The Life And Times Of Size 18 Bunny

How does it feel to be the biggest Playboy Bunny on the casino floor? Cosmopolitan’s Catriona Innes dons ears and a tail to find out…

- Catriona Innes

The year is 1998 and I’ve just bought my first Playboy T-shirt. I am 13 years old. My grandma says I am “yet to lose my puppy blubber”, and an uncle tells me it’s a “shame I’m not as slim as my sister”. The boys who sit behind me in biology class are blunter: I am fat.

Fat girls can’t wear Playboy T-shirts. This black, sleeveless item – with ‘PLAYBOY’ spelled out in rhinestones – is the latest piece of clothing that, according to them, I am not allowed to wear.

Before this came the denim shorts, and the diamanté thong that I proudly displayed pulled out from underneath a pair of low-slung light blue jeans (hey, it was the late ’90s). I threw all those garments to the back of my wardrobe and replaced them with less attention-grabbing items… and an overwhelming sense that life would be much easier if I were thinner.

I’m thinking of this now, as I stand in a black basque on the casino floor of The Playboy Club. I’ve got one foot in front of the other, my hand resting on a newly carved waist. Perching on my bum is a fluffy white tail, and my name is emblazoned proudly on the white cuffs that curl around my wrists. What would those boys see?

This, I should say, is not a weight loss story. I did not shed dress sizes to prove those boys wrong. Beneath the corset lies a body that may have grown up, but has never slimmed down; almost two decades have passed and I’ve not really lost my blubber. My measurements say I’m a size 16 (or 18, depending on the brand), but I don’t consider myself fat. Some people might. When mannequins my size (and that of the UK average) were introduced in shops, chief medical officer Sally Davies said they made “obesity acceptable”. And my BMI certainly categorises me as that.