So today, due to work-related madness, I found myself in a position to actually make it out to the one place in my area where they've deigned to put a Torrid store. (Seriously, is it because they think we're all farmers who don't care about fashion, or is it because they think we're all skinny? Perhaps from all the farming we do. Give me more cute clothes that fit me, damn it!)
All in all, I thought it was all right. Bought a pair of dark wash skinny jeans, which was the whole reason for my trip in the first place and therefore more successful than at least 75% of my shopping expeditions. I also managed to score a couple of skinny belts for large-shirt-cinching purposes and two new cardigans, one of which is bright red and has a hood. This last might actually represent everything I could ever want in an article of clothing.
ETA: The only thing that could possibly make this sweater any better is if it had pockets. Torrid, call me. I'm doing you a solid. A gift card would not go unappreciated.
Unfortunately--and I don't know if this at all common for Torrid--the store was fairly small so the selection was rather limited. Also disappointing was the color selection. Now, I like grays and muted tones as much as the next girl, but alas, the feeling isn't mutual. When wearing them I tend to look like a three-day-old corpse, which is not actually the look I'm going for. (Though it would make for an interesting Halloween costume, I suppose.) There was very little in the way of bright colors there, my new red sweater being a notable exception. Now, like I said, I have no idea how much of this is just representative of the vagaries of this particular location. Nor can I really say how much of the color choice is due to current fashion trends vs. business as usual. All in all, though, there wasn't really enough there to make me feel like the hour-and-a-half drive (that's per leg, btw, not round-trip) is worth it more than very occasionally.
That said, their rewards program is quite nice, and I'll probably order jeans from their online store if nothing else. (I've been burned too many times to trust ordering things I've never actually tried on.) It's definitely something to keep an eye on, and a good resource for skinny jeans and the occasional bitchin' red sweater.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
Calling Olsen, calling Memphis, I am calling, can you hear this?
So, as I mentioned, my sister's birthday was Saturday. Since we were going to the mall for pedicures anyway, and my bra was very clearly not fitting anymore, I decided that while she was getting her makeup done I would go to Lane Bryant and get some new bras. (Which I did, and oh dear lord, the difference is MIRACULOUS. I am wearing the one that didn't have to get shipped to me right now. Let me tell you, if it were possible to legally marry a piece of clothing, this bra might be it for me.) On the surface, this sounds like a simple enough thing. In reality, though, I knew before we even left the house what would happen, which was that I would walk into the store and either go, "Ugh, everything in here sucks," or else I'd find fifteen to twenty other things to try on. And since I've gone in one too many times thinking, "Oh, that's cute, I'll come back and try it on later," only to find when I do go back in that it is gone forever. This makes me a sad panda. So going in, I knew there was a good chance I'd be trying on clothes.
Thus, the day was already going to be stressful before the Evening Out even began. Because yes, shopping for clothes can be lots of fun, but it can also be absolutely horrifying. There's nothing quite like standing in a tiny room, all of a foot and a half away from the mirror, and trying on item after item that were clearly not designed with you in mind, to completely wreck your self-confidence. It's entirely too easy to see a shirt that looks absolutely adorable on the hanger, get it on only to find that it makes you look like you're pregnant or makes your arms look like a mad Dr. Frankenstein's mistakenly sewn a pair of legs in their place, and immediately start blaming your body. It was incredibly cute on the mannequin, after all; the problem is clearly you.
When this happens once, it's reasonably easy to push it aside. When it happens twice, it starts getting more difficult. When it happens with everything you try on (and yes, I have gone into a dressing room with three armloads of clothes only to come out with nothing) it's fucking devastating.
This shopping trip, as it turned out, was pretty much ideal. I tried on several things, and enough fit to make me feel good and confident and attractive; enough didn't fit, or didn't fit quite right, to keep me from spending way more money than I actually needed to. When something didn't fit, instead of dwelling on the parts of me it didn't flatter, I shrugged, decided it wasn't for me, and moved on.
