Things No One Will Tell Fat Girls (22 page)

Because it IS a common thing to do.

Women
bond
over diet talk. We love to share what we can and can't eat. We form connections over feeling guilty or superior about food. We smile sympathetically when someone says, “Oh, god, I was so
bad
and ate cheesecake last night!” or “I'm going to be
good
today and eat a salad.”

You're not a better person if you eat carrots, and you're not a fuck-up if you eat pie.

DOES ANYONE ELSE THINK IT'S WEIRD THAT WE ASSIGN MORAL IMPLICATIONS TO FOOD? I didn't used to, but the more I thought about it the more I realized it's just fucking weird. Newsflash: Food isn't damnable. Food isn't virtuous. It's just delicious (most of it, anyway), so let's keep the conversation around it positive. Let me further clarify just in case we're not all on the same page: You're not a better person if you eat carrots, and you're not a fuck-up if you eat pie. That sustenance = salvation/damnation shit needs to stop already, y'feel?

So, what do you do if you personally stop demonizing and glorifying food, but your friends (or those strangers on the café patio) don't? I thought about how I wanted to respond next time a woman confesses her crepe sins to me, and I decided I would counter it with a sigh and a “That's so
BORING.”
In fact, I've done this (several times, at work—I'm not sorry) and it works rather well. Some people find this rude and cruel and have suggested that perhaps I should try a softer (and more tactful) approach, and that's TOTALLY an option (and probably a better one), but if you really wanna shut that shit down, tell them it's boring and there are so many other things you can talk about. Like that awesome mail service where you can send your enemies envelopes full of glitter that gets all over everything and sticks around their house forever.

See. MUCH more interesting, yeah?

Redirect the conversation. Resume the enjoyment of your food. Revel in the fact that your spot in heaven isn't going to be determined by what's on your plate. Repeat.

3. Speak out if you feel forgotten.

There is a lot of criticism about who and what is included in (or rather, excluded from) the body positive movement . . . and rightfully so. As body love has surfaced into mainstream conversation, we've seen a tendency for the message to be delivered by and to straight, white, hourglass-shaped women (take ME, for example). Collectively we seem to cling to this spot and demographic, almost as if we are afraid to try anything more radical for fear the movement might lose its popularity. Which it might. But we should still try.

It's a tricky world to navigate, and introducing body positivity into a world immersed in decades of teaching that says otherwise is radical and impressive to be sure. But with this limited representation of bodies within the movement, there are those who are left out, further ostracized, and ignored. My education regarding bodies (other than the one I have lived in) has been gradual . . . but it's picking up speed daily. When I started in “activism,” the first title of my lecture and the tagline for the Body Love Conference was “Change Your World. Not Your Body.” The sentiment behind it had pure intentions: to illustrate how we can change our perspective and not feel the need to change our body in order to be okay. What I didn't realize back then was that this exhortation was most certainly exclusionary to those who felt like they DID need to change their bodies in order to fully be who they really were. This was brought up when I was in a meeting with several transgender faculty and community members, and I quickly saw the exclusion. That title is now “Change the World. Love Your Body.”

I may be slow, but I'm working on it.

I was grateful for that particular group of gracious individuals for pointing out how important those words are. There is too much exclusion within the body positive community that happens out of ignorance (hi, me here), and it can usually be quickly changed if brought to the perpetrator's attention.

For those who don't feel represented, you have all the permission in the world to use your words to change that. If you ever experience exclusivity in a movement that is trying to be inclusive, one of the most harmful things you can do is keep it to yourself. Discussing how fucked up something is can be helpful in finding solidarity and support, and ultimately it needs to be shared because others may not realize this form of exclusivity is even happening.

This book is a great example. I've done my best with my background and experiences to include as many issues and speak to as many people as possible. I will inevitably fail, however, at including everyone; maybe you are feeling this way. For that, I offer my apologies, and it would be really great if you could help me out. A perfect way to address this issue would be to email me a lovely note that says “Hey! It would be really beneficial if you could include ___________ in the future!” Maybe even include a reason you feel this way.

Chances are, I'm gonna do just that. And I think that's true for a lot of activists, and even a lot of the world (clothing companies too—read on to see for yourself in the next chapter).

I get that it's frustrating and maddening, and that exclusivity
affects our lives in a
monumental way
. But I can promise you something: If someone who's perpetuating exclusivity either doesn't realize it or only hears secondhand that someone (or a group of someones) is pissed about whateverithappenstobe, things may not change the way they should. On the other hand, an informative, politely worded (and maybe even kind!) email can make all the difference. Words have so much power, and when you consciously craft power in order to develop real change? SUPER power!

That's how we shift social consciousness, y'all . . . working WITH each other. Wait, am I repeating myself? That sounds oddly familiar.

4. Body commentary doesn't have to be a thing.

I'll never forget what Kim Kardashian looked like while she was pregnant. Why?
Because it was on the cover of every single tabloid magazine in every store ever.

Another brilliantly evil component of our image-obsessed culture is that we have all been given (in the words of Virgie Tovar herself) a body police “deputy badge” by our body-hatin' world. I'm gonna ask you to turn that motherfucking badge
in
.

Here's why: Contrary to what we've been taught, other people's bodies are NOT ours to publicly comment on. Wait. What? I'll say it again: Other people's bodies are NOT ours to publicly comment on. Yeah, I know. Weird, right? Let that sink in.

It almost feels counterintuitive. We love to criticize
and
applaud other people's bodies; it's one of our primary forms of entertainment! From Jessica Simpson's weight gain to Jonah Hill's weight loss. From the cover showcasing Jennifer Garner's no-baby “baby bump” (which is often what happens when you have several kids, and, in fact, at the time of publication of this book she was not expecting) to the spreads of the forty hottest celebrities alive. From Taylor Swift's belly button (gasp! She has one!) to Amanda Palmer's nipple. From the person on
the street looking “great” in the leather leggings to the person wearing the “terrible” SpongeBob unitard in Walmart . . . we're obsessed.

But to think we have the right to comment on someone else's appearance is a false assumption. First of all: Negative comments about another person's body? Nuh-uh. Never. No place. No how. Period. That's easy.