Unglamored: A Young Adult Novel Exploring Eating Disorders Within the Entertainment Industry

By TBD

Wake up. Train. Sleep. Repeat. Socializing not encouraged. Eating not recommended.

Welcome to the life of Chinese American pop star Rose B.D. The headlines will tell you that the thin, talented, and adored Flower Princess of Shanghai has it a

• Language: English
• Publisher: New Degree Press
• Release date: Aug 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637304969

TBD

Patsy Stanley is an artist, illustrator and author and a mother, grandmother and great grandmother. She has authored both nonfiction and fiction books including novels, children's books, energy books, art books, and more. She can reached at:[e-mail] for questions and comments.

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Unglamored

Jessie Cheng

new degree press

copyright © 2021 Jessie Cheng

All rights reserved.

Unglamored

ISBN

978-1-63676-749-9 Paperback

978-1-63730-495-2 Kindle Ebook

978-1-63730-496-9 Digital Ebook

For five women who teach me self-compassion—Kate Baker, Yvonne Fall, Joanna Hatzikazakis, Lisabeth Kaeser, & Priscilla Kong

You are all beautiful inside and out. 

CONTENTS

Author’s Note

Prologue

Chapter 1

Do Your Eyes Grow From Your Butt or Something?

Chapter 2

A Thin Rectangular Board

Chapter 3

Deep Enough to Hold Pennies

Chapter 4

The Strong Four

Chapter 5

I Promise It Works

Chapter 6

What Doesn’t Kill Him Makes Him Stronger

Chapter 7

Escape Plan

Chapter 8

The Competition Begins

Chapter 9

Not Rose, but A42FZ

Chapter 10

Two Over-Caffeinated Hearts

Chapter 11

Someone to Blame

Chapter 12

Boys

Chapter 13

Please Believe Me

Chapter 14

A Small Mess Up

Chapter 15

Bitter Cotton Candy

Chapter 16

Apologies

Chapter 17

Then a Princess Is No Longer Tame

Chapter 18

A Curse in Disguise

Chapter 19

Connecting the Dots

Chapter 20

Four Years Ago

Chapter 21

Give Me One More Chance

Chapter 22

Monsters in Her Head

Chapter 23

The Never Looked Sick

Chapter 24

Because I Did, Too

Chapter 25

What Scares You Most?

Chapter 26

Unglamored

Chapter 27

A Time for Healing

Chapter 28

Say It Louder: She Got Third

Chapter 29

The Nature of Heartache

Chapter 30

Red Rose

Acknowledgments

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderful made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

—Psalm 139:14

Author’s Note

---

The media distorts. Beauty standards are unrealistic. Comparisons destroy.

On the surface, these truths are easy to grasp. Dealing with these factors personally, however, is a different challenge. It is so important to acknowledge a struggle is a struggle. Our struggles are struggles. 

In the seventh grade, I told my mom I wanted to become a singer. She laughed and said, Go for it. I was serious, though. My passion for music, along with my dreams of embarking on world tours and having personal stylists, led me to truly believe I could do it. 

Looking at successful singers for inspiration, twelve-year-old me realized something: every female singer always looked so perfect—thin waists, thigh gaps, small faces, high-energy performances. I knew they were disciplined, but so was I. Whether it meant running an extra mile on the treadmill after softball practice or googling the calorie count for everything and anything I ate, to me, those were the necessary measures I needed to take to reach my goal. 

As I got older, my interest in becoming a singer dwindled, but my love for music never changed. I still look up to my favorite artists and love how happy they seem; after all, they are idols. Yet time and time again, I am shocked and heartbroken by recurring stories of celebrity suicides and the neglect of mental health within the entertainment industry.

These tragedies are misplaced and arguably nonsensical. If these stars are always smiling, have the perfect bodies, get to live out their dreams, and have millions of supportive fans, why are occurrences of mental health struggles amongst them so alarmingly high? It’s difficult not to question the dark reality of entertainment and to wonder what celebrities hide behind their smiles. We watch as they are slandered, overworked, and painted as perfect, even to the point their dangerous diets are glorified. This is not only harmful for celebrities themselves but also for their impressionable fans. 

Even with a supportive family and group of friends, I have still struggled tirelessly for years in my relationship with food, my body, and the pressure to always achieve more. I cannot begin to fathom the anxiety famous people must feel daily for acting, speaking, and looking a certain way—or for not meeting expectations.