It sounds simple, doesn't it? It's not. It was really fucking hard. For example, I tried on a pair of leggings that I pretty much already knew weren't going to work, because I figured "Why not?" They managed to highlight pretty much everything I dislike about my legs, and I barely got them all the way on before whipping them back off again. I got that sinking feeling in my gut that happens whenever a part of my body I particularly dislike is thrown into sharp relief. It would have been incredibly easy to let that feeling take me over, to spend the rest of the time looking at my thighs whenever I tried something else on and knowing that they were there, under my jeans, fat and lumpy and ugly. Instead I took a deep (mostly mental) breath and thought, Okay, maybe super-thin, skin-tight leggings aren't designed to flatter me. I just won't wear them. I moved on, and while I still have that image sort of burned into my brain (I've made progress, but I still have a long way to go, body/fat acceptance-wise) I don't find my eyes automatically drawn to or repelled from my thighs when I look in the mirror.
(Okay, I'm going to derail for a moment here to ask: does anyone else remember, in the eighties/early nineties, when "leggings" meant a pair of pants that were sort of thin and stretchy but not, y'know, TIGHTS? What happened there? Seriously.)
So the first hurdle of the day was cleared, and I got some new clothes, including some bras that make my boobs look FANTASTIC. For real, y'all. It's sort of epic. Plus I had soft feet and toes painted a pretty dark blue, and everything was going rather well.
But I still had to get through the part of the day that was tying my stomach into knots whenever I thought about it.
To explain this, it's first necessary for you to realize that though I love my sister dearly dearly dearly, we are two very different people.
I am, quite literally, a Big Damn Geek. I prefer to read books in the Sci-Fi/Fantasy genre; I have held discussions on why that entire genre should probably be more accurately titled Speculative Fiction; I play D&D; I am a Trekkie/Trekker/whatever the hell you want to call it, so clearly I'm not as fanatical as some because I really don't give a damn about the word itself; I read and write fanfic. (Shut up.) I also tend to be--and this may be somewhat unexpected, coming from someone who's decided to start her own blog and toss her opinions out into the often uncaring and hostile land of the internet--extremely introverted.
My sister, on the other hand, has always been one of the Popular Girls. She played soccer and was a cheerleader in high school. She was in a sorority in college. She just finished with esthetics school. (She is also a lovely, warm, wonderful person, and the reason why I will lay a heap of righteous vengeance on anyone who wants to categorically slam cheerleaders, sorority girls, and/or estheticians or cosmetologists. Fair warning.) Her friends are the same type of people; traditionally popular, attractive, and outgoing.
I have never had a bad experience with one of my sister's friends. But I have had bad experiences with people who fit into many of the same categories that they do, and my fear of social situations entirely surrounded by people like that borders on instinctive.
I wasn't afraid of being badly treated, or condescended to, or anything like that. What made me nervous was, quite simply, being out with a group of these women and having to eat in front of them.
I want to say that it's a ridiculous fear to have. I really, really want to. But based on my past experiences, I can emphatically say that it's not ridiculous. What it is, is infuriating. I am a human being. I need food to . . . what was that thing called . . . oh right, live. It's infuriating to me that our society conditions people (female-type people, in particular) to see food as dangerous, as an indulgence, as a handy moral yardstick. As a fat girl, I've spent more years than I care to count carefully monitoring not only my own public food consumption, but how it measured compared to that of every other person in the room. I have turned down food when I was hungry because I didn't want to wonder if I was being judged for saying yes. I've waited to get food until someone thinner than me did, and very carefully gotten only as much as they did, maximum. I've lived terrified to put anything in my mouth in public that wasn't a) liquid, b) visibly non/low-fat, or c) such a tiny amount that I thought it couldn't reasonably effect other people's opinions.
One of the most important things that I'm learning from fat acceptance and demand eating is the ability to say the following phrase. Are you paying attention? This is important. Ready? Okay.
FUCK. THAT.
