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Spying the beach on the horizon, I smiled. There was something about cycling to the ocean that made all my worries seem so insignificant.
“How can you worry about something so small in comparison to something so big?”
That’s what I was thinking when the wind whipped tendrils of hair from beneath my helmet, and my flared jeans around my calves.
I certainly wasn’t thinking such pure thoughts when, suddenly, I felt my whole body jerk forward towards my handlebars.
Emmie Harrison-West
Emmie Harrison-West is a freelance journalist, editor and award-winning beer writer, who will be penning a column for Cycling Weekly every fortnight. You can find her cursing Edinburgh’s cycle lanes on the way to the pub, or as @emmieehw on X.
My flares had gotten caught in my bike chain – and were quickly starting to wrap around my pedal.
Thankfully, I managed to brake before I could find myself meeting a very hard landing – wobbling myself into a nettle bush instead.
Practising pregnant breaths to calm down, I started to curse myself for my fashion choices and being a hippy in a past life, whilst calculating how long it would take me to push my oil-stained jeans and I home.
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But then, I struggled to think about what I could’ve worn, instead. As a UK size 16-18 woman, sportswear makes me nervous and self-conscious – and Lycra is out of the question.
As I spiralled further into self-deprecation, I spotted the neon, highlighter-orange velvet scrunchie that I usually wore to raves on my wrist.
Before I had time to second-guess myself, I stretched it over my shoes and around my ankle – flares and all. It was the cutest, cheapest and most reflective ankle band going.
Everything was, all of a sudden, infinitely better. See, there is nothing about cycling gear that brings me joy. Nothing.
Sport bras are structured in attempts to be in the running for an architecture prize – or make me feel like I’m being strapped up in a corset to film an episode of Bridgerton.
Leggings or cycling shorts make me feel like my legs are encased in sausage skin, fit to burst with scratchy seams – all the while helpfully brewing a very warm crotch.
Vests are too skimpy; my head (and hair) is too big for cycling caps; and don’t even get me started on Lycra, or fabric that credits itself as being ‘sweat wicking’ that’s as clingy as my ex-boyfriend.
I can’t explain it, but it all just makes me feel sweaty, uncomfortable and claustrophobic. It works for some people, and that’s great – but it’s just not for me.
As a plus-sized woman, it feels like everything on the (already oversaturated) sportswear market is made to ‘suck in’ or ‘enhance’. To make women appear slim, or sexy – there’s no inbetween.
To me, it seems like nothing is on offer to support me, or make me feel confident.
Except, to be a cyclist, I’ve always felt like there was a uniform to wear. That you have to look a certain way to be able to say you enjoy being on two wheels – it’s all I’ve even seen in cycling ads or magazines.
Internalised fatphobia and negative perceptions of plus-sized people – especially women – in society are to thank for that.
To combat this (because, honestly, everyday is a battle when you’re a fat young woman with a northern accent) I wear what brings me joy – whether I’m doing sports, or not.
My dad’s Oasis tee from the ‘90s. Neon pink shackets. Floral dresses. Frilly shirts and knitted vests. Leopard print swimming costumes. Moomin socks. Tie dye. Big knickers. A bright gold helmet. Flared jeans.
Since turning 30, I’ve come to the realisation that I don’t owe anyone a uniform – and that includes when I’m cycling.
I don’t need to act, dress or look a certain way to be a cyclist.
Of course, the Highway Code recommends that cyclists ‘should wear light-coloured or fluorescent clothing’ during the day, and ‘reflective clothing and/or accessories (belt, arm or ankle bands) in the dark’ for visibility.
Naturally, it also recommends wearing a helmet for your own safety as research shows that they reduce serious head injuries by nearly 70% – but it’s not a legal requirement. I personally would never leave the house without one. It’s why I have a bright gold crown-like helmet – it isn’t a ‘chore’ to wear it as it’s a joy to wear.
Perhaps contentiously, hi-vis isn’t mandatory either – and expensive branded Lycra or sportswear certainly isn’t.
Claire Goodman, founder of woman-forward clothing brand, Petrichor Projects, agrees. “For comfort, a great pair of padded shorts is a good place to start,” Goodman told me. “After that it’s an anything goes affair.
“Whether it’s a cycling jersey, technical t-shirt or much loved band t-shirt and baggy shorts over Lycra.
“Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”
Simply, pieces that bring you comfort, and inspire both confidence and joy are the best clothes to cycle in. Just be sure to bring an obnoxious scrunchie, too. You never know when you might need it.
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