I’m Fat

Today, I am not going to talk about politics–much.   I am not going to talk about sex–much.  Instead, I am going to talk about something personal–mostly.  My weight.  I am not going to tell you how much I weigh because I don’t know.  I have issues with the scale and with eating and with not eating, so it’s best if I don’t have a number upon which to fixate.

What I do know is that I’m fat.  I am not using it as a perjorative; I’m being factual.  Fat means to have much flesh.  That would be me.  Strangely enough, it also means to be fruitful.  That would also be me.  I am fat, and I am fat with ideas.

Kate Harding of Shapely Prose rightly asserts that fat is a neutral adjective in and of itself.  It only became a perjorative when we (probably Americans, though I cannot be sure of this) decided to affix moral weight (hee.  I made a pun) to the word.  Thus, fat became associated with lazy, gluttonous, unable to control oneself, and a whole bunch of other unattractive traits.  On the flip side, we have the jolly fat person–you know, the one who is tolerated because s/he makes us laugh. 

I read Kate’s site every day for about two weeks before I realized that I don’t totally subscribe to the dogma.  In fact, I have difficulty with groups of any kind because each necessarily has to define itself, but then the definition often hardens, casting it into stone.  I had qualms about listening to these women say it’s never ok to try to lose weight because there is no basis that losing weight helps your health, that to think that at all is buying into the patriarchal hegemony, but then they shave their legs and wear makeup.  

I agree that we come in all shapes and sizes.  I agree we can be healthy at any weight, which they advocate.  Where I differ, though, is should I have to be fat if it makes me uncomfortable, just to make a point?  I wore mini skirts when I was younger because I had the bod for it.  An older feminist scolded me, saying, “Why is a feminist like you wearing a skirt like that?”  Mind you, this was through lips which were smeared with bright pink lipstick.  My response to her was, “I got out of the patriarchy because it was constantly telling me what I can and can’t do.  I’ll be damned if I let feminists do the same.”

If you only do everything exactly opposite from the mainstream, then you are just as wedded to the dogma as someone who follows the mainstream religiously.  If I craft my life as a series of ‘don’t do this’, then I am letting them control me as much as if I just did everything they said I should do.  It works in both directions.  In the past ten years or so, young girls are baring more and more (in the media), declaring that they are taking control of their sexuality.  Yet, if they can only feel comfortable taking control of their sexuality by displaying their bodies in public, then they aren’t really in control.  In other words, if you can’t say no, then you’re not truly saying yes.

So, back to the fat issue.  I struggle with it because I have had eating issues for most of my life.  I thought I was monstrously fat as a child/teen, when in actuality, I was plump at most.  My brother is on a kick of posting pics on his Facebook wall of when we were teens and attended church, and I can clearly see that I wasn’t fat.  Fashion-impaired, yes.  Fat, no.  I thought I was, though.

When I went to college, that was a chance to be a different me.  No one knew me (well, mostly no one.  I went to St. Olaf, which is in-state, so a few kids from my high school went there), and I didn’t have to be the fat, dumpy, geeky, Asian girl I had been in high school.  Ok, I couldn’t change the Asian part, but I could change the rest.  I lost 40 pounds in two months, and not in a healthy way,  I cut my hair and began wearing makeup, and I started dressing ‘funky’–which included mismatching earrings.  I also got my ears pierced every time I was bored and couldn’t cut my hair again, so I ended up with nine holes in my two ears by the end of college.

After college, I regained the weight.  I hated it, though I pretended not to care.  A beast, said my inner voices.  You have to lose it.  So I did.  I did it in a ‘healthier’ way, which ended up with me fainting at a dance club because I had skimped on my calories so I could drink that night.  I had lost 67 pounds that time around, and I was aiming for more.  Of course I was, I was always aiming to lose more.  I didn’t want to die like that, though, so I went off the diet, and I slowly started gaining back again.

Now, we are in present time.  I recounted all this to give you some background.  The killer part is that while I feel sexier when I am thin, I feel more sexual with a little meat on my bones.  Kiki likes to joke it’s because all I can think about is food when I’m dieting, but it’s actually true.  When I am on a diet, I look at pictures of food for hours, just salivating over what I can’t have.  I find pictures of food to be sinfully sensual when I am not dieting, and it takes on the quality of pure porn when I am dieting.  It’s forbidden, you see, but it’s oh-so-luscious.  It’s not the most harmful way to pass time, but it’s certainly not the most productive, either.

When I am dieting, all I can think about is food and how my ass is looking.  Actually, I don’ think about my ass because I have a flat ass no matter what.  I think about my stomach, and my thighs, and my bones.  I love it when my bones are poking out.  I would lie in bed at night and trace over my hipbones and my collarbone with my finger.  I would hold my legs up and delight in the space in between them.

Being on a diet takes up all my energy, so it’s a great way to not look at what’s in my life that really does need fixing.  I can do the dieting thing and the weightloss thing.  I am GOOD at that.  It’s something I can control, though not so much since i’ve passed thirty.  It’s awfully seductive, too.  If only I were skinny!  I would get all the sex I could handle; I would get the job I truly desire; I wouldn’t be such a dweeb.  It’s a fantasy, but it’s a strong one.

It doesn’t help that I am Asian.  If there is any culture that deifies the body skinny more than America, it’s Asian culture, specifically East Asian culture.  The last time I was in Taiwan, I was told I couldn’t possibly be Taiwanese (I am) because I was fat, brash, and mouthy.  I wasn’t fat at the time, but Taiwanese women have chicken legs.  Mind you, this was fifteen years ago, but my mom tells me it’s not much different.  She is five-two and tiny, except for her stomach, and she obsesses about her weight.  In fact, when I was seven, she told me I had a pretty face and put me on a diet.  It seems I have been ruled by a diet or completely off the rails for the thirty years since.

Here’s the rub.  I am at that point again.  I truly think that it would be better for me mentally and physically if I lost some weight.  Not a hundred pounds or anything like that, but around twenty pounds.  I am afraid, though.  I know how seductive that fantasy can be.  I don’t know if I can lose weight in a sensible way, and that makes me sad.  Even though I know all the socio-political ramifications surrounding the skinny chicks issue, there’s still a part of me that would like to believe that my life would be perfect–if only I was a size zero.