The hope with my novel is to prompt readers to reflect and seek those areas in which we need healing and connection to others. Though fictional, many of the interactions in this story reflect daily experiences and can hopefully help us to relate emotionally to those in the public eye. Regardless of whether we are a celebrity, we all need love, human connection, privacy, rest, and genuine care.

This book is so much more than a cliché be yourself statement. Being unglamored is different. It’s the healing and freedom in vulnerability, and the strength that comes from confronting painful realities.

After all, a struggle is a struggle. Our struggles are struggles. 

This was written for you. So, thank you for being here today, and please know you are beautiful and loved. 

Sincerely,

Jessie Cheng 

Prologue

---

"Jiejie, Rose said, jumping eagerly in place at the older dancer’s side. Her sweaty black hair bounced up and down before falling over one shoulder. Can we practice together?"

Rose joined PASSION three weeks ago, and her first evaluation didn’t go so well. This jiejie, or older sister, received the most compliments from the teachers. Rose wanted to be just like her. Their practice room was the largest in the building but humid from the lack of windows. Instead, it held full-sized mirrors on two walls for dance practice. 

No time to waste, her jiejie replied in Mandarin, smiling with dimpled cheeks. She ruffled Rose’s hair. We need to do better, anyway. As she stood in front of the mirror, the jiejie pushed her knuckles into her neck and jutted her chin forward. "I also need to get rid of this." 

Overhearing their conversation, a taller girl with porcelain skin giggled as she stepped to Rose’s side. Me, too. My face is becoming a circle.

What do you mean? Rose blinked twice in confusion.

Don’t you remember what the teachers said? the girl asked. Fat people shouldn’t dance.

It’s harsh on the eyes, explained the other.

Rose’s mouth circled into an o as she nodded. The first jiejie, the younger of the two, had already trained for over a year. The taller one with the palest skin Rose had ever seen was nearly twenty. Her face was often painted with quiet desperation. The two older dancers placed their hands at their waists, turning their backs to the mirror and looking over their shoulders to observe. 

In innocent naiveté, Rose completed the staircase of descending height and scanned her eyes up and down her body just like they did.

Jeez, I have elephant thighs, the taller one winced, slapping the side of her legs. They’re enormous.

Staring at the jiejie’s reflection, Rose furrowed her brows in confusion. She knew if she tried, she could wrap her arm entirely around that jiejie’s leg.

No, they aren’t, the younger one assured, rubbing her hands down her own thighs. At least you have small calves. Mine are so ugly. They look like the electric poles we see in the city. The two jiejies laughed. Rose never knew laughing could sound so sad. 

As little Rose chewed on their words, she now noticed her calves looked identical to the younger girl’s—like electric poles, apparently. She had only recently noticed differences in people’s body shapes. The older jiejie, with hips curved outwards and thighs shaped like small sausage links, had once said something about wanting a gap between her legs, whatever that meant.

Though she was always a gifted singer, Rose had not yet figured out dancing. So, a new thought occurred to her as her eyes darted between her reflection and theirs, that perhaps she wasn’t a good dancer yet because... I’m fat.

Rose was twelve, but it was the first time she noticed how her body looked. As she studied herself in the mirror, she felt in that moment something was wrong, terribly wrong.

1

Do Your Eyes Grow From Your Butt or Something?

---

I hate him. Heartless freak.

Curses rang in her head like ear-splitting gongs. Rose huffed around the corner of a favorite local dumpling shop, staggering in a da-dum da-dum rhythm toward the flickering lights decorating Huanle Convenience. The night was cool in the city of Shanghai, but thoughts swam furiously in her head, heat warming her cheeks before coursing through the rest of her famished body. Rose nearly convinced herself to forgive him until she glanced down at her right leg dragging behind her like a monstrous sack of potatoes. The war in her head waged on.

Blinking back angry tears, she gazed longingly at the sky, the dim starlight providing a small sense of comfort. You’re okay, Rose. You did well tonight. Exhausted, she paused and looked into the store’s window, checking her reflection as she took deep breaths.

Her ash-purple hair was held in a loose bun, while a gray hoodie engulfed her slim figure. Her shoulders curled forward like a cat’s. Her slender nose and heart-shaped lips hid behind a mask, which hung below a pair of almond eyes and a small brownish scar above her left temple.

Her face was beautiful but sad. Passionate but lonely.

