BBC report on South Korean body builders makes us want to cry. When will women just be allowed to enjoy their bodies and be respected? http://ow.ly/AKa2h
Lately, I’ve been thinking about fat activists and other social justice-y types and wondering stuff. For instance, what makes someone the kind of person who can look at the status quo and see that even though it’s accepted as normal, it isn’t fair? Are activists just more sensitive – so called bleeding hearts? Or is there something about our experience and influence that affords us the compassion to identify injustice and the strength to stand up and fight for our rights and the rights of others.
To be clear, this isn’t a scientific or academic inquiry I’ve been conducting; it’s one of those late night contemplations and, while I’m wondering this on the grand scale, it’s also personal. I am on a journey through my past, hedging about trying to figure out why I am compelled to act, to speak out against weight bias and other injustice. I’m on quest to reclaim my history, my story from the people that hate fatness, to unearth the mythic sources that give me courage and insight, so that I can share them with others.
As many of you know, I have an academic background, and in a very academic way, I believe that human beings often rely on a mythic foundation – the ideas we perceive as universal truths. And that we gather these mythic understandings from symbols we repeatedly encounter in our lifetimes. These symbols can be overt, meaning they declare themselves as life-defining, for example, the messages, images and ideas we associate with religions. Or they can be covert, clearly influencing you, but not really claiming an ideological stance, like the characters, the stories and representations we connect with in the media. I believe that these mythic symbols lay the foundations of our consciousness and help us organize, define, frame and understand our world as we know it.
And so, I’ve been wondering was there something in my past – some symbol that allowed me to love my fat body, allowed me to see, and know that there was beauty, power, joy and fulfillment in my physical being despite what the world all around me was saying about being fat.
And then there she was… an image of Miss Piggy rolling through my social media feed.
As a child, I was obsessed with Miss Piggy. I had a Miss Piggy puppet that I carried with me everywhere. I slept with her. I ate with her. I watched her on TV. I listened to her ideas and I loved her. I don’t know if you remember but some of the things Miss Piggy says are badass.
Here are some awesome quotes:
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye.”
“Style comes in all shapes and sizes, therefore the bigger you are, the more style you have.”
“Never eat more than you can lift.”
“A bowl of fruit is sometimes served in place of dessert. This practice should be discouraged.”
“Too much exercise can damage your health.”
“I, moiself, have always enjoyed a good scrimmage.”
“Beauty is all about loving who you are and if you have problems with that may I suggest you try loving who I am?”
~ Miss Piggy
Miss Piggy is part of my foundation. She’s a powerful, strong, successful, joyful, beloved fat woman, and I think somewhere, deep in the recesses of my subconscious, the symbol of Miss Piggy crept in and helped keep me from ever really buying into the mainstream machine that spews cruel and unjust ideas about fat people.
So, really, thank you Miss Piggy.
Want more Miss Piggy? Check out this Buzzfeed article.
Can you think of positive symbols that might have contributed to your mythic foundations – symbols that could contribute to a future reality where weight bias no longer exists?
This post was originally published on Fierce Freethinking Fatties
. I’m gonna be honest with you… this is a moment of shameless self promotion – but I don’t think you’ll mind because what I’m promoting is going to be right up your alley. Currently, I am in the process of producing and directing a film called Fattitude. Fattitude is A feature-length documentary that exposes how popular culture fosters fat prejudice and then offers an alternative way of thinking. So far the film features the voices of some amazingly cool fat activists:
Last week we launched the landing page for our website and next week we will be launching a kickstarter to raise the funds to finish the film. The kickstarter will also debut our trailer. I think when y’all see the trailer, you’re gonna flip. If you’re interested in learning more about Fattitude in the up coming weeks bounce on over to our website and social media spaces and get connected.
If you’ve ever considered how representations of female bodies contribute to women’s negative body image – then you’ve realized that Barbie, the icon of little girl’s toys, may not be the best influence on a girl’s relationship to the reality of her body. Take a look at this comparison image that has been floating around the internet lately:
The numbers detailed are downright absurd. Her wrists and ankles are exactly the same size. Her bust is distinctly larger than her hips – and her waist is half the size of her bust. It seems like if she was a living woman she would fall over. Actually, we know she would fall over because her feet are permanently on tip toe so that they can fit into her plastic heels. That said, even if we put her unusual foot shape aside, Barbie is not a real shaped woman.
Because Barbie doesn’t even emulate the proportions of a living woman and therefore is an arguably poor influence on perceptions of women’s bodies, graphic designer Nickolay Lamm created The Lammily Doll. This doll and Barbie seem to come from two very different places. Acorrding to the Lammily Website:
- Lammily is made according to typical human body proportions and therefore promotes realistic beauty standards.
