Sunday, October 19, 2014

I am Shiklah, Queen of the Undead, or The Joys of Fat Cosplay

It's October 2013. My fiance and I go to Comic Con together, as we've done the past few years. My honey is dressing up as -- or doing Cosplay as -- his favorite Marvel character, Deadpool. Every year he refines his Deadpool costume and is often asked to be in photos. I am too hesitant to dress up myself. My fat activism is only a month old. I'm shy, but I'm getting fired up. And here I am at Comic Con, a temporary community that accepts and even embraces the unconventional. As my guy and I are walking around, we hear someone say, "now that I want to do this Cosplay, I have great motivation to lose weight." On fire with my new body positivity, I can't resist replying: "hey, you can do your Cosplay at any weight." He replies excitedly, "no, for the specific effect I'm going for, I need to be thinner."

I want to say more, but we get separated in the crowd. I continue to make comments, and not in a quiet voice, about the incident. Isn't Comic Con about enjoying weirdness and not conforming to societal expectations? Why should such prejudice be here? I feel so hurt. Just as loving my fat body is becoming a real option in my life, someone rejects that possibility in a venue that typically encourages self-acceptance. In addition, my guy is a BHM or Big Handsome Man whose adorable teddy-bear stomach has never stopped him from doing fantastic Cosplays of a character who is drawn with a thinner body. Nonetheless, he is much calmer about the situation than I am. His priority is to move on while mine is to vent the injustice. We are frustrated at each other for approaching the situation so differently. Neither of us knows what to do.

A year goes by. A lot of things happen. We get married that summer. I continue with my fat activism full speed ahead: I read blogs and look at tumblrs, join online communities, do e-courses about body love at any size, read gorgeous fat poetry, get more comfortable wearing clothes that hug my stomach and thighs. I deeply enjoyed listening to Ragen Chastain and Jeanette DePatie host the first annual online Fat Activism Conference and I appreciate Stephanie Payne's great talk on plus-size Cosplay. I start my own fat blog. I see the fat troupe Rubenesque Burlesque perform live at the New York Burlesque Festival, meet them and get pictures with them. Now I'm ready. I want to do Cosplay, too.

My now husband (!) comes up with a great idea. Just as we got married over the summer, so did his Marvel obsession, Deadpool. He suggests we go to Comic Con as fictional and real husband and wife. Deadpool's wife is Shiklah. She wears purple and black, some pretty cool jewelry, and is a succubus who is queen of the underworld and lord of the monsters. Cool, huh? I am not the avid comic reader that my husband is, but I read some comics with Shiklah in them and did some online "research" and decided that this was a cool character. The next week, hubby and I went to a costume store and basically bought a nice purple and black witch costume to adapt into a Shiklah Cosplay. I was feeling down that day, sad about unrelated things, so I mostly sat there and pouted while my husband resourcefully put together an amazing plus-size costume. I did not appreciate the astonishment of some skinny sales ladies when we announced that we were looking for large purple tights, as if no woman over a size 8 has wanted to wear such a thing, but somehow we found those, too. Okay, the tights were a little bit small in the end, but they were good enough for a one-weekend costume.

Here is how my Shiklah, Queen of the Underworld, Lord of the Monsters, came together:

I'm Shiklah. Fuck you.

We stopped by a Halloween shop in our neighborhood so Hubby could do my make-up before the Con.

Husband and Wife Kiss! I had to rub some of my black lipstick off of his mask after this.

Ruler of the Deadpools! My husband is the one in the cap. I took off one of my gloves so I could actually use my cellphone and stay in touch with's easy to lose track of them at Comic Con!

Here I am with Wonder Woman (above) and a gender-bending Thelma (below).


As you can tell from these photos, I had a great time doing my first Cosplay! There were people of all shapes and sizes, and we were all fine. Fancy that!
At Comic Con I was able to buy awesome Adventure Time clothes, which I love to do. I got a BMO sweater in XL and a fitted 2XL black polo shirt with Lumpy Space Princess on it. I decided to layer these items a few days later and hubby took a (blurry) picture of me, which I present below:

I can think of conservative not-fat-appreciating people (mother, cough cough) who might think that my stomach here is unflattering and I should wear something looser. But this is exactly what fat acceptance and fat activism do not require of me. Personally, I love the look. I love that I can proudly present the cuteness of BMO the talking game console, my breasts, and my stomach. If a "muffin top" is a bad thing to have, well, I just don't agree with that.