Rose closed her eyes, forcing her mind to quiet down and tune in with her surroundings. Elderly ladies were bargaining over vegetable prices. Jolly men playing mahjong were roaring with laughter. Motorcycles and taxis were speeding past her. The city was alive and buzzing with energy, even with the sun long hidden behind the glass buildings that ascended into the unusually clear skies.

A swirly scent of cigarette smoke and braised pork penetrated through her mask. Oh my goodness. Her eyes shot open as Rose realized she was drooling. I swear I’m gonna starve to death.

As she inched toward the store, a buzzing came from her back pocket. Rose groaned, resting her left arm in her crescent moon-shaped waist as she grudgingly reached for her phone.

She didn’t need to check to know who was calling. What now, Rose spat in Mandarin, making sure she sounded extra annoyed.

Where are you? Send me your location and I’ll ask him to pick y—

Don’t. You. Dare. The mere thought of him made her blood boil.

I know you’re upset, and I get it, but try thinking from his perspective, too, right?

Rose nearly burst into laughter. Think from my perspective! I can barely move one of my legs, and all he says is ‘be stronger.’ Shaky and tired, she turned back toward the stars, pleading that at least one of these burning gems could comfort her. "There was no ‘You did well’ or ‘Are you okay?’ He just pushed me to go and go and go... Maddie, no one asked how I felt."

Saying that aloud drowned her in a violent wave of fury and sadness. Tears welled up in her eyes as Rose swallowed hard at the lump in her throat. Listen, I’ll be back before nine, okay? I want to be alone right now.

The voice on the other side softened. Rose, I’m so sorry, and I understand why you’re mad. But let’s be sensible here… Nine? That’s way too la—

Rose hung up. Of course, no one understands. They all have ears, but no one listens.

She buried her face into her hands, blood rushing viciously to her head and blurring her vision. Rose felt bad for first sneaking out and hanging up on Maddie, who was probably the only person she trusted at PASSION. But after fifteen weeks of every bite being monitored and practicing until her legs fell off—oh and being called so American every time she mentioned resting—Rose had reached her breaking point.

Thanks to the help of China’s mask-wearing culture, Rose could enter public spaces with her face covered and not draw suspicious stares. With her hand clutched around the back of her thigh, Rose stepped into the convenience store, tottering toward the snacks section. She and her younger brother, Anthony, had loved trying different snacks while growing up together in the States. The two would munch on crackers and watch Arthur religiously until their eyes threatened to fall out of their sockets. Rose’s running joke had always been her body was 10 percent water and 90 percent Skyflakes crackers.

As her hungry eyes scanned the impressive selection of ramen, chips, candies, cookies, and frozen sweets, Rose grabbed anything and everything she craved in the moment. Her stomach cheered her on, growling in protest of the same sweet potato and chicken salad she somehow managed to eat every day. Forced to be a master of self-control, tonight was the golden opportunity to be free from restraint.

Rose glanced down at a bowl of instant ramen nestled in her arms before flinging the calorie bomb back onto the shelf. It’s 460 calories? She would have to dance for at least two hours to burn that off. Shuddering, Rose rummaged through the other packages before settling on a better choice. 

Three hundred thirty. That’s better, she tried convincing herself.

This was one of her many rituals. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism, a coping method, or a habit. Dissecting nutrition labels was as important to Rose as singing on pitch. Feeling a sense of control was her second oxygen. The calculator in her head worked even harder than she did, and there seemed to be no off button. The absence of rules meant no control, and no control?

Chaos. Guilt. Disorder.

Her life was built on unwritten laws, and her rulebook grew every day. Sweets were off limits. A glass of water before every meal. No food after six. No dressing on salads. No rice, no bread, and definitely no instant ramen. Rose added a new rule today, only partially as a joke: Choose death by electric chair over sweet potatoes and chicken breast salad.

If she was going to break a majority of her rules tonight, it was all or nothing. Fumbling, Rose dumped everything from her arms onto the conveyor belt. The cashier seemed amused a girl her size would attempt wolfing all this food down.

"Preparing for the gaokao?" he asked in Mandarin.

Rose looked up, fiddling with her mask before lowering her face again. Yeah. Study group. She almost forgot what the gaokao was since she had never needed to take the national college entrance exam.

The cashier bobbed his head in understanding, bagging her purchases. A good student. Though you also seem like a rebel. He grinned, scanning her head of purple. "248 yuan."