- Lammily wears minimal makeup.
- Lammily’s wardrobe isn’t composed of typical clothing for dolls – she is dressed with striking simplicity.
- Lammily is fit and strong.
Another positive attribute the of the new doll that the website does not mention is that Lammily represents more diversity than Barbie. She has brown hair and a darker skin tone than Barbie – which means that she can be understood as either Caucasian, Hispanic or of mixed race – whereas Barbie is pretty much descendant from Aryans.
Lammily was crowdfunded and she was a great success. Lamm initially posited that to manufacture his doll he needed $95,000. He raised $465,952. This kind of response points out that we are hungry for representations that actively reject impossible body ideals and embrace a more empowered image of womanhood.
While I know Lammily is a step in the right direction – I find that I am still disheartened because I don’t really feel like she looks like the women in my life. She still idealizes a certain age and health standard and this “average” seems almost as mythical as Barbie’s disproportionate one. Perhaps Lammily needs some friends – a black girl, a fat girl, a differently-abled girl, a trans girl, a pear shaped girl, a girl with thick thighs, a girl with a juicy bootie, a curly haired girl, and yes, a blond girl… Obviously I could go on for ever.
What I’m trying to say is that Lammily is awesome, but she is just the beginning. If we really want to forward positive representations of people’s bodies than we need to genuinely represent ALL bodies.
This was originally posted @Bitchtopia
Check out my new post on Fierce, Freethinking Fatties! While I don’t think anyone should compare oppressions – they way a fat woman is treated by the public peanut gallery is more than just unwanted objectification. It’s often fat shaming and fat hate.
Originally posted on Fierce, Freethinking Fatties:
Once a month I participate in Rarely Wears Lipstick’s “Ask a Feminist” series. The series is akin to the old ”Dear Abby” column. Basically, someone sends in or poses a question about living in a patriarchal culture and a group of feminists, including myself, give our insight on how we would handle that particular issue. The questions that come our way can be as complex as how to normalize intersectionality or they can be everyday issues like how to manage being ignored at work because you’re a woman.
This month the question that came our way was about how we would handle street harassment.
View original 423 more words
Originally posted on Fierce, Freethinking Fatties:
The news this week has been abuzz over a young man’s attempt to create an alternative fashion doll to the ultra-popular Barbie, by modeling it on the measurements of an “average” 19-year-old woman, as reported by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
View original 285 more words
There has been a lot of chatter recently about both the fuzzy and furless pubis. A couple of weeks ago, there was a lot of coverage of Cameron Diaz’s new written endeavor, The Body Book because it features an essay entitled “In Praise of Pubes,” and currently, American Apparel is getting press because their mannequins have merkins peaking out of their panties.
I know that feminists have been known to debate the “feministy-ness” of how one decides to relate to her pubic hair – “to nair or to hair” you might say. (Just so you know, I’m not gonna partake in a pubic hair pros and cons list, so if that’s what you’re looking for, move on.) There are lot of thoughts surrounding this debate, and while I may lean one way or another when I’m listening to smart girls discuss their very nuanced positions on having hair down there, I ultimately think that conversations of this nature expose the very gray spectrum that feminism needs to embrace.
Let me back track. I have pubic hair. This is a choice I’ve made based on my own life experiences with my body. When I was ten years old, I didn’t sleep much. It was a drag for my parents, but after some seriously valid attempts at trying to get me to sleep at night they gave up, and let me traipse about the house while they were sleeping. It was on a night like this I discovered my first pubic hair. I was proud of that one little curly cue – proud enough to wake up my mother to tell her what I’d found. For me, that lone coarse strand marked my shift from child to pubescent teen. It was a bodily triumph. I know, it’s a ridiculous story, but it’s mine and that’s why I have pubic hair. It has meaning to me, because I was excited to meet my pubes so why would I banish them.
Let me tell you another story; this one’s second hand, but it helps make my point so bear with me. A couple of years ago a friend of mine went to study abroad in France. She was about four years older than the other students in her study abroad program. One night, over a bottle of wine, she had a conversation with a couple of 20-year-old guys who felt that if a woman’s labia wasn’t naked, then that women was disgusting and not a viable sexual option. Arguably, from a feminist position, the perception of these douche bags would make a terrible justification for bearing your labia – because you’d be making this choice based on what others think. Not on your relationship to your body.
