also gay. I’d known since I was 13, although I was never bullied for it (I was only ‘out’ to a few close friends), but it wasn’t until my later teens that I realised being overweight and gay weren’t a happy mix. In the gay world, looks matter. I desperately wanted to fit in – not only with the rest of the gay world, but the clothes too. I saw all the fabulously dressed club kids and knew that I could never wear what I wanted to because of my size.
The turning point came when I went to a London club for my 17th birthday. It was my first time there, and I wore a hideous short-sleeved green shirt with a flower print over one shoulder. That was as designer as I could get at my size. Everyone around me was thin and happy; I was fat and awkward. I longed for a guy to notice me, but I felt unattractive to everyone.
I knew it was time to do something. I didn’t want to die young. I blamed nobody but myself for my weight; my father had been a large teenager and people say it can be genetic, but to me that’s an excuse. Soon after my birthday I sat in front of my GP and begged her to let me do a total food replacement diet called Howard’s Way, that had worked for a friend of my mother’s. My doctor was dubious and wanted to investigate it more. But three appointments later, she gave me the thumbs-up.
Simon in Ibiza aged 19
For the next three months my lovely diet group became my second family: ten of
us, of different ages, men and women. I consumed only the four specially
formulated milkshakes or soups (packed with all the nutrients and vitamins you
need) and a minimum of four litres of water a day. The group met every day
for the first two weeks, gradually going down to once a week. I’d switched to a small private college to do my A-levels and had the support of everyone there too. Our meetings consisted of weigh-ins, urine checks to make sure we were in ketosis (whereby your body converts your fat into energy), bowel-movement discussions and
general encouragement. My family wanted me to succeed as much as I did. When we all had dinner together, I’d sit there and have my soup.
Once a month I had a check-up with my GP to make sure my body was coping.
Losing up to half a stone in a week could have its consequences, but the diet’s
carefully formulated ingredients, coupled with the water, made it safe. They say the more weight you carry, the quicker it comes off, so losing this much in a week was perfectly normal for someone my size. My energy levels were noticeably higher and, thanks to ketosis, I didn’t feel hungry after the initial two or three weeks.
At first I still felt big – I could only tell I was shrinking because my clothes didn’t fit any more. After three months, however, I felt like a new person. I had lost almost six stone and shed the fat teenager I used to be. My confidence began to grow. I could at last wear ‘normal’ size trousers and I was beginning to feel I fitted in – with my wonderful friends, with the gay world and with society, which unfortunately judges big people without even knowing them.
I became almost scared of fatty foods – I barely ate any for months – but I never starved myself
As part of the regime, we were taught how to reintroduce solid food into our diet. I came away knowing what was needed to maintain a healthy intake and avoid piling on the pounds again. And, for the most part, I kept it off. I completed my A-levels and went to university. With student life came late nights, a little too much alcohol and a student loan that stretched to Vivienne Westwood clothes and convenient junk food. My weight yo-yoed in those three years, fluctuating by two stone, and I left university the heaviest I had been since finishing the food replacement diet. I must have been nearly 16 stone and I knew the weight needed to come off again. So at 23 I tailored my own eating plan: I stopped eating for the sake of eating and only ate when I was hungry. My addiction, it seemed, had been reversed.
I never ate breakfast because I just wasn’t hungry in the mornings (despite all the experts saying it is the best time of day to eat). I would get peckish around lunchtime and might have soup or an avocado with cottage cheese, and then something light for dinner. The weight came off rapidly: almost another four stone in a year.
I became almost scared of fatty foods – I barely ate any for months – but I never starved myself. Friends and family were concerned that I wasn’t eating enough, but I was. And I felt good about my weight and myself. It felt different from the time when I lost all that weight initially. Don’t get me wrong – without that diet, and the support it provided, I would probably still be big (if not even bigger) – but this time round
it felt like a natural progression. It may have been a slightly unhealthy approach, but it worked for me.
I’m 27 now and my relationship with food has improved. I eat what I want in moderation. I joined a gym recently and work out as much as I can. And I judge my weight by the fit of my clothes.
But even after losing almost ten stone in as many years, and although, at just over six foot, I’m in proportion, I’m still not entirely happy with my body. Until recently I would never take my top off on a beach or look at myself in a full-length mirror, and I always think I’m bigger than I am. So three years ago I went one step further and had liposuction on my ‘man boobs’ – the one area of my body I felt most self-conscious about – because even after losing so much weight, this was stubborn fat that wouldn’t go.
I heard that the NHS recognised gynaecomastia (increased breast tissue on men) as a medical condition and sometimes offered such procedures, so I started researching it. I had to have a number of sessions with a clinical psychiatrist, who then put my case to the plastic surgery council. When they said yes, I was ecstatic.
My chest is flat now. I do, with a bit of encouragement from my mother or a friend, take my top off on holiday. And I would definitely consider further surgery. I have had a consultation for a tummy tuck but am still debating it as it is a much bigger operation. With major weight loss comes a lot of loose skin, and that’s what upsets me the most now. I enjoy going to the gym but I know that to get a flatter stomach I’d need surgery to remove the skin.
Having worked in the fashion industry for four years, in magazines and now online, I’ve realised that men have as many body hang-ups as women, but are often shy of talking about it. My days of having low self-esteem and being scared of food are over. It’s not that I don’t think about these things any more. I believe that if you have a food/weight problem, you have it for life – it’s a constant battle – but it’s how you make it work for you that matters. Mine is now under control and I can fit into as much Vivienne Westwood as my bank balance allows. I haven’t weighed myself for more than ten years, but today I have a 34-inch waist and have never felt better.
Although a total food replacement diet isn’t suitable for everyone, mine saved my life. I have no regrets from my weight-loss years; I’m a stronger person for going through what I have. So don’t live your life feeling as unhappy as I did for so long. Do something about it. Now.
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