I've already said it above, but I'll say it again in more inclusive language: We need food to live. Food is not a basis for moral judgment. It's fuel, and it's pleasure, and it's just fucking food. One of the hardest things I'm having to learn is how to actually listen to my body, to accept when I'm hungry and try to work out what it is I'm hungry for. And since I've started, guess what? I'm eating lots of fresh fruit. I'm starting to be able to recognize when I need protein, and when I need carbs, and when I need vitamins, and when I need calcium. I'm also enjoying food more. I accept it when I really, really want a bunch of fresh grapes. I also accept it when I really, really want some macaroni and cheese. This doesn't mean that I don't stop and think and question whether these are things I really do want. But if I decide that yes, my interpretation of what my body's trying to tell me is spot-on, I don't then try to talk myself out of what I want on the grounds that it's fatty or mostly carbs or a goddamned sometimes food.
So when I went out with my sister's friends (all of whom, in addition to being lovely and extroverted, are also quite thin, and I believe three of the four are on Weight Watchers right now), I took a careful look at the menu, took the time to think about what sounded good and what I thought would really satisfy me. I ordered a salad (switched from a house to a Caesar at the last minute because it sounded better, and resulted in me eating the whole thing rather than half or less) and an entree and dessert. I only ate a few bites of the latter, not because I was afraid of what people would think but because that was all I really wanted. And, it should be noted, I ordered the exact same amount of food as my sister despite having ordered first.
Now, I'm sure there's someone out there who's remembering the having fat friends makes you fat "study" and is triumphantly calling out, "Aha! See? She was influenced by your ordering ridiculous amounts of food, and now she's going to get fat and miserable and it will be all your fault." I have two main problems with that. First, I believe that my sister is smarter than that. Second, there were four other thin women there. Even assuming that their body type wasn't the one she consciously wanted to emulate, they outnumbered me four to one. (Five, if you count my sister.) The odds were so stacked against my influence that it would be a ridiculous assumption to make. I'm going to assume, therefore, that you're all too smart for that, as well.
The point here, which I seem to have gotten distracted from making, is that I went out, I was confident in my own choices, and I had fun. Granted, this was a very different environment than if these women had all been strangers who hadn't been pre-screened by my sister for non-douchery. Still, it was a step in the right direction.
If there's anyone out there reading, tell me about your own small steps. What have you done lately that's made you proud of yourself?
Thus, the day was already going to be stressful before the Evening Out even began. Because yes, shopping for clothes can be lots of fun, but it can also be absolutely horrifying. There's nothing quite like standing in a tiny room, all of a foot and a half away from the mirror, and trying on item after item that were clearly not designed with you in mind, to completely wreck your self-confidence. It's entirely too easy to see a shirt that looks absolutely adorable on the hanger, get it on only to find that it makes you look like you're pregnant or makes your arms look like a mad Dr. Frankenstein's mistakenly sewn a pair of legs in their place, and immediately start blaming your body. It was incredibly cute on the mannequin, after all; the problem is clearly you.
When this happens once, it's reasonably easy to push it aside. When it happens twice, it starts getting more difficult. When it happens with everything you try on (and yes, I have gone into a dressing room with three armloads of clothes only to come out with nothing) it's fucking devastating.
This shopping trip, as it turned out, was pretty much ideal. I tried on several things, and enough fit to make me feel good and confident and attractive; enough didn't fit, or didn't fit quite right, to keep me from spending way more money than I actually needed to. When something didn't fit, instead of dwelling on the parts of me it didn't flatter, I shrugged, decided it wasn't for me, and moved on.
