The F Word
Fat. Three letters, a million negative connotations. I'm fat, but I do my best to sugarcoat it any way I can. I'm curvy, I'm voluptuous, I'm full-figured. Its pointless though, of course. At the end of the day, I'm still fat. For the most part, I accept it. I spend my life telling myself that no, I'll never be a model and no, I'm not thoroughly gorgeous and I can't wear this season's fashion and I'll never fit in designer clothes. But I also tell myself that the way I look isn't the be-all and end-all. Im bright enough, I can hold a conversation, I learn fast, I can crack the occasional joke and make someone laugh, I can cook, I'm reasonably independent, I'm strong as an ox and just as stubborn, there's a hell of a lot more to me than the excess weight I carry. And rather that than some vapid, size 8 stick with no personality, right? (This is not to say that all size 8 girls are vapid. I'm sure many size 18 girls are too.)
I fully believe big can be beautiful. I know people, real people, who are REAL sizes (unlike the media's portrayal of a UK size 12 being large which is frankly the most laughable thing ever) who love who they are and how they look and it shows, it REALLY shows and makes them look beautiful. I worship at the temple of Beth Ditto, she breaks all the big-girl fashion rules, wouldn't be seen dead in a big tent of a dress and she looks incredible. Her devil-may-care, 'if-you-dont-like-me-blow-me' attitude is an icy breath of fresh air to me. THAT is the kind of role model I need. Someone who isn't afraid to get up on stage in a spandex dress and dance around until the sweat is pouring off her and still be fabulousness personified. Heck, I even like that song Mika wrote: Big Girls (You Are Beautiful). At least he tried to show larger women in a positive light. I even know a few of those elusive men who prefer their women to have the curves God intended. I wouldn't go so far as to call them chubby-chasers or fat-admirers, but they prefer the look of a real woman. And it helps a flailing self-esteem, to know that some men either actively prefer the way people like me look, or don't care much for superficialities and prefer the personality within. And its all this that keeps me going. Daily affirmations, constantly telling myself that the problem is in my head, that nobody really cares that I have a spare tyre (or 3), reminding myself that there is a hell of a lot more to me than my dress size. And it works well. Until something or someone comes along to throw a spanner in the works.
I feel very uncomfortable when people talk about fat people in a negative way in my company. I go through all the usual 'they must think that about me' thoughts, and also, it disappoints me. It disappoints me when someone cannot see past what a person looks like. Its made ten times worse when it appears that someone you love holds this opinion. I don't know if there's something about me that's desperately unfeminine, but I find when I am in the company of men, I am treated as one of the boys. And in one respect this is great, the psychologist in me loves the insight to the working minds of men, hearing a male stance on things provides me with new outlooks. On the other hand, however, I am privy to conversations I should never hear, things that men say among their own that they should never say in the company of a woman, far less a woman they're trying to carve a relationship with. I can shrug off what people I don't care about say or think or do, I find it harder when it comes from someone much beloved. I won't bore you with all the details. In a nutshell, I went out for a drink with my Much Beloved and two of his friends. One of them announced that there was a women interested in him but it was never going to happen because she was fat. I sat there uncomfortably while they all mocked her fatness and the fatness of another woman from their collective past. What I took from it all was this idea that fat women were only good for one thing and one thing alone: sexual desperation. And that there was nothing more to a fat woman than her weight, no intellect, no sense of humour, no nurturing personality, just a big fat blob. I alternated between fuming quietly, being shocked that my Much Beloved was playing a part in this (albeit it a more minor one), and wanting very much to get up and leave. Because I was in the company of three men who have known each other for years, there wasn't much scope to join in with any conversations so all I could do was sit there and think about what had been said. I think what devastated me most was that my belief system could be annihilated so easily, in part by someone I barely know and have no kind of relationship with on any level. I sat there mentally feeling myself grow larger and larger and becoming rapidly less attractive than ever. I went home and secretly cried my eyes out for most of the night and early morning. Its worrying to think I rely so heavily on these things every second of every day to get by, and then one event comes along and shatters it like it were a fragile ornament. A girl's foundations should be much stronger than that.
