Fat Woman Walking

The author, Freshman year (age 14) Beatle haircut ___________________ 36-24-36. When I was just coming of age – about age 12 – The Aspirant Perfect Figure consisted of hourglass dimensions, the Jayne Mansfield (40-21-35) and the Marilyn Monroe (36-24-34) configurations. 36-24-36 was considered the gold standard, The Perfect Figure – never mind that few women ever reach those exact numbers. As I was bursting into bloom, it seemed that my body could be well on its way to achieving near perfection. I was slightly bigger than perfection, more like 38-27-40, but with some dieting – by now I was a veteran of the dieting wars – I could do it! My grandmother Mo pooh poohed my 36-24-36 goal: “You’re a big-boned girl! You’ll never be a Marilyn Monroe.” Actually, I wasn’t big-boned at all back then, and I’m not now; even when my weight is up, I enjoy skinny wrists and ankles. When you can find it, a small skeletal frame. In my fat days, whenever someone commented on my ski...

The author, age 16 ______________________ “Jeffer the Heifer.” – An early childhood nickname bestowed upon me by a mean boy, who happened to be my cousin. On some level, being dubbed as a heifer made a strange sort of sense, for I had endured a years-long adversarial relationship with this junior lunkhead. I expected to be bullied by him; the adults in the room thought the boy was kind of cute and clever, insisting that I was just a thin-skinned whiner who wouldn’t stand up for herself. I was never going to have the support of my family, so for most of my childhood I just sucked it up and avoided this person whenever possible. Never mind that the term “heifer” was wildly imprecise because I wasn’t terribly overweight, perhaps a bit chunky. Big deal. But even if I had been morbidly obese, it would have been cruel to allow this boy to bully me. I now understand that the adults around me were wrong to allow and even encourage this boy to make my life miserable, tha...

The author's First Communion -- Age 8 _____________________ I will never criticize a child for being overweight. No child ever chooses to carry extra weight – for reasons that are not yet completely understood, some people are genetically predisposed to carry extra pounds, and others have a flaw in their appestat which can throw appetite control out of kilter. To blame a child for something that she or he has little control over is cruel and inhuman, and yet overweight children are harassed by other children and even by adults who may believe that they have the child’s best interests at heart. If any blame can be assigned, let’s point the finger at the fast food industry that markets unhealthy food to children and, perhaps, the parents who give in to the incessant marketing. A child does not yet have the psychological tools to fend off the blizzard of ads propagated by the fast food industry. Hell, most adults are easily manipulated by cagey advertisements – just ...

I tried being one of you. I really did. I believe in your cause: that all fat people should be accepted and respected. But I’m also a hypocrite because I despise my fat self. I don’t hate you, though. In fact, I think you’re incredibly brave to take up such an unpopular cause; I wish it were popular and sexy like civil and LGBTQA rights. Almost everyone can get on board with advancing the rights of minorities and gays, right? But I have to tell you: most people laugh at and late-night comedians poke fun at your organization. I’m sure you already knew that. I suppose most people, even other fat people, assume that fat people can do something about their weight, while other minorities can’t change the color of their skin. Never mind that that it’s more complicated than that. Never mind that NAAFA should be wildly popular, given that two-thirds of Americans are fat or obese, that, in the end, 95% of all diets fail. God knows I have tried and tried. Dismal res...

I am not comfortable in my fat body. I feel shame in my fatness. Anyone who has been fat understands what it’s like to navigate the public arena; the psychological aspects are much worse than the physical limitations of a fat body, which can be considerable. In a world designed primarily, and unapologetically, for the slender, watching out for physical barriers is an on-going worry: tight spaces, small cars, elevators, crowded public transportation (airplanes, especially), and skimpy chairs designed to hold bodies up to 250 pounds – that is, if one is lucky. Once, when I was on my Fulbright in Macedonia, where the population is still relatively slender (although this is rapidly changing), and dining in a small Italian restaurant, I stood up from a rickety plastic armchair to leave, and the chair arose with me. Everyone knows that a chair is not supposed to be a fashion accessory for the posterior, but there I was, sporting a white chair, no less, and trying to wiggle out of ...