It sounds simple, doesn't it? It's not. It was really fucking hard. For example, I tried on a pair of leggings that I pretty much already knew weren't going to work, because I figured "Why not?" They managed to highlight pretty much everything I dislike about my legs, and I barely got them all the way on before whipping them back off again. I got that sinking feeling in my gut that happens whenever a part of my body I particularly dislike is thrown into sharp relief. It would have been incredibly easy to let that feeling take me over, to spend the rest of the time looking at my thighs whenever I tried something else on and knowing that they were there, under my jeans, fat and lumpy and ugly. Instead I took a deep (mostly mental) breath and thought, Okay, maybe super-thin, skin-tight leggings aren't designed to flatter me. I just won't wear them. I moved on, and while I still have that image sort of burned into my brain (I've made progress, but I still have a long way to go, body/fat acceptance-wise) I don't find my eyes automatically drawn to or repelled from my thighs when I look in the mirror.
(Okay, I'm going to derail for a moment here to ask: does anyone else remember, in the eighties/early nineties, when "leggings" meant a pair of pants that were sort of thin and stretchy but not, y'know, TIGHTS? What happened there? Seriously.)
So the first hurdle of the day was cleared, and I got some new clothes, including some bras that make my boobs look FANTASTIC. For real, y'all. It's sort of epic. Plus I had soft feet and toes painted a pretty dark blue, and everything was going rather well.
But I still had to get through the part of the day that was tying my stomach into knots whenever I thought about it.
To explain this, it's first necessary for you to realize that though I love my sister dearly dearly dearly, we are two very different people.
I am, quite literally, a Big Damn Geek. I prefer to read books in the Sci-Fi/Fantasy genre; I have held discussions on why that entire genre should probably be more accurately titled Speculative Fiction; I play D&D; I am a Trekkie/Trekker/whatever the hell you want to call it, so clearly I'm not as fanatical as some because I really don't give a damn about the word itself; I read and write fanfic. (Shut up.) I also tend to be--and this may be somewhat unexpected, coming from someone who's decided to start her own blog and toss her opinions out into the often uncaring and hostile land of the internet--extremely introverted.
My sister, on the other hand, has always been one of the Popular Girls. She played soccer and was a cheerleader in high school. She was in a sorority in college. She just finished with esthetics school. (She is also a lovely, warm, wonderful person, and the reason why I will lay a heap of righteous vengeance on anyone who wants to categorically slam cheerleaders, sorority girls, and/or estheticians or cosmetologists. Fair warning.) Her friends are the same type of people; traditionally popular, attractive, and outgoing.
I have never had a bad experience with one of my sister's friends. But I have had bad experiences with people who fit into many of the same categories that they do, and my fear of social situations entirely surrounded by people like that borders on instinctive.
I wasn't afraid of being badly treated, or condescended to, or anything like that. What made me nervous was, quite simply, being out with a group of these women and having to eat in front of them.
I want to say that it's a ridiculous fear to have. I really, really want to. But based on my past experiences, I can emphatically say that it's not ridiculous. What it is, is infuriating. I am a human being. I need food to . . . what was that thing called . . . oh right, live. It's infuriating to me that our society conditions people (female-type people, in particular) to see food as dangerous, as an indulgence, as a handy moral yardstick. As a fat girl, I've spent more years than I care to count carefully monitoring not only my own public food consumption, but how it measured compared to that of every other person in the room. I have turned down food when I was hungry because I didn't want to wonder if I was being judged for saying yes. I've waited to get food until someone thinner than me did, and very carefully gotten only as much as they did, maximum. I've lived terrified to put anything in my mouth in public that wasn't a) liquid, b) visibly non/low-fat, or c) such a tiny amount that I thought it couldn't reasonably effect other people's opinions.
One of the most important things that I'm learning from fat acceptance and demand eating is the ability to say the following phrase. Are you paying attention? This is important. Ready? Okay.
FUCK. THAT.