Rose passed him 300 yuan, pulling her hood over her head as she murmured, Is there a hot water dispenser I can use? I was hoping to eat the ramen right now. Her stomach roared obnoxiously, seconding the motion.

The cashier shot Rose a toothy smile and chuckled, handing Rose her bag before pointing toward the back of the store.

Perfect. Keep the change.

Thank you. Study hard so you have a stable future. My grandson tells me it’s getting more competitive these days.

Politely bowing her head, she swung the bags over her shoulder, limping desperately toward the back counter. Right, a stable future.

She thought about Anthony, who according to himself had become a handsome sixteen-year-old stud now taller than her by a head. Her family’s absence had been one of the hardest parts of being overseas. She longed for her mother’s warm hugs and constant laughter, her delicious sticky rice cake—even her nagging. Rose missed the sense of comfort from her father, too, whose genial facial features were always laced with pride for his children. Even before she was born, her father swore Rose was destined to sing. He insisted she would inherit her grandmother’s talents, a voice as delicate and irresistible as a rose, hence her name. After a video of Rose winning a middle school singing competition went viral, it was her father who encouraged her to accept PASSION’s invitation into their global training academy.

The academy, a boarding school of sorts, became the new home to over sixty other young boys and girls, each competing against the other to secure a place as a star under China’s hottest and most lucrative entertainment company. Like the others, twelve-year-old Rose entered the academy with fiery determination to pursue her childhood dreams, her naiveté shattered when she was met with the hawk-like eyes of trainers who preached mind over body with their metallic voices. 

Strict was an understatement. Daily choices were determined by the trainers who drilled into her head what words should never be uttered and what foods must never be enjoyed. Trainees were weighed daily. Boys should not surpass sixty kilograms; girls should never surpass fifty. All the boys and girls underwent biweekly evaluations assessing their aptitude in the art of a star—singing, dancing, acting, modeling, public speaking, and language proficiency, to brush the surface. Rose soon realized the tests were used to weed out those who could not withstand the mental, emotional, and physical pressures of the academy.

The stress of competing against the other children forced her to grow up fast, priming Rose to suppress her loneliness and nostalgia. She was twenty at twelve, home to the heart and mind of a child of lost innocence.

As she leaned against the counter for support, Rose excitedly grabbed the bowl of ramen and ripped the plastic lid off. A tiny block of noodle fell onto the counter. 

Rose shrugged and smiled faintly. Less than 330 now. 

As the aroma of salty broth and chili powder plumed into the air, a twinge of panic knifed through her chest. I’m ruining everything. I’m gonna regret this. The disgusting number of calories. The thought of fresh, yellow fat thickening her thighs and strands of carbohydrates bathing in oily soup. Her face hardened before quickly fizzling into an irritated growl.

Let’s just get this over with. I’ll never get to eat ramen again. 

Gingerly, Rose cupped the bowl into her tiny hands, shuffling toward the exit so she could eat at one of the tables outside. With her good-for-nothing leg, Rose teetered past the frozen products aisle, her stare secured on the bowl as if to demand no more hot water fall over the brim. 

A darkening shadow started forming near the top of her vision, growing in size, before she realized what was happening. Seconds too late, Rose collided with something—or someone—solid. Hot water spilled out and over her hoodie as she collapsed onto the floor.

A bolt of sharp pain dashed up her leg to her spine. Do your eyes grow from your butt or something? Rose blurted in English as she furiously brushed her hands against her hoodie.

I can’t believe I just said that. Mannerisms weren’t exactly her ally when Rose felt both hungry and angry. With her injured leg bent at an awkward angle, Rose stared in disbelief at the tiled floor, which was now rudely colored with threads of yellow, specks of red, and puddles of oil.

I’m so, so sorry, a voice responded in English, ringing with sincerity and worry. Are you okay?

Rose cringed. Over one billion people in China and you just have to know how to speak English? She lifted her eyes to see a boy her age kneeling in front of her, his lips pressed together in alarm as he placed a bouquet of flowers to the side and began scrambling for strands of noodles.

Injured, starving, annoyed, and now covered in soup. I’m clearly thriving. I’m fine. Don’t worry; it’ll dry, Rose grumbled as she quickly put her hood back up. Ow—it’s okay. You’re good.

Here, let me help you. The boy propped Rose back onto her two feet. His hands felt firm and secure, the warm touch melting into her back as she discreetly scanned his long legs and broad shoulders. Is your leg okay? You look injured.