There's no reason you have to be a particular weight to do Cosplay, to pose for pictures, to wear a sweater. In a culture brimming with pictures of skinny women, it's easy to feel that it's a problem for you not to look like that. I hope that my playful Shiklah and BMO pictures can point to the arbitrary tyranny of such a standard. Magazines, movies, tv shows may discriminate, but images, whether photographed or drawn or digitally composed, don't have to: they can celebrate all bodies. And they can present bodies not as impossible ideals to identify with or try to match, but as sturdy and flexible inhabitants of a changing world. It's amazing how easily we make the conceptual leap from "there's a thin body" to "that is desirable and I need to be it." Aren't there other ways of relating to images than feeling the need to conform to them? Of course, and I hope that my little photos, humble and awkward and fun and lovely as they may be, help point to that.

Monday, October 6, 2014

In the Flesh

Last week I had the incredible pleasure and privilege of seeing Rubenesque Burlesque perform LIVE at the New York Burlesque Festival! Rubenesque Burlesque is a fat, fat positive burlesque troupe based in Oakland, California. There are lots of neat things about living in NYC, but I miss out on many cool fat positive events in the San Francisco area. Since it's rare for RB to be in my neighborhood, I knew I had to go see them. Plus, some of their members, Juicy D Light and Magnoliah Black, spoke beautifully at the Fat Activism Conference in August, and I chat with them in fat positive Facebook groups.  I bought two tickets so I could take The Husband. That's right, I took my husband, to whom I have been married for a bit over two months now, to a show involving nearly naked women, entirely of my own volition. He is a very trustworthy and attentive guy, and I wanted us to celebrate our mutual appreciation for fat positivity and big breasts. We also shared some amazing chicken wings. His caesar salad was the only thing at the event that was overdressed.

This is me rockin' some not-so-feminine fatshion before the show.

Here's me with the amazing women of Rubenesque Burlesque after the performance! Look what respectful people we are...

There were plenty of great acts, and I am completely biased, but let's face it, Rubenesque Burlesque was completely the best, and I really do think they received the most applause of anyone. They started out wearing bright red shirts that said Fat Camp on them in glittering letters. They were following an annoyingly perky skinny woman who was guiding them through an aerobics routine. Some of them were into it, but others were aggravated and listless. Then the four women surrounded the aerobics teacher and carried her to a table. She disappeared and the fat women walked downstage while chomping on her head and limbs. The skinny bitch was so annoying they ate her! Then they took off their shirts and wiggled their gloriously voluptuous breasts which had sparkly red tassles covering the nipples. At one moment they turned their backs to the audience, impressively shaking their thong-clad fleshy asses at the cheering crowd. Their moves were truly fantastic. I felt a little shy to talk to such awesome ladies after the show, but I was determined and my wonderful hubby was there to cheer me on and get pictures. It was so nice hugging and belly bumping Kitty vom Quim, Magnoliah Black, Lucia N. Hibitions, and Juicy D Light! They were gracious and fun. It was nice being close to their super sparkly lipstick. Impressive! 

The show was a success to me not only because of the glorious beauty of the fat performers but also because of their parodic exaggeration of tropes about fatness. They took the idea of the gluttonous fatty to a ridiculous, transgressive degree: instead of eating "too much food," as fat women are said to do, they eat their exercise instructor. They give new meaning to the phrase "eating everything in sight." Their cannibalistic act exaggerates stereotypes about the gluttony of fat people to such an extent that the flimsiness of these stereotypes is exposed and they fall apart. They have no legs to stand on because their legs have been eaten. (Forgive me.) The women of Rubenesque Burlesque subsume the false dichotomy of the active, perky thin woman and the lazy, surly fat woman so that what remains is not the oppressiveness of both real and television versions of Fat Camps but the dynamic beauty of their fleshy bodies.  

lovely drawing by Luma Rouge

Saturday, September 27, 2014

Notes on Fatshion

I have conflicting feelings about fatshion. On the one hand, it's great for us big women to show off our bodies. We get to say that we are beautiful at our current weight. We contradict stereotypes about fat women, disproving, for instance, that our weight shows a lack of self-care, that you can only be pretty, desirable, and proud of your appearance if you're thin enough. We don't have to wait for pounds to drop to look awesome. We don't have to keep ill-fitting clothes in case we're "lucky" enough to get "thin" again. We get to occupy space.

The main thing that concerns me about fatshion is its emphasis on the hyper-feminine. I'm not willing to name blogs because my goal is not to throw anyone under the bus; I'm speaking about fatshion as a whole, or you might say fatshion trends. I've looked at a lot of fatshion blogs and pretty much all of them showcase very feminine modes of attire -- flowy dresses, tight, curve-enhancing skirts, or whimsical a-line skirts, ruffles, 'skinny' (or tapered leg) jeans, jewelry, bright lipstick, etc. If you know of exceptions, please tell me in the comments or on facebook because I'd love to see them. It seems to me that quite a bit (though in this case certainly not all) of fatshion is vintage-inspired, a take on the 1950s pin-up.

