Thin Privilege and Fat Discrimination

My friend Amanda posted this (click here to read it) on her Facebook wall a while back, and it's been resonating with me since then. I've been meaning to write about it for some time, but, you know...life happens.

While I can certainly understand the "feeling" of being fat, and I respect mostly every woman's opinion of her own body (because I get it, completely, and how you feel about your body is what matters, so if you're not happy with it, I fully encourage you to change it, whether you feel like you need to lose 5 pounds or 500 pounds, or tone your thighs, or Botox your forehead or whatever), Dolly really does hit the nail on the head with this.

Women who are thin and complain about "feeling fat" have NO idea what it is truly like to walk through life with the burden of extra weight. I remember being thin for about seven minutes in my 20's, and I can tell you from experience that LIFE IS DIFFERENT when you're thin. People's perceptions, reactions, and interactions with you are worlds apart when you're not packing muffin tops and an ass the size of Nebraska. And whether you choose to believe that or not, or want to bury your head in the sand and proclaim fat discrimination to be a figment of imagination or some made-up fear by those lacking self-esteem, it's the truth.

I'm actively losing weight (again - dieting seems to be somewhat of a lifelong sport for me), but I'm still a fat girl. I'm not going to list numbers and stats and all that, but suffice to say I'm "plus sized," even after losing 51 pounds. I would really rather NOT be plus-sized, and having been any number of sizes ranging from 6 to 22, I can tell you toward which end of the spectrum I'm happier on (hint: it ain't the double digits). And while I'll admit that a size 6 is dreamy, it isn't realistically maintainable; it requires me to dip down into the 120's, and honestly my body simply won't go that low and stay there for any length of time unless I decide I can subsist on iceberg lettuce and amphetamines. If history is any indication, 140 is about where I should be, where I've previously felt best about myself, and where I fit comfortably into a size 8 or 9. At that weight, I've "felt" fat (while standing next to a 120-pound, size-6 woman, usually), but I knew in all honesty that no one was looking at me in public and instantly branding me with the Fat Lady! label. And this is where Dolly speaks fucking gospel.

I'm not going to rehash all the points she already made. That's why I linked back to her blog. I can only tell you that when I was reading it, I kept thinking, "Oh, man...yes. Yep. Uh-huh. Yeah, that's how it really is." Spot. On.

You know, all things considered, I'm a relatively fabulous individual. I'm educated. I'm intelligent. I have a variety of interests that keep me busy. I have an enormous circle of excellent friends and an ever-expanding social and professional network. I'm employed, independent, and self-sufficient. I'm a decent conversationalist and I can hold a small crowd in social settings. I'm the "lively center of attention" type, the funny girl who isn't afraid to crack a joke at anyone's (including - and especially - her own) expense. I'm cute. I have nice eyes. My teeth are straight, white, and all there. I have great boobs. And I never, ever leave the house is pajama bottoms.

I'm also fat.

So when people see me in public (and you can deny this until you're blue in the face, but you'd be incorrect), I am willing to put hard cash on the bet that they aren't thinking, "Oh, that woman looks like a creative person" or "I bet that girl would be a lot of fun at a party." IF they're thinking anything at all (because, after all, there's no one quite as invisible as the largest person in the room), they're thinking, "Slob," or maybe "Jesus, I wonder how many eggs she eats for breakfast." (For the record: one. Over easy. With sprouted grain toast. Dry. And black coffee).

Okay, so maybe they're not even thinking that deeply. Let's forget for a second that we're talking about anyone with people-watching tendencies, and just go with first impressions. Or first descriptors. Do you think when people describe me they say, "the redhead with the glasses?" Of course not. They say, "The, uh, heavyset gal with the red hair and the glasses." They say, "That fat girl in my Animation class." Because I'm not the only redhead with glasses, but I AM the only fat one - or at the very least, the fattest.

I am sure that most of the people who are closest to me pay little attention to my weight. They know me, they like me, and while I have had some very close friends and family members express concern for my health, I like to think that none of them refer to me as "my fat friend/daughter/sister Deedee." But the rest of the world is not so forgiving. So rock on, Dolly. And those of you who feel fat in your single-digit sizes yet have never known the sensation of the floor shaking when you walk across it or endured the disparaging looks from random strangers, or been rejected by a potential date because of your size, suck it up. You're beautiful. And privileged.