I’m fine—

Hold on, I’ll go get one of the employees. The boy ran to the front of the store, leaving Rose leaning against the fridge of frozen dumplings.

As if tonight couldn’t get any worse, she mumbled.

Earlier, Rose had looked effortlessly beautiful on stage. She had given it her all and smiled through it even though every inch of her body, even her hair, was screaming in pain. Then she thought of Maddie, Anthony, and him.

Him.

Before angry thoughts could cloud her head again, the boy returned with the cashier by his side. The old man raised his mop as he chuckled, Don’t worry about this mess. Go back to studying.

Her cheeks red, Rose bowed and mumbled in Chinese, Thank you. I’m sorry about this.

The boy echoed Rose, before turning back to her. Do you feel okay? He motioned to her leg. It looks like it hurts. Is there any way I can help?

His hair fell in light waves right above big, round eyes, their dark brown reflecting deep concern. Every feature expressed sincerity—the creases near his eyes, his raised brows. A well of emotions built in her chest as she looked at this stranger who asked her more questions about her well-being in ten minutes than anyone had in the past fifteen weeks.

I-I’m okay, Rose said, giving her programmed response, but the tears spilling across her cheeks said otherwise.

The boy didn’t need to ask again before whispering, It’s okay. Can you just let me know what you need?

Sniffling as she looped the grocery bags around an arm, Rose managed through tears, Yeah, I’m just really, really tired. I just need to sit down. She wrapped one hand around the back of her sore leg. If you could just help me get outside...

Without a word, the boy delicately placed her arm across his back as he limped with her toward the exit. As they shuffled out the door, he helped Rose fall into a tall, metal chair, careful with every movement.

Thank you. Rose placed her bag on the table and looked at the food she purchased. Why did I get this? Her heart lurched. I can’t eat any of it. 

Eat with me, Rose blurted, motioning for the boy to sit across from her. Noticing his hesitation, she quickly took out a box of taro Swiss roll and a bag of shrimp chips, before offering him a thumbs-up. Whoo! An awkward pause. Come on, I’m bribing you with free food, and you’re going to pass? 

The boy froze.

Well, that didn’t scare him at all. Just eat with me. I shouldn’t be eating this stuff anyway.

With a small smile and nod, he handed Rose a pair of chopsticks and placed an extra thick stack of napkins by her. You speak English, he chimed quietly while opening the box of taro Swiss roll.

You’re very observant.

He laughed, his dark brown eyes flickering with a contagious warmth. I’m Lucas, by the way.

Rose’s heart rate sped up as she cleared her throat. Hi. Y-You can call me Dee. She figured Dee kind of resembled Rose B.D., so it was only one-third of a lie.

All right, well, nice to meet you, Dee.

Actually, Rose explained, Dee is just a nickname. Maybe I’ll tell you my real name on a day you don’t spill ramen all over me.

Again, so sorry about that.

I should have made you pay for the food, at least, Rose teased, Lucas grinning in response. His presence was unexpectedly energizing, and it sent a current of electricity through her body.

So, Lucas continued, puckering his lips. Are you from around here?

Yes...and no? I moved here when I was young.

Me, too. My family moved when I was ten. We used to live in New Jersey.

Oh, Jersey. I’ve been there.

Nice! Lucas’s eyes lit up in excitement. What was your favorite part?

If I’m going to be honest, the Peet’s Coffee I had after my red-eye flight, Rose quipped as she winced through the pain in her leg, trying not to make her discomfort too noticeable.

Are you sure you don’t need a ride to the hospital? Lucas asked, seeing Rose rub at the back of her leg.

Definitely not. Never, Rose said a little too loudly, shuddering at the thought of people at the hospital finding out who she was. Sorry, I’m fine. Really. Anxiously hugging a jumbo bag of shrimp chips, Rose made a slow one-eighty-degree turn away from Lucas, lowering her mask so it wrapped underneath her chin. Rose shoved handfuls of chips into her mouth like it was the last time she could enjoy them. God, so much sodium but so, so good. She quickly wiped her mouth and paused. Wait, a little more. Rose allowed herself two more handfuls before lifting up her mask, whipping her body around and giving Lucas a self-conscious smile under her mask. 

Lucas let out an awkward laugh, his eyes wrinkling with a combination of surprise and confusion. He probably thinks I’m weird as hell. Whatever.

Well…good thing we can enjoy this food together instead, right? Lucas pushed the Swiss roll on the table closer