You might ask, why would I be concerned about this? On an individual level, there is nothing wrong with having a feminine take on fashion, regardless of weight or gender identity. I wouldn't go up to a fellow fat woman and say, "how dare you wear a dress!" In fact, I would probably say, "nice dress, I love the color!" because I believe in supporting my fellow fatties in the world. I make a point in New York City of noticing fat women who look awesome and complimenting them on it. It's may way of saying, "we're allies in this. Maybe despite your awesome self-presentation you worry about being a fat woman in the world, but I know what you're dealing with and I support you." I often ask the woman where she got what she's wearing so I get more ideas about fat friendly stores. And it's a way for me to challenge my own internalized prejudices about what kinds of bodies are desirable and even just acceptable. Sometimes I feel self-conscious about my belly and my thighs, and if I can acknowledge to myself that other big women look great, I can accept myself more easily and move through my shyness about a tight shirt on my belly and feel proud of it.

Complimenting fellow fat women, for me, is a kind of code, a secret hand shake or belly bump. I just wish it were more successful. Usually when I compliment a woman, often on the subway, she thanks me sheepishly and returns to what she was doing. I don't tend to get the "I understand your code and send it back to you" feeling I dream about. Maybe the women in question don't want to be bothered during their train ride. Maybe the book they are reading on their iPad really is that amazing. But maybe the lukewarm reception indicates the importance of my gesture. It isn't really okay to compliment fat bodies out there, even if you have one, too. And that's why I feel the need to do it.

But as I described in my post on interpellation, there are limits to approaching fat issues only in terms of the personal. The personal is where and how we act (it's political, after all), but subjecthood is a loaded and problematic position. The personal often expresses our own unconscious participation in the oppressive systems we've been born into, to which we submit ourselves "freely." And so it is worrying to me that the personal on fatshion blogs is so overwhelmingly represented through feminine tropes. Against the wills of the bloggers involved, this trend as a whole conveys the idea that fat is only acceptable when it is framed in a particularly feminine way, when fat means big breasts and thick lips and sensual curves even though not all fat bodies have these qualities.

Many fatshion outfits show belts around the waist with a dress or skirt because fatness is most accepted when the waist is smaller than the hips and when large thighs are camouflaged by fabric. This trend -- and not any individual person -- runs the risk of communicating that fatness is inherently feminine, that the only argument to be made for fatness is that it enhances a narrow view of femininity and is actually not allowed outside of those codes. If fatness is only to be associated with the hyper feminine, it can easily slip into other feminine stereotypes, for instance, that fatness is secondary to a strong and taut masculine, that it stands for the excessively emotional, the histrionic woman who cannot control either her moods or her appetites. It is easy for fashion, fat or otherwise, to express a woman's subordination rather than her power, and not just her historical subordination to men but her economic subordination to the whims of the market, and her philosophical subordination to the Western paradigm that bodies are composed of an inner essence and an outer presentation with the latter expressing some kind of deep truth about the former.

These are the risks of fatshion. These problematic messages are in there even though the women in question do not consciously believe those messages. I would like to see a bigger variety of fatshions to dilute the sad connotations that accompany fatness and femininity. Does fatness have to be dressed up or can it rest in t-shirts that show muffin tops, jeans that don't elegantly taper at the bottom, sneakers instead of leg-lengthening heels? What if online plus size stores other than ReDress had a butch styles section? Fatshion is worth it, and that is why it is worth being critically assessed and hopefully broadened.

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

I'll Take That Milky Way, Good Sir

Tonight I was at my film class which is almost four hours long and goes through traditional dinner times. In this course, we begin with a screening or two, have a break, and then have a discussion until 10pm. Naturally, during the break people go get coffee if they didn't have it already or eat some food. I had half a turkey sandwich, a lemon-lime seltzer, and some pretzels left over from lunch. Toward the end of the break, my eagle eyes picked up three mini Milky Ways on the table the professor uses as his desk or station. I thought, "when did those get there?" When Proffie came back into the room, he was just as surprised as I was to find candy there. It turns out that another student had leftovers and didn't want them, so she put them on the desk for anyone to take. He was about to speak, so he did not take one but offered them to everyone else.

And no one moved. Not one person in a pretty crowded classroom.