Recently, being fat has made its way back into the media for a variety of reasons. The media celebrate Beth Ditto but I get the impression they are confused by her. Could it be, a fat woman who has no desire to be thin? A fat woman who is, shock horror, beautiful, admired, an icon of her time? Not in our size zero world, surely not! I recently read an article in the magazine of a weekend paper on whether a woman's size affected her career. I think they were attempting a balanced view but I was left unsure as to whether or not they were advocating that I reached for the Slim Fast. Two women said they had to lose the flab or they would lose their jobs, then a CEO of a PR company said being a size 20 was an advantage. I appreciated them painting both sides of the story, but at the end of they day, they really should have been pushing the idea that there is more to you than the dress size printed on your clothes. Maybe its a cliche but if any women out there feel the way I do about their bodies, they need the cliches reinforced on paper. Magazines still say the average woman in the UK is a size 14-16, but where are these women IN the magazine? Where are the clothes to flatter an above size 10 figure? One article every six months that acknowledges that fat people exist is not enough. Its what started my idea a while ago of a fashion and lifestyle magazine for normal and plus sized women. It'll never take off as I don't have anything but my idea. No business experience, no editing experience, no money to get the project going. Of course we shouldn't be encouraging people who are unhealthily overweight, but what about those people who are healthy? I've never forgotten about Astrid Longhurst, who was GMTVs fitness expert in the 1990s, who was a size 22 or similar. I could be healthier and more active, and I smoke so that always gives the GP something to lecture me about but, on the whole, I have no health problems whatsoever.
I admire the Dove campaign, using women who dont resemble twigs and presenting them beautifully. The Campaign for Beauty has its flaws but its a start at least. I always feel like people could be doing a bit more even just to recognise that women dont all come in size zero form. I'm not the pro-fat campaigner I appear to be here. I am just very much pro- the idea that all women look different, and all women are beautiful, fabulous creatures. But then, I wrote an 1800 word article on larger ladies and how great they are, when all the while I hate my own body. I guess, to that end, until such time as we individual women learn to love who we are, the media won't follow suit. The trouble with that is it becomes a vicious cycle. Whilst I don't blame the media for the way I feel about myself, it would certainly be a help to see something positive in the media to help me get back on track. And I'm sure I'm not alone in this. But, until such time as someone with power and influence in the media world agrees with me, I'll be going back to worshipping Beth Ditto and playing my Mika track ad nauseum. And hoping that one day I'll believe what I keep telling people; all women are gorgeous, regardless of their size. Oh, and as for me and the Much Beloved? He was heartbroken to learn of my upset, which was enough to let me see that it was simply a case of a 'boys will be boys' conversation that I never should have been in attendance for and that maybe, just maybe, I have one of those elusive men who look beyond the way a woman looks. I live in hope, anyway.
I fully believe big can be beautiful. I know people, real people, who are REAL sizes (unlike the media's portrayal of a UK size 12 being large which is frankly the most laughable thing ever) who love who they are and how they look and it shows, it REALLY shows and makes them look beautiful. I worship at the temple of Beth Ditto, she breaks all the big-girl fashion rules, wouldn't be seen dead in a big tent of a dress and she looks incredible. Her devil-may-care, 'if-you-dont-like-me-blow-me' attitude is an icy breath of fresh air to me. THAT is the kind of role model I need. Someone who isn't afraid to get up on stage in a spandex dress and dance around until the sweat is pouring off her and still be fabulousness personified. Heck, I even like that song Mika wrote: Big Girls (You Are Beautiful). At least he tried to show larger women in a positive light. I even know a few of those elusive men who prefer their women to have the curves God intended. I wouldn't go so far as to call them chubby-chasers or fat-admirers, but they prefer the look of a real woman. And it helps a flailing self-esteem, to know that some men either actively prefer the way people like me look, or don't care much for superficialities and prefer the personality within. And its all this that keeps me going. Daily affirmations, constantly telling myself that the problem is in my head, that nobody really cares that I have a spare tyre (or 3), reminding myself that there is a hell of a lot more to me than my dress size. And it works well. Until something or someone comes along to throw a spanner in the works.
