Two Girls, Fat and Thin

At breakfast in the cafeteria today, I was reading an article bemoaning the obesity of contemporary Americans, when I discovered the fun fact that the average female weight in the U.S.  is 165. For a beautiful five seconds or so, I basked in the knowledge that I was average---AVERAGE! Not fat--until I realized that the whole point of the 165 statistic was "can you believe it? The average American woman weighs 165 lbs! That's what a bunch of lard asses we are in the United States." Bubble burst, I sulked and continued stuffing my face with cinnamon chocolate cream cheese coffee cake. There was no way that article was going to ruin my breakfast.

I have weighed a lot more than 165, and I have weighed at lot less. In my early twenties, when I often forgot to eat and lived on Diet Coke and cigarettes, I weighed 95 lbs. Friends would whisper amongst one another, worriedly. "Does she know she's skinny? Is she anorexic?" Yes, I knew it. My elbows were razor sharp weapons and my neck was an alarming canvas of veins and tendons. Was I anorexic? No. Unless being an idiot and only eating Cheetos and Taco Bell every three days constitutes an eating disorder. I was skinny because my dad was skinny, because my metabolism was that of a coked up gerbil, because I didn't eat anything nutritious, because I smoked. You couldn't find a less virtuous thin person than I was in 1992.

At the height of my depression several years back, I weighed close to 200 lbs. I was a miserable couch potato that ate and drank her feelings, whose only exercise was pushing the elevator buttons and raising her beer stein. I watched a lot of television. I spent a lot of time on the Internet. I read articles about how I should love my body no matter what its shape or size, about how some dudes dig fat chicks, about how womanly curves were sexy. I learned that weight was not a moral issue. I learned that my skinny friends were totally fat-positive. All these attempts to bolster my self esteem were for naught--I was miserable. I hated my self and my life, and it was especially aggravating not to be able to find any pants that fit.

Over the past year, I've changed my lifestyle significantly. I've given up alcohol, and made a conscious effort to eat more kale. I run about two miles three times a week. I try to climb stairs whenever possible. I'm off a troublesome medication that I'm pretty sure helped me be "less active" and more fat in the first place. So my weight has gone down, but slowly. I still eat crappy food sometimes and I eat a hell of a lot of sweets. I am no longer miserable. I am without a doubt more virtuous with regard to my health and diet. And yet, I am not thin by any stretch of the imagination.

Do I wish I weighed less and were thinner? Well, in a word, yes. I do. My fat-positive skinny friends want me to embrace health and not scale numbers, and I know they are right. At the same time, I still carry around a fair amount of self-loathing and shame because HELLO have you taken a look at what our culture does to women, let alone fat women? To love one's body no matter its size or shape is a tall order when you are not thin, and no amount of fat positivity expressed by friends will make it better. In fact, it sometimes feels callous, like "why don't you love your body? You should love your body! Look at me, I love my body, and you can too if you only just try hard enough." Loving your body when you are fat requires being a fat positive warrior every day in a culture that systematically shames you. Some days you don't feel like it. Some days, in fact, you'd rather laugh about it and make jokes about the size of your ass. Because that ass is hilarious, actually.

The Louie episode where Sarah Baker schools Louis CK about fat women is one of the few cultural interventions that gets it right. It is ridiculous (and sexist) that fat men get to complain about being fat while fat women are expected to be all earnest and fat positive, or else call the suicide prevention line. My ass is fat. It is funny, because I can run and eat all the kale I want, and it is always the same. While it makes an outstanding cushion in the bleacher seats, it's also extremely difficult to clad in jeans. I don't like my ass a lot of the time, but I find it funny. Also, there is nothing wrong with my self esteem. Just because I make fun of my own ass does not mean I hate myself. In fact, I have too much self esteem because I honestly believe that I am so hilarious and hardworking and kick ass that I DESERVE cake and ice cream.

It's all relative, of course. While I'm a stone cold fox in my Iowa hometown, I'm the "fat mommy" in west LA. All of the midriff baring athletic types in Madison have an adorable beer and cheese curd baby cascading over the band of their running shorts. Any one of us might be considered skinny or fat in different contexts. Skinny sistern, we do seriously love you guys. It is awesome that you dig our fat breasts. We will flash them at you any time you ask. You can watch t.v. while laying your cute bony skull on our curves every night if you want to. The thing is, we know you love us. We make you look even skinnier! (Kidding...kidding.) No, you love us because we are funny and smart and kind and throw great parties and read great books and entertain you. We are awesome. Of course you love us. We love us too! And dessert. We really, really love dessert. And you, of course. We love you.

But let us bitch about being fat every now and again. Because it's so stupid it's funny. Losing weight is utterly ridiculous and has nothing to do with self esteem or even healthy habits. I eat so much dessert it's ridiculous and the scale doesn't move either up or down. I had a hot dog last night and was four pounds heavier this morning. Nothing makes sense or computes. I gave up sugar and gained weight. I returned to eating sugar and lost weight. I ate little but kale for weeks and only lost a pound. I can run every day and it does absolutely nothing for my weight...though it is great for my depression. In any case, you either have to laugh or complain, and both are more fun and less tedious than trying to love our bodies just the way they are.

It's not to say we won't get there. But (at least for now) fat ladies are on a different trip than thin ladies, with ice cream roadblocks and body-shaming billboards every few feet. It would be nice to switch paths with y'all thin mofos sometime, but since it ain't gonna happen, let's just shout jokes across the median strip at one another.

And throw us some donuts! Because we deserve them.