I thought to myself, "I love Milky Ways. Why shouldn't I have one?" From my position toward the front of the room, I reached out to the table, took one and ate it. Besides fulfilling my desires, I thought this move would give other students permission to take the remaining two, which I would have been happy to take myself if I were so damn self-sacrificing.

The Milky Way was amazing. It definitely made slogging through early Antonioni more bearable. It was a few seconds of delight.

And yet nobody followed suit. The other two fun-size bars just sat there, neglected.

Why did no one eat the other Milky Ways? Well, on an individual level, there is no way of knowing exactly. I can't speak for everyone (or anyone). I'm sure there was a variety of motivations in the classroom. Maybe some people were just not hungry. Maybe some people don't enjoy the deep pleasures of chocolate with caramel. Maybe others felt they were too far back in the room go to get them.

Academic environments are also strange in that there is a sense of decorum people don't want to break but no one has articulated exactly what it is. At my department's lecture series, they serve Chardonnay and Perrier in plastic cups. The tone of the event is indecisive. Tonight a fellow spent time worrying about what seat he should take so as not to usurp what he expected would be the visiting lecturer's position. Then she chose to stand at the front of the room instead of sitting toward the back (actually at the head of the table) as is more common. Everyone is tensely guessing what is appropriate to do while laughing a bit and pretending to be relaxed.  As strange as the academic environment can be, and trust me, I could elaborate on this point, this probably wasn't the main issue here because the professor invited people to have the candy. The chocolatey goodness was unambiguously approved for us.

So why didn't most people have any? At a broad level, I think it relates to myths about food consumption. It is gluttonous, unrefined, inappropriate to show an interest in food, especially fattening, decadent food like a Milky Way. I was once chastised as a young child for showing too much enthusiasm as I asked someone about a type of food I had never seen before. You're not supposed to want to eat, besides your coffee and possible bag of nuts during the break. I think there is a largely unconscious desire among many people to prove cultural refinement and discipline by abstaining from food. In addition, taking a small candy bar would involve moving to the front of the room and back for most people. Making yourself visible in relation to food is also not generally considered acceptable. In an academic environment, it might seem that you are supposed to draw attention to yourself through the mental, through sophisticated comments, rather than through the corporeal and the carnal, the act of getting up for a chocolate and sitting back down again.

I try to live as freely as I can. I wish I were better at it, but fat activism is one of the most powerful ways I know to live more freely in the body I have. I knew that I could worry about disturbing people or seeming gluttonous or immature or drawing attention to myself for the wrong reasons by take the Milky Way. But I didn't care. I feel enough confidence in my body to know that I'm not a terrible person for having chocolate or for being fat. As a fat activist, I work to see how attitudes about food can enslave and oppress on the one hand and how they can liberate on the other. And in this case I was able to choose a liberating option for me, to just have what I wanted. I still participated in class. I was still a "sophisticated" "intellectual" person who had come prepared and motivated. And I also had some fucking god damn chocolate.

As I end, I want to be clear that I am not trying to read the mind of everyone with whom I was in class. I am not saying that people were "wrong" not to have the candy. It is completely fine for people just not to want it. I'm not interested in saying what people "should" do but in analyzing what happens. The point is to speak more broadly, more systemically. I like to concentrate on the structural and not the personal. We're all affected by cultural norms and I am guessing that harmful cultural attitudes about food were, probably unconsciously, affecting quite a few of my classmates. The point is not reading my peers' minds but just noticing the unspoken norms and restrictions in the room with us. And I easily could have been affected in turn because I am a fat woman in a room with thin people. I could have stayed away from the chocolate out of embarrassment; what if the thin people judge me for eating something caloric and non-nutritious? I could have been too shy and oppressed to go for it. But I saw the restrictive ideologies in the room with us and I didn't feed them. Instead I fed myself.

Sunday, August 31, 2014

Ideology and Weight-Loss -- It's (Not) Personal

...Subjected thus,
How can you say to me, I am a king?
-- Shakespeare, Richard II

Ah, weight-loss. Some of my Facebook fat-o-sphere friends have made some great comments about the problems with weight loss, particularly the amazing fat activist pioneer, creator of the Yay! scale and author of Fat!So?, Marilyn Wann. All the fantastic women -- and the men! -- of fat activism are inspirations for me, but Marilyn deserves to be singled out. Her quotation summarizes my position on the issue:

I just basically consider it unethical to encourage any human being to undertake a weight-loss goal.
Many comments follow such a daring and revolutionary sentiment. Some of these comments are better-informed than others. Instead of concentrating on the overall meaning of the quote, on its insistence that diet culture and basic morality are antithetical to one another, on its assertion that the body does not need to be made smaller to be acceptable or even healthier, people seem to spend a lot of time searching for any circumstance in which weight-loss is "okay." Some insist that people have the human right to lose weight if they choose to do so, and if weight-loss is a personal choice that does not come from a larger pressure, that this choice, like other personal choices, is worthy of encouragement and even support.

