From Curve Critic to Crowned Queen: My Journey to Miss Fuller Woman 2025
- Georgia Greenwood-Duncan
- Jul 15
- 4 min read
Let me take you back to where it all began, Drumheller, Alberta. Yep, land of dinosaurs, dust, and enough small-town gossip to fill a Netflix true crime docuseries. Growing up in a place where everyone knew your name and your pant size meant that when puberty hit me like a freight train at 13, so did the commentary.
Suddenly, I had hips, thighs, and a butt that didn’t ask for permission to arrive, it just showed up. And with it came the not-so-silent whispers:
“You should probably start watching what you're eating, you’re starting to look overweight.”
Ah, music to every teenage girl’s ears......said no one ever.
These kinds of comments became the background music to my adolescence. I couldn’t see my reflection without also seeing the unsolicited opinions of classmates, family members, and basically anyone with a mouth and no filter. By 16, when the dating world opened up like some twisted reality show, I had already decided I wasn’t worthy of love. Curves, I thought, were baggage. And I had a full set of matching luggage.
I tried everything to fit into society’s beauty box. But spoiler alert: I still had curves. Still hated my body. Still thought “love” and “plus-size” couldn’t exist in the same sentence unless it was an apology.
Then came graduation. The dress shop said they didn’t carry my size. (Cue dramatic gasp and one-woman Oscar-worthy breakdown.) The very moment that was supposed to celebrate my achievement became a gut punch. But somehow, I found a dress that fit and made me feel beautiful. For a split second, I saw a glimmer of what it might feel like to love my body.
Fast-forward to adulthood, where I thought paying bills would magically erase body image issues. (It didn’t. Turns out Visa doesn’t accept insecurity as payment.) I figured escaping my hometown would also mean escaping judgment. Wrong again. Apparently, society’s obsession with body size has no postal code.
At 20, I found myself sick, schlepping to the clinic in sweatpants, a messy bun that had definitely given up on life, and a t-shirt I only wore when no one would see me. And then......plot twist a stranger stopped me and said, “That shirt is so cute, where did you get it?” I nearly called 911.
That one unexpected compliment cracked the armor I had built around myself. I started to believe maybe....just maybe...my body wasn’t the enemy.
Then came her: Charlene Wold. The Miss Fuller Woman whisperer. She kept dropping the idea like a persistent fairy godmother:
“You should enter the competition.”
Me: Absolutely not.
Also me, later that night in bed:......but what if......?
There were a million reasons to say no. But thank God for friends and family who gave me a million and one to say yes.
Walking into the first night of rehearsals, I was sweating like a popsicle in July. I thought Georgia, the Director, was going to take one look at me and say, “Sweetie, this is not America’s Next Top Sweat-Pant Model.” But instead? I was welcomed. Seen. Empowered.
The next four weeks were a rollercoaster. I mentally tripped, physically pushed, and emotionally peeled back layers I didn’t even know I had. And then came the moment of truth, Coronation Night: heels on, swimsuit clinging to every beautiful bump, and a room full of women cheering me on like I was Beyoncé's cousin. I didn’t just walk the runway......I owned it.
Talent? What talent? Let’s talk about the time my ukulele sheet music failed and I had a full internal meltdown on stage. (If you’ve never cried with a ukulele in your hand, are you even a contestant?) But I kept going. Because here’s the truth: the only person who noticed the “mistake” was me. Everyone else just saw someone courageous enough to show up.
And then the announcement was made......AND YOUR 2025 MISS FULLER WOMAN QUEEN IS......HANNAH SCHULZ
"wait did they just call my name?"
I swear my brain blacked out while my body autopiloted me across the stage. I wanted to scream, but instead I ugly-cried with joy. My fellow contestants celebrated like they’d won too, because in a way, we all had. We showed up as our whole selves, and that is powerful.
Today, I wear this crown (not to Walmart......yet) with pride. I carry it for every girl who’s ever hated what she saw in the mirror. For every woman who thought she had to shrink herself literally or metaphorically to be accepted. I’m here to say: you are more than enough. Not in spite of your curves, but because of them.
To Georgia, Charlene, Malissa and every single woman who stood beside me: thank you.
To every future Miss Fuller Woman: if I can do it, SO. CAN. YOU.
And to the dress shop that said I was “too big”? You can keep your dresses...... I’ve got a crown now.
Until next time......CURVES & LOVE
Hannah
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