Shave your pubis if you look in the mirror and the naked version looks sexy to you, or if you exercise a lot and your nether hair is prone to crotch rot. Go au-naturale because you’ve done research and you feel like pubes protect you from bacterial infections or you’re excited by their relationship to pheromones. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you own your crotch, make decisions based on your relationship to your parts, and voice the opinion that other feminists have a right to be masters of their bodily universe and self define. In other words, it doesn’t matter if you choose to sport a 70s style full-fledged bush or not – as long as you think about it and make a choice based on your needs. This is the gray land of actual feminist empowerment.
What do we make of the American Apparel merkins? It’s up to you. Personally, I feel like they’re creepy, but I have other feminist body-positive friends who love them. As feminists, we are big enough to enjoy this publicity stunt for the conversations it starts. We can go back and forth about whether AA’s merkins forward a hipster resurgence of a furry pubic sensibility or make the bushy bush a joke. It doesn’t matter where you land – chat about it, think about it, and in the end go with your gut. Living within feminism means having a personal opinion and trusting it.
Side note: a couple of months ago XOJane’s Emily McCombs had a feminist twitter war on this topic and wrote an article that dismissed the necessity for a feminist discussion of pubic hair because she felt there were more pressing issues for feminists to discuss. I get it, I do. I still think we’re having issues understanding what it means to live in an empowered space – one which enables us to choose freely and navigate our own course, so I have deemed this discussion of one’s right to pube or not to pube still worthy.
This post was originally posted on Bitchtopia.com
We often hear people say that diets don’t work, and there are a lot of articles and research out there that explain why this is true, for example this, this, and this. And yet, so many people continue to believe that if you have a fat body, then you can make ‘choices’ which will result in you having a body that is less fat. In other words, despite the research, we continue to believe that diets do work. I am hear to tell you otherwise, but not in some scientific way. I’m here to tell you that diets didn’t work for me. And I had every opportunity…
I am lucky enough to have been born to a loving upper middle class family. They are amazing. And because they loved me they spared no expense when it came to trying to help me get thin. I could attend any weight-loss program or participate in any exercise regime. The culture taught my family that thin was necessary for happiness and success so they genuinely believed that weightloss was the best possible option and they supported any and all attempts I made to lose weight. In response, I spent the first 30+ years of my life trying not to be fat.
When I was six my mother took me to the diet center. I remember sitting in the waiting room. I remember the fabric on the chairs. It was maroon, but not much else. I remember eating rice cakes. I can’t tell you if I lost weight, I don’t remember. I do remember wanting to lose weight and understanding that my mother brought me to the diet center because they could “help” me.
Sometime around 10 I went to fat camp. At camp they provided us with portioned meals and we exercised at least six hours a day. During the summer three girls tried to commit suicide. I know that sounds outrageous but it’s true. I don’t know for sure why these girls tried to take their lives but I remember the communal feelings of desperation. I was very popular at camp because when you removed the stigma of fatness – by creating an all fat environment – people who are funny, smart and savvy can shine. I remember the pictures from the end of the summer – a thin me in a green striped top – I remember these pictures because this is one on the first times I remember feeling adorable in photos.
When I was 12 I went to another weight-loss center called 40 Carrots. Again, I went with my mom, who has always been thin – by anyone’s standard – but she has also always dieted. I remember standing in the kitchen with her weighing out 4oz of chicken, seasoning it with vinegar, dijon mustard and pepper, chopping carrots and pouring water. I remember being hungry. I also remember losing like 20lbs. I got new clothes and felt beautiful. I remember walking into French class and having a boy I’d know since kindergarten asking me when I’d changed so much.
When I was 14, I went to Jenny Craig. I lost 20lbs eating food made by nestle that quite literally has no nutritional value. I remember daydreaming about getting to the Jenny Craig “maintenance program,” where I would learn to stay thin. Instead, I gained the 20lbs I lost plus 10 more.
During my later high school years, I tried weight watchers, slim fast, atkins, nutrisystem and plain old starvation. I always lost weight and I always gained more than I lost.
I broke up with my high school boyfriend in my freshman year of college and got thin again – this time I think it was 45lbs. I don’t remember a particular program, but I remember buying a skin tight brightly colored paisley dress and wearing it so he would see what he was missing. I was fat again by sophomore year.
I was happy in college – I had great friends. But I still felt body conscious and I weighed 200lbs for the first time. For graduation I asked my parents to send me to Structure House – which is like fat camp for grown ups. At Structure House I lost 50 lbs. I gained it back .
In grad school I watch a newscast about some soap opera star who lost weight on a liquid diet – Optifast. I lost 60lbs doing this – three times – between the ages of 23 and 30.