Guess what? I don't think so.

Such an argument implies that the personal is beyond reproach -- that if I (think I) do it "for me" and not for diet companies or beauty standards or pressuring relatives, it can't possibly be problematic. I argue that this is untrue because the personal is not such a neutral, ideology-free zone. It is in seemingly personal choices, philosophies etc. where harmful ideologies often run rampant, where they are not scrutinized or balanced by any kind of critique. For one thing, personal preferences do affect the broader community; the personal does not exist in a vacuum. Let's say the apocalypse happened and most members of the fat activist community dieted together and they all lost hundreds of pounds. As a fat person looking at all of this weight-loss in a supposedly fat positive community, would your "personal" choice really be to stay at the weight you are? Of course not.

While I created an improbable hypothetical situation, in a way it's not far from reality. A lot of fat girls and women like me are watching friends, relatives, media personalities, etc. lose weight (temporarily) and discuss the pleasures of losing weight and being thin. It's going to seem like there is no option not to be attempting weight-loss. It's going to seem like losing weight is the only way to be happy, moral, attractive, capable, and even worthy of existing at the most basic level. I'm not sure why under these circumstances -- under our circumstances -- anyone would make the personal choice not to lose weight. There is no innocence in Western culture around weight. One can't lose weight for the hell of it. Unless weight-loss is the byproduct of something else -- you have a health issue or new medication, you get really involved in a new sport or discipline that shapes your body, you do psychological work on your eating and feel less compelled to binge -- it is being forced on you by this culture; it is a result of the enormous pressure on fat people to alter their condition.

And this is the insidiousness of the seemingly personal: our culture compels us to lose weight and convinces us that it's what we want! For French Marxist theorist Louis Althusser (who has been one of my strange obsessions for the past year), this is how ideology works. Ideology is paradoxical in order to be effective. He writes, "it is indeed a peculiarity of ideology that it imposes (without appearing to do so, since these are 'obviousnesses') obviousnesses as obviousnesses" (in "Mapping Ideology," ed. Slavoj Zizek, p. 129). Or: "one of the effects of ideology is the practical denegation of the ideological character of ideology by ideology: ideology never says 'I am ideological'" (p. 131). In other words, ideology operates by concealing itself, by convincing you that it is the only reasonable way to understand things. This way, it isn't forced upon you. You have supposedly chosen it, when in fact it has chosen you. (In Soviet Russia...)  Ideology is that which "we cannot fail to recognize and before which we have the inevitable and natural reaction of crying out... 'That's obvious!' 'That's right!' 'That's true!'" (p. 129).

Doesn't this sound familiar? "Of course being fat is unhealthy! There's no way to be healthy at that weight -- look at them!" "People want to lose weight to feel better about themselves!" It is ideology because it does not seem like it, because it convinces us of its truth over and over. We read about the "obesity epidemic" and say "of course" because we already believed it, because we are subjects in (subjects of, subjected to) a culture that already believes it and, like God -- for Althusser the ultimate ideological construction -- it creates us in its image. Ideology names us, or as our theorist puts it, it "hails or interpellates" us "as concrete subjects" (p. 130). Althusser famously uses the example of a policeman seeing someone on the street (a much more loaded example now than it was then, might I add, and yet, perhaps all the more appropriate). The policeman or anyone really says, "hey! you there!" And you recognize yourself as the person who has been called, who was already that. You're the "fatty" for instance, the defective one, the one who needs to change.

More simply, social forces and interactions "call" you; they shape the way that you are seen and see yourself. For Althusser there is no subject outside of these social interactions; you're subject to your subjecthood. What seems the most free -- your individual subjectivity -- is actually the most constrained, and this is how ideology stays in place. Althusser says it here: "the individual is interpellated as a (free) subject in order that he shall submit freely to the commandments of the Subject, i.e. in order that he shall (freely) accept his subjection, i.e. in order that he shall make the gestures and actions of his subjection 'all by himself'" (p. 135).

