Why Eating Cake Is My Personal Act of Rebellion

For me, the act of eating cake has never been just about sugar. It’s always carried something bigger — a feeling of defiance, of refusing to play by someone else’s rules.

At five foot two, I’ve never fit the mould of “ideal” beauty. I’ve been told in countless ways what I should look like, how much space I should take up, even what I should or shouldn’t eat. But instead of squeezing myself into those impossible expectations, I created my own set of rules.

Cake became one of them.

In my head, eating cake felt rebellious — because the world around me seemed to treat it as forbidden. Cake was supposed to be saved for birthdays, or for when you’d been “good enough” to deserve it. But that never sat right with me. Why should joy require permission?

When I eat cake, it’s not really about the sweetness. It’s about refusing to shrink. It’s about rejecting the endless cultural message that women should be less — eat less, weigh less, want less.

Every forkful feels like a quiet protest. A reminder that I don’t need approval to enjoy something beautiful. That I can take up space — in my life, in my body, in the world — unapologetically.

I’m not interested in less.

I’m here to live fully. To take up space in fashion, in life, and even at the table. Eating cake is a way of saying: I am here, I am enough, and I won’t apologise for wanting joy.

So yes, I eat the cake. Not just on birthdays. Not just when it’s allowed. But because sometimes the most radical thing we can do is choose sweetness, pleasure, and life itself — without asking for permission.