At 30 I followed a program called Dr. Bernstein and worked out like crazy to get ready for my wedding. When I walked down the aisle I weighed 172 pounds. I look thin in the pictures but I had wanted thinner. I wasted time on my wedding day thinking about how I could have looked prettier.
Do you see a pattern? It’s not like I wasn’t committed.
When I think about my childhood, I remember crying a lot about my body. I remember feeling like a failure and not understanding why I wasn’t thin like my friends. I would have given anything to be thin, and I tried everything to be thin. I’m not going to lie to you. I have always loved food, but honestly I wanted thin way more than I ever wanted food. Each time I was thinner I loved being thinner, and I desperately wanted to stay thinner but as soon as I stopped starving and started eating normally I gained the weight back. Thin was/is not in the cards for me.
Today, I work out regularly and eat healthy but I don’t lose weight. At least I think I don’t lose weight because at this point in my life I never get on a scale and my clothes seem to fit. I genuinely believe that constant dieting made me fatter. I think that if I had accepted my body rather than diet I might have been a bit bigger than others but I never would have been as big as I am now. Diets failed me. They haunted me – they filled my life with failure because no matter how many times I dieted, I never stayed thin.
People say things like, “It’s not about dieting – It’s a lifestyle change.” Well, I’ve made a lifestyle change. I’ve decided not to diet because diets don’t work.
Plus, I’m fabulous – just the way I am.
Recently, I took a private yoga class with my family – mom, uncle, husband, father – we were all there. I haven’t taken a whole lot of private yoga instruction in my life but I have been practicing yoga on and off for a number of year, so private instruction sounded like a good time. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the case. Basically, this yoga dude showed up to our hotel room, stripped down to his skivvies and proceeded to tell us that most people practice yoga for all the wrong reasons – which in all honestly is probably true – but his presentation of these ideas was off putting and a little pretentious – mostly because he presented himself as a yoga genius and treated us like idiots. Because of his belief in a universally flawed perception of yoga – this dude would not lead us through a series of asanas. Instead, we had to start from scratch and re-learn the poses we already knew with him as our guide. Fine.
After a few rounds of sun salutations, which honestly felt the same as all the other times I’ve preformed sun salutations, we moved on to warrior pose and the yoga dude explained that the first sign of aging is the flabby wings that we get under our arms (<— not true), and that obviously, we all fear this flab (<— not true x 2). His “solution” for this flab was flexing one’s palms towards the floor so as to tighten the triceps – he explained that he practiced by pressing against the shower soap dish for years and now his arms aren’t flabby. In response to this explanation he asked us all to flex our arms and he went around touching our triceps, proving that “horrible flab” was easily eliminated.
Eliminating the flab under my arms, which by the way is unnecessary, cannot be accomplished by flexing my triceps. In family – I am the fattest; I am also the most fit. I work out all the time – I train 3 times a week for an hour and I do cardio on the other days. I am super strong and while they are covered in fat I have huge bulging triceps, which regularly sling stuff around. When the jerk-faced yoga dude got to my tricep – he pinched the fat under my arm and said “I don’t think there is a tricep in here.” Fat-shaming douch-bag.
News flash: Fat people work out too. Just becasue I’m fat doesn’t mean I lack muscle tone or that I don’t go to the gym to work on my health. (Check out these awesome images of fit fatties!) My health is mine to define. Fat can be fit or maybe it isn’t but either way another person’s arm flab or level of fitness clearly none of yo’ business. Furthermore, shaming me in from of my family or shaming others wherever isn’t doing any good. It’s clynically proven that fat-shaming does not encourage this fat person to become less fat.
Clearly, this yoga dude – is just one jerk but this is not the first person to give me a hard time about being fat and wanting to exercise my body. Regularly at my gym strangers come up to me to express their joy that I’m working out. “Good For you,” they say – which really means “Good Job Fattie – proud to see you trying to overcome your fat.” Another comment I hear frequently, is “You really work hard” expressed with a startled awe. Whether they know it or not these beasties are expressing their hard held beliefs that if your fat you must be a lazy, un-fit slob who sits around and stuff your face all day. This is fat-hate and their comments are fat-shaming because they believe that a fat person is only valuable when trying to get thin. To be clear – I’m not trying to get thin. I’m trying to stay fit. I go to the gym because it makes me feel good. I go because I know that pursuing fitness will help me live the life I want to live. Despite this choice that I make for myself – no one should tell you how to care for your fat body. It’s yours to do with as you please.