Ideology, then, creates you as a subject (subjected to it) who believes in it, who fits into an Ideological State Apparatus like a political party, a school, a church, a family, or, oh I don't know, a diet program, a dieting culture... In other words, a person "wants" to lose weight because he is hailed or interpellated as a fat (bad) person in a thin-centric culture, because he adopts the codes and goals of this culture "all by himself." By this logic there is no such thing as losing weight (or doing much of anything) "for yourself" because you are called to do it by a system that inscribes you as a bourgeois American Dream-loving subject that knows that if you just work hard enough you can make yourself acceptable. And of course you did that by yourself and for yourself. Or not.

Althusser also points out that "all Ideological State Apparatuses, whatever they are, contribute to the same result: the reproduction of the relations of production, i.e. of capitalist relations of exploitation." So because you "choose" to lose weight, you contribute to diet apparatuses -- Weight Watchers, Slimfast, Atkins, the "War on Obesity," the general belief that one "should" weight a certain amount, the idea of "good foods" vs. "bad foods," any and all of that. And by contributing to diet apparatuses, you keep them in business; the ideology underpinning them strengthens the exploitative relations that allow them to exist in the first place.

What can we do about all this crap? Well, I'm not totally sure, but I have a few ideas. We can work on being aware of it and be honest that we are part of it. I catch myself having certain ideas about both fat and skinny people that appall me. And as a fat activist, I do hold out more hope for human agency than Althusser does, even though his arguments against it are persuasive to me and have their use. I think it is possible to create and align ourselves with a different ideology, a countercultural one that is more accepting of different body sizes. I think Althusser warns us, rightly, that our position as fat activists is as ideological as any other. But that doesn't mean it's not legitimate. It's a position that creates a kinder and fairer world, one where rhetoric supports us in enjoying our bodies and caring for them as they are rather than condemning them. That sounds pretty good to me.

The excellent fat poet Kathy Barron has a very good blog post on similar topics. She takes on the "it's a personal choice" argument very effectively without invoking needlessly complicated theory. Check it out!

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Live and Let Die

First, I'd like to get some of my self-doubting out. I've LOVED getting such kind responses to my writing here, on Facebook, and at Offbeat Bride, but I've noticed feeling pressure to make every post "that good." And I don't think it's going to be. I have a list of post ideas and they are not as personal as the last post I did. They're not going to grab people in the same way.

Like other fat bloggers, there are certain issues I want to discuss, modes of argumentation I want to take apart, and so the tone of this just-a-little-baby blog is going to vary. I have a variety of plans for the kinds of things I want to do here, and we'll see what sticks, what settles. I'm open to kind and loving feedback! *deep breath* Good to get it out.


I've never been an activist through standard means. I don't do protests or get behind someone's campaign, for instance. I don't pass out tracts, though I will admit that when some of my not-so-body- positive relatives have birthdays they do receive copies of Linda Bacon's Health At Every Size and I have given HAES materials to doctors and nurses even when they have not fat shamed me. (Hey, I brought the stuff, they might as well have it, right?) I'm not interested in being effective on a large scale. I like to do what is meaningful and fulfilling to me, and that's enough. Part of that is carving out my own little space in the Fat-o-Sphere, but there's a bit more...

As a hater of all things Good Manners, I do have a badass streak in me and so I like to make what I consider to be fat positive micro-interventions into my environment. For instance, I gave the middle finger to an issue of People magazine devoted to drastic weight loss (even more than usual). Then I posted the photo to Facebook. Observe:

Then at a dental appointment I found more weight-loss-centered magazines. I responded to them in this manner:

Finally, when Hubby and I were visiting family on the West coast earlier this month, we came across a Weight Watchers in a strip mall. I wanted to express myself about the value of such places and the photograph I posted was the following:

Most responses I got were very positive. I got some shares, too. But I got one less encouraging comment on the anti Weight Watchers photo that was really interesting. It was "live and let live." In other words, I should let them do their thing and do my own thing without expressing any form of aggression or distaste. I disagree. My only regret is that SuperCuts was in the line of fire. I like getting my hair cut at those places. But I rest easy knowing that SuperCuts took a slight hit for a good reason.

Let me just say that I do not feel critical of the person who made the comment. She's a really nice woman who has been kind to me in real life. So I'm not interested in a personal critique, but rather in a structural and systemic one. The point is not who said it but what assumptions are embedded in it. One is the idea that it is somehow inappropriate or wrong to express aggression, especially for a young woman. I certainly grew up with ideas about what sweet, gentle, refined young ladies do. (Hint: not a lot of eating. Or opinion-having. Or middle-finger-giving.) On one level, I was encouraged to be a critical thinker, but some adults in my life would also express frustration if I was "too strong" about my points. This is, of course, ridiculous. I can be as strong as I want.

