Fat is not a Four-Letter Word

There was a lot of talk in certain circles of the internet this week surrounding a (now deleted) youtube video by popular vlogger Nicole Arbour entitled “Dear Fat People”. In the video, Arbour spends long minutes telling fat people they are fat, and should be ashamed of being fat because it’s gross, and don’t we love ourselves enough to be thin? She’s calling it comedy, satire, a funny way to tackle what she thinks is a serious subject.

I call it bullying.

(This might not seem relevant to this blog about singledom, but bear with me.)

Look, I’m fat.

I have friends and family who cringe when I use that word, because they don’t think of me as “fat”. They don’t look at me and see a fat person. “You’re not fat, you’re adorable,” they’ll say, and I’ll reply “No, I am totally fat. I am a fat person.”

It’s jarring for them to hear, because fat is not a thing society wants a person to be.

A number of my friends and family end up falling in to two camps: the ones who argue that I cannot be fat, because that is an insult, and they love me too much to insult me like that, and the ones who concern troll me about my weight, because they love me so much and every fucking thing in society tells them that Fatty Fatsons like myself are doomed to die young from being fat. Either way, what comes across to me, as a fat person, is that being fat is not okay. That the person I see when I look in a mirror is upsetting to a lot of people. That I do not fit within the prescribed limits of what is okay for humans to be.

Arbour’s video is the pinnacle of this. It’s thoughtless, and it’s hurtful, and I am 100000% glad it’s gone from the internet (at least for now).

Look, if you have ever told a fat friend “you’re not fat, you’re lovely!”, please know that I know you are trying to be very nice to a person you like a lot, but it’s doing the opposite. Also, please think about what that means for you in the world. If you refuse to see your lovely, smart, talented, cute friend as fat, even when they are pretty obviously fat, think about what that means for how you see fat people you don’t know.

Here’s a quick exercise: think about the people in your life. I am going to bet that there is at least one (probably more than one) who is fat, and who you love. Think about if you didn’t know that person and saw them on the street. Think about what you would think when you looked at them. When you looked at their body. Think about if you would be judging them, about if you would point them out to your friends and whisper “oh, shit, some people should not wear leggings." What if you saw your fat friend in a restaurant enjoying some (probably well-earned and certainly delicious) french fries? If they were a stranger, would you frown at them, thinking “of course they’re fat, look at what they’re stuffing into their mouth!” What if your friend was a stranger in a bar, and bought you a drink? What would your gut reaction be?

This is why it hurts so much being told you’re not fat by people you care about.

You, as a fat person, now know that this person doesn’t want you to be fat because they know what fat people are, they know how lazy they are, how much they don’t care about themselves. They know that fat people are an eyesore. They know how gross fat bodies are, and that they’d never want to see one naked. And they don’t see those characteristics in you, but instead of re-evaluating how they think about fat people, they just re-categorize you as “not fat.”

And here we go: relevance!

I went to the beach this weekend with some wonderful friends. I spent hours laying in the sun and splashing in the waves and having heart-to-hearts and laughing a whole bunch. One of my friends had her new camera with her. “Let me take your picture,” she said, and I looked her with my floppy hat on, and I smiled. It was a good day.

She sent me the picture last night with the note “You’re so cute!” In the photo, I’m smiling in my sunglasses and my pink straw hat. You can see the dark spots of my moles. You can see my saggy double chin, and the roll of fat along my neck as I turned to smile at her camera. It’s a headshot - you can’t even see my body south of my sternum. But I looked at that photo and I thought, “Oh, fuck. Fuck. Is that what I looked like out there, on the beach all day?” I was nauseous.

I forgot I was fat yesterday. I didn’t think I looked like that on the beach because I felt whole and right and unashamed of my happiness, and fat people aren’t supposed to feel those things. But that photo is proof of my constant fatness, and my reaction to it is proof of my own unease with that, no matter how much I try to be body positive.

I call this blog “circumstantially single” because it is. It’s mostly circumstantial that I haven’t met the right person for me. I am an extrovert; I love parties and meeting new people and making them laugh. But if I didn’t admit that I’m worried (ashamed, terrified) that part of the reason I’m single is because I’m fat, I would be lying to you.

I’m not single just because I’m fat. I know that well enough because I have a lot of happy, fat friends who are not single! They have found people - fat people, thin people, all sorts of in-between people - who love them and desire them and make them feel special and beautiful. And who, I am assuming (hoping?), don’t spend a lot of time telling them they are not fat.

Because they are fat. And also smart and kind and generous and sexy and funny and all the other things that people can be.

But I am terrified (worried, ashamed) that for every person who knows me, who adores me and laughs at my jokes and compliments my outfits, and tells me I’m not fat - for every one of those people, there are a hundred to whom I am the stranger in a restaurant, with my plate of fries. That one of those people - hell, more than one! - could have been “the one” for me, if only I’d been less fat, and they’d seen me like my friends see me.

I am ashamed (terrified, worried) that I have thought that same thing about a person in a restaurant, or someone buying me a drink at a bar. Because fat people, well. We fat people judge fat people just as much as non-fat people do. And one of those fat people could have been “the one”, and I let them get away because ew, they’re fat.

That is gutting, to me. That is the worst thing I can imagine, and I imagine it often.

So, for me, being fat is somehow still mentally tied to be single. For me, fatness is still something that I struggle with. Finding myself sexy is easy when my only view of myself is my ample cleavage in a cute rockabilly dress covered in polkadots. But then I pass a window on my walk to work and catch my reflection - sideview, always the least flattering - and I am jolted by that same grim realization all over again. I may have great boobs, but I’m still fat.

And if I don’t think I’m sexy in this rockabilly dress, who the fuck else is going to?

Some takeaways, if you’ve made it this far:

If you don’t think any of your friends are fat, take another look, and then think about what that means for your ideas about fat people. (If you don’t think any of your friends are fat and none of them are fat, you’re possibly an asshole who judges people more by what they look like and less by the awesomeness of their insides.)

If you’re fat, you probably have the same ideas. I know I still do, even when I’m trying not to. Be aware of them, and how it affects how you see other people, and how it affects how you see yourself when you look in the mirror.

If you’re fat and people you love tell you you’re not, it’s okay to tell them they’re wrong. It’s okay to say “I am fat AND adorable, thank you very much!” It’s okay to jar them a little bit. It’s okay to be fat. The person you see in the mirror is okay. More than okay - your body is lovable and good and an acceptable way to be a human. (Read ‘Lessons from the Fat-O-Sphere’ if you want to get a good head start on loving your big, fat self.)

Learning to love yourself is like a game of Shoots and Ladders. You move up and up and up and love yourself more and more and more, and suddenly one random toss of the dice sends you whooshing down some shoot, pushes you back to where you were ten turns ago. That kindly-sent photo from my friend was a crappy roll of the dice for me. Arbour’s “Dear Fat People” video might have been that crappy roll of the dice for a whole lot of people this week. But there’s no other way to win the game other than to keep on rolling the dice, and so I shall.

PS - I am not going to spend any time talking about why I’m fat, or how long I’ve been fat, or what I’ve done to become less fat. It doesn’t matter, is the thing. People who care enough to get to know me learn those things. People who don’t, well. That’s the problem, isn’t it.