I feel very uncomfortable when people talk about fat people in a negative way in my company. I go through all the usual 'they must think that about me' thoughts, and also, it disappoints me. It disappoints me when someone cannot see past what a person looks like. Its made ten times worse when it appears that someone you love holds this opinion. I don't know if there's something about me that's desperately unfeminine, but I find when I am in the company of men, I am treated as one of the boys. And in one respect this is great, the psychologist in me loves the insight to the working minds of men, hearing a male stance on things provides me with new outlooks. On the other hand, however, I am privy to conversations I should never hear, things that men say among their own that they should never say in the company of a woman, far less a woman they're trying to carve a relationship with. I can shrug off what people I don't care about say or think or do, I find it harder when it comes from someone much beloved. I won't bore you with all the details. In a nutshell, I went out for a drink with my Much Beloved and two of his friends. One of them announced that there was a women interested in him but it was never going to happen because she was fat. I sat there uncomfortably while they all mocked her fatness and the fatness of another woman from their collective past. What I took from it all was this idea that fat women were only good for one thing and one thing alone: sexual desperation. And that there was nothing more to a fat woman than her weight, no intellect, no sense of humour, no nurturing personality, just a big fat blob. I alternated between fuming quietly, being shocked that my Much Beloved was playing a part in this (albeit it a more minor one), and wanting very much to get up and leave. Because I was in the company of three men who have known each other for years, there wasn't much scope to join in with any conversations so all I could do was sit there and think about what had been said. I think what devastated me most was that my belief system could be annihilated so easily, in part by someone I barely know and have no kind of relationship with on any level. I sat there mentally feeling myself grow larger and larger and becoming rapidly less attractive than ever. I went home and secretly cried my eyes out for most of the night and early morning. Its worrying to think I rely so heavily on these things every second of every day to get by, and then one event comes along and shatters it like it were a fragile ornament. A girl's foundations should be much stronger than that.
Recently, being fat has made its way back into the media for a variety of reasons. The media celebrate Beth Ditto but I get the impression they are confused by her. Could it be, a fat woman who has no desire to be thin? A fat woman who is, shock horror, beautiful, admired, an icon of her time? Not in our size zero world, surely not! I recently read an article in the magazine of a weekend paper on whether a woman's size affected her career. I think they were attempting a balanced view but I was left unsure as to whether or not they were advocating that I reached for the Slim Fast. Two women said they had to lose the flab or they would lose their jobs, then a CEO of a PR company said being a size 20 was an advantage. I appreciated them painting both sides of the story, but at the end of they day, they really should have been pushing the idea that there is more to you than the dress size printed on your clothes. Maybe its a cliche but if any women out there feel the way I do about their bodies, they need the cliches reinforced on paper. Magazines still say the average woman in the UK is a size 14-16, but where are these women IN the magazine? Where are the clothes to flatter an above size 10 figure? One article every six months that acknowledges that fat people exist is not enough. Its what started my idea a while ago of a fashion and lifestyle magazine for normal and plus sized women. It'll never take off as I don't have anything but my idea. No business experience, no editing experience, no money to get the project going. Of course we shouldn't be encouraging people who are unhealthily overweight, but what about those people who are healthy? I've never forgotten about Astrid Longhurst, who was GMTVs fitness expert in the 1990s, who was a size 22 or similar. I could be healthier and more active, and I smoke so that always gives the GP something to lecture me about but, on the whole, I have no health problems whatsoever.
I admire the Dove campaign, using women who dont resemble twigs and presenting them beautifully. The Campaign for Beauty has its flaws but its a start at least. I always feel like people could be doing a bit more even just to recognise that women dont all come in size zero form. I'm not the pro-fat campaigner I appear to be here. I am just very much pro- the idea that all women look different, and all women are beautiful, fabulous creatures. But then, I wrote an 1800 word article on larger ladies and how great they are, when all the while I hate my own body. I guess, to that end, until such time as we individual women learn to love who we are, the media won't follow suit. The trouble with that is it becomes a vicious cycle. Whilst I don't blame the media for the way I feel about myself, it would certainly be a help to see something positive in the media to help me get back on track. And I'm sure I'm not alone in this. But, until such time as someone with power and influence in the media world agrees with me, I'll be going back to worshipping Beth Ditto and playing my Mika track ad nauseum. And hoping that one day I'll believe what I keep telling people; all women are gorgeous, regardless of their size. Oh, and as for me and the Much Beloved? He was heartbroken to learn of my upset, which was enough to let me see that it was simply a case of a 'boys will be boys' conversation that I never should have been in attendance for and that maybe, just maybe, I have one of those elusive men who look beyond the way a woman looks. I live in hope, anyway.