And what is wrong with this picture? I am not singling out anyone for ridicule. I genuinely do not believe in that. It is clear that I am pointing at the sign. I am critical of the diet culture that Virgie Tovar so eloquently condemns, of Weight Watchers telling women what to weigh, how to be, how not to take up space in the world. I'm critical of institutions, Weight Watchers among them, that profit from the misery of women. Weight Watchers makes money because the institution is all about not letting people like me live, so why should I let them off the hook? If they basically want me to be half my size, why shouldn't I give them the finger?

It is because I am supposed to be a "Good Fatty." I'm relatively new to the Fat-o-Sphere and its terminology but in my understanding Good Fatties give in to societal pressure against them: they dress in a "flattering" way to conceal their large figures, and they exercise and diet to lose weight, just as they are "supposed" to do. The Good Fatty wants to be thin and apologizes for not being so. The Good Fatty is held to a higher and more debilitating standard than thin people are. Thin people are not required to count points or avoid carbs or conceal their bodies or exercise more than they want to. It is fat people who are supposed to put themselves through the ringer until they become thin (and then gain it back, and then try again, and then shorten their lives from the weight cycling).

In this case, the Good Fatty is supposed to be a bigger and more self-loathing version of the Sweet Young Lady. Even if other people, or, more insidiously, companies, institutions, states, countries are oppressing her, she should just let them live. People can attack her right to happiness as much as they want and she is supposed to be polite. When I was little adults in my life told me not to "talk back." I was supposed to accept my miserable place in the hierarchy; I was a child, below the adults who got to talk and make the rules. Here I am supposed to accept my place as a subhuman fatty in need of change. I am supposed to accept that soul-crushing authority and not respond to it with my actual feelings, with my own, full, fat humanity.

Guess what -- I refuse. I'm not a Good Fatty or a Sweet Girl. I'm loud, silly, weird, and take up space. I love to swear and dance around waving my middle finger in the air. I claim my agency in the world. That doesn't mean I can stop Weight Watchers from existing -- unfortunately -- but I can use imagery, technology, and social media to talk back.

Monday, August 25, 2014

My Wedding, My Body

"I ain't the same scared kid I used to be." -- Bon Jovi

I remember being ten and getting ready for a family wedding. I would be wearing a fancy dress with a bolero jacket tailored to fit me. The idea that I could pick what I wore was a foreign one to me and to my family. I was the tomboy on the monkey bars who had trouble parting with her sweat pants, even when they got holes in the knees -- how would I know what to choose for a formal event? So it was chosen for me. The dress was cream-colored and I was given firm instructions not to stain it. (Somehow the fact that I was not likely to wear a dress like this again eluded everybody.) Staining had been an issue for me as a kid. As a fast, enthusiastic eater, I managed to get some kind of sauce on nearly every shirt I owned. The fact that this did not seem happen to every child my age -- even my younger friends could make it through meals with their shirts unharmed -- drove me to shame.

I was determined to "do things right" this time for such a formal and meaningful occasion. I wanted to look nice while still keeping up with the other kids there, all of whom were taller, thinner, and faster than me. As usual. I was accustomed to being the fat one in a class of sticks, stunned that everyone could be so much smaller than I was, seemingly without effort. "Oh you're not fat, sweetie," adults would say to me, "just pudgy." As if that was somehow better, cuter, something I'd get rid of in time. I didn't understand why I was different, and I had the good fortune of never being teased or bullied for it by my peers, but I knew about my difference and its unacceptability.

I was the one kid who, when the door to the playground would only open slightly one day before recess, could not fit through it. I was the kid with the big thighs in tennis class, the one who would cry about my legs when I looked down at them in the shower. I was the ten-year-old dieting with my mom, eating steamed chicken breasts and half a banana while the thin kids ate pizza and candy bars. I knew who I was. By the end of the wedding celebrations, the bottom of my cream-colored dress was riddled with grass stains. I remember my parents arguing about the importance of this error, but whatever they resolved, I got a familiar message that day, the message that my body and I weren't good together, that I didn't look and move like the rest or wear fancy things as well as I should. I was just wrong inside and out.

Things continued this way. I felt like athletic kids -- especially tall, sports-oriented boys who would never look at me -- owned bodies. They "were good" at having a body; they did it right and were well-regarded as a result. I felt that I was good at having a mind, as I excelled in most subjects at school, but my body was both deficient and removed from my true self, from my intelligence, my wit, my scathing criticisms of everyone else I knew. For physical education my high school had fitness classes in which students would run around a circular track every other day. With my own peculiar mixture of confusion, disdain, and envy, I would watch these boys run past me repeatedly. I was always on some kind of protein-based diet, trying to avoid the starches or carbs that I really wanted to eat. Even my intake of carrots had to be limited as carrots contain a substantial amount of sugar. At least I could snack on celery sticks dipped in low-fat French dressing as much as I wanted. I even tried a juice cleanse. It tasted like orange juice, very sweet, not terrible, but I would get so hungry on my non-eating days that I just gave it up. When I was tired of dieting after high school, I went to the other extreme: I ate everything I wanted, beyond the point of fullness, gorging my body and then ignoring it. At least I wasn't depriving it. I didn't know what else to do.

