I want to continue with my thoughts from yesterday’s post about my eating disorders, but take this post in a slightly different direction. Several years ago, I became aware of the fat acceptance movement, and I was intrigued. As an aside, I didn’t know that it started back in 1967, and I would agree that a lack of continuity in a movement happens when the current participants are unaware of the history of said movement. If you were to ask me to define the movement, I would say that one of the main tenets is changing society’s bias against fat people while simultaneously becoming internally comfortable with the messages of the movement because it’s just as hard to change one’s own mind, especially when you’re bombarded with messages to the contrary on a daily basis. I would add that less formally, it’s being a cheerleader for fat people. In fact, I thought the name of the movement was the fat positive movement, which is very different than the actual name, which is the basis of this post.
At the time when I discovered this movement, roughly six or seven years ago, I stumbled on a blog that was dedicated to it. On this blog, commenters were not allowed to talk about diets or ways to lose weight at all. The reasoning being that oftentimes, women disguise their body hatred by talking about losing weight in terms of the health benefits. In addition, it’s so culturally acceptable to be constantly dieting, they may not even be aware that their desire to be healthy masks a deeper desire to be not fat. So, even people who talk about how much healthier they feel when they, say, are eating carrots all day long, probably harbor some anti-fat feelings underneath all their healthy talk. Banning all talk about dieting and losing weight circumvents that slippery slope, and I had no problem with it. As the proprietor pointed out, there are plenty of dieting websites if someone wants to brag about how she exists on three stalks of celery a day.
I started having a problem with the emerging rigidity of the blog herd mentality, which was that you should never talk about someone’s weight or looks. Ever. Also, that there are no risks associated with being overweight, no matter how obese the person is. The sizable medical evidence to the contrary was dismissed as just perpetuating the bias. Someone having weight loss surgery was seen as a traitor as, you can probably guess this, the blog didn’t consider any reason to have the surgery as valid.Anyone who tried to argue any of these points was told that she could find other blogs which supported her point of views, which usually caused the person to leave, making the inner circle more and more homogeneous. I became uncomfortable with the ‘think like us or get us’ mentality, so I stopped reading the blog because I felt it was stifling me.
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Important Note: I would like to thank Rubo for the birthday box she sent me. I am touched by how carefully she chose the items for me. In one case, the bracelet, she made it herself. She included writing journals (including a wicked awesome black one), calligraphy pens, newspapers she wrote/edited, and other thoughtful gifts. To top it off, she included a treasure chest and a framed picture of Alan Rickman. The last item made me laugh out loud in pleasure. I had tears in my eyes as I opened the box. I am grateful to have a friend like Rubo in my life–compassionate, funny, warm, tender-hearted, and true. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Rubo. I so appreciate you.
So. I went to the family dinner tonight (mini, mom’s side). It was at an Italian-like food place named Morita’s. Don’t ask because I don’t know why an Italian place has a Japanese name. Anyway, I was pretty much defeated by the rest of the day, so I just went (I had originally told my mom that I didn’t want to go). I had to eat dinner, anyway. I met another cousin I hadn’t seen in at least fifteen years if not twenty, and he looked great. He’s twenty-three and doing his mandatory military service so he had to eat and run. He was pretty cool. There were only two sisters (including my mom) and one brother at first, and then the eldest brother and his wife showed up. The dinner was in their honor because they were visiting Taiwan as well. The wife had cancer a few years back and wasn’t expected to make it. She did, and she’s in remission now. Anyway, she is one of those full warpaint, dyed hair, dress to the nines kind of women who desperately tries to look thirty years younger.
One hour. That’s all it took before I felt like a big, ugly oaf. That is when my mom brought out the clothes she had brought from Taiwan for me. This year, the fashion over there is skinny pants coupled with long, slim shirts. Now, even in my best of times, that is not a look that works for me because I have BOOBS and HIPS which most women over the age of twelve have. Well, except in Taiwan, apparently.
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.