The anxiety and alienation I lived with became too much for me as I hit my senior year of college. When I got rejected from graduate schools, I spent long periods crying in my dorm room, questioning if I even wanted to live. But I did want to live -- just differently. I started to explore meditation. I could sit with my addled mind and fat body without being completely invested in my judgments of them. I started to do meditation retreats -- I even took time off from the pressure of graduate school to do more of them. I could walk slowly in a dark room and feel unbridled joy in the movement of my legs and the feeling of my feet hitting the floor. Then I'd go to dinner and enjoy the spaghetti. Moving and nourishing my body didn't have to be incorrect; those activities could feel pleasant. I didn't have to worry about those athletic boys anymore; they went to college, too, lived their own life away from mine. I could just be fine on my own terms.

And somewhere in the midst of all this growth and exploration I found fat activism. Until then I harbored mostly secret criticisms of diet culture and the so-called "obesity epidemic." I felt attacked and intimidated by those things, by my cousin's exclamations of "growing girl!" whenever I returned from the buffet table with food on my plate, by my mother's parade of diets and my father's willingness to do them with her (besides the occasional ice cream and bag of chips). I felt oppressed by these things and that there was no way out except to ignore them and plunge into my meditation practice and graduate work.

But as I found fat activism, threads of my life seemed to come together. I could understand and honor the alienation I experienced as a fat, dieting child. I could use the critical thinking and knowledge of French theory I was honing in college and graduate school to deconstruct and undermine the diet culture in which I lived. And I could use my meditation practice to see beyond cultural judgments about size and savor my own embodiment. With fat activism, and a deeply supportive fiancé, I could bring my interests together into a celebration of myself, body and soul.

After feeling deeply alone for most of my life, here I was at twenty-six, madly in love. I was getting married to the silliest and kindest man I'd ever met, not an unattainable athlete but a cute computer guy, a Pokémon-obsessed comic and video game nerd who loves giving me hugs. And yet every time I thought about a wedding dress, I saw myself as that "pudgy" dieting ten year old who didn't know how to have a body properly and couldn't take care of her clothes. I saw that kid who was disappointed in herself and scared of other people, who felt apart from and desperately angry at the world.

I wasn't willing to get married like that. I was done forcing myself to be otherwise. I'm still that tomboy on the monkey bars. I don't stain my shirts as much, but it happens sometimes, and I no longer worry about it. I'm still fat -- in fact, I'm fatter than I've ever been, and I'm happier, too. People tell me they feel better in their bodies after losing weight, but I feel better being heavier. At five foot one, I rock extra large shirts and size 20 pants. I am in a doctoral program with women and a some men half my size, and instead of being insecure, I feel amused and special. I didn't want to be a demure bride, the slim, sweet young lady I always failed to be. My wedding outfit, I decided, would be like the rest of the quirky ceremony I was creating: it would buck tradition and follow my own and my future husband's desires. To honor that sensitive tomboy that in me, there would be no dress, no high heels, and not so much white.

I bought a pair of flowing royal blue pants from a plus size website, size 2x, and had a cleaner shorten them for me. For the top, I did end up choosing white, because I found a beautiful fabric at a little Indian shop where they would make clothing large enough for me. I stood with my arms raised as Sarla measured every part of me to make me a custom tunic for the big day. Instead of worrying about my thick upper arms or feeling pressure to go sleeveless when I am not crazy about that fashion, I told Sarla at a fitting that the arms were too tight and that I would like more spacious sleeves. The next week, I had them. After four fittings, the tunic was done. I wore blue polish on my fingernails and toes to match my electric blue pants, and when I was outside, I just wore sneakers. My outfit was comfortable and reflected by personality and agency. Who knew such a thing could even happen?

I got married at my meditation center, across from a statue of Kuan Yin, the goddess of compassion. She is someone I have found in myself over the last few years. We had a ping pong party after the wedding ceremony where I surprised my new husband with cake pops in the shape of his favorite Pokémon, Mewtwo. During the party, I noticed that I had stained my white tunic. I have no idea how it happened and nobody cared.