I've already said it above, but I'll say it again in more inclusive language: We need food to live. Food is not a basis for moral judgment. It's fuel, and it's pleasure, and it's just fucking food. One of the hardest things I'm having to learn is how to actually listen to my body, to accept when I'm hungry and try to work out what it is I'm hungry for. And since I've started, guess what? I'm eating lots of fresh fruit. I'm starting to be able to recognize when I need protein, and when I need carbs, and when I need vitamins, and when I need calcium. I'm also enjoying food more. I accept it when I really, really want a bunch of fresh grapes. I also accept it when I really, really want some macaroni and cheese. This doesn't mean that I don't stop and think and question whether these are things I really do want. But if I decide that yes, my interpretation of what my body's trying to tell me is spot-on, I don't then try to talk myself out of what I want on the grounds that it's fatty or mostly carbs or a goddamned sometimes food.
So when I went out with my sister's friends (all of whom, in addition to being lovely and extroverted, are also quite thin, and I believe three of the four are on Weight Watchers right now), I took a careful look at the menu, took the time to think about what sounded good and what I thought would really satisfy me. I ordered a salad (switched from a house to a Caesar at the last minute because it sounded better, and resulted in me eating the whole thing rather than half or less) and an entree and dessert. I only ate a few bites of the latter, not because I was afraid of what people would think but because that was all I really wanted. And, it should be noted, I ordered the exact same amount of food as my sister despite having ordered first.
Now, I'm sure there's someone out there who's remembering the having fat friends makes you fat "study" and is triumphantly calling out, "Aha! See? She was influenced by your ordering ridiculous amounts of food, and now she's going to get fat and miserable and it will be all your fault." I have two main problems with that. First, I believe that my sister is smarter than that. Second, there were four other thin women there. Even assuming that their body type wasn't the one she consciously wanted to emulate, they outnumbered me four to one. (Five, if you count my sister.) The odds were so stacked against my influence that it would be a ridiculous assumption to make. I'm going to assume, therefore, that you're all too smart for that, as well.
The point here, which I seem to have gotten distracted from making, is that I went out, I was confident in my own choices, and I had fun. Granted, this was a very different environment than if these women had all been strangers who hadn't been pre-screened by my sister for non-douchery. Still, it was a step in the right direction.
If there's anyone out there reading, tell me about your own small steps. What have you done lately that's made you proud of yourself?
Saturday, October 9, 2010
A day full of challenges
Today is my sister's birthday. Hooray, big sister! ^_^
She and my mom and I are about to head out to get pedicures (because my sister is definitely, unquestionably a girly girl), so I don't quite have time for a full post about all the reasons I'm apprehensive about today. I'll get to that later, probably after the fact, and break it all down for you. For now, I'll just mention my goals for today:
She and my mom and I are about to head out to get pedicures (because my sister is definitely, unquestionably a girly girl), so I don't quite have time for a full post about all the reasons I'm apprehensive about today. I'll get to that later, probably after the fact, and break it all down for you. For now, I'll just mention my goals for today:
- When shopping for clothes (I seriously need a new bra, if nothing else), I will not say things like, "I don't have the legs for that dress" or "My arms don't look good in this top." If something does not fit, or does not flatter me, I will instead say, "That dress does not flatter my legs" or "This top is not right for my arms." It's something I need to be better at: shifting the blame away from my body and onto the real issue, which is clothing that was not specifically designed with me in mind.
- I will not assume that just because my sister and her friends look hot (which I'm certain they will), and I do not look like them, that I am therefore not hot, myself. I will remind myself that there are all different kinds of pretty in the world, and that damn it, I am one of them.
- I will not drink so much that I can not drive us home after dinner.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Monday, October 4, 2010
Fear is only in our minds, but it's taking over all the time
So, first thing, if you haven't already done so, go and read Kate Harding's brilliant piece, "Devouring the World". It's completely and utterly brilliant, and made me choke up a little, and is something I've thought many, many times but not been able to put into words or give much credence because, well, it was probably just me trying to rationalize things, right? Things like eating (OH GOD THE HORROR!) and enjoying food (WHAT AM I, SOME KIND OF MONSTER? TO THINK PEOPLE SHOULD ENJOY FOOD!) and just generally not beating yourself up if you happen to have a goddamned Oreo™.
(Myself, I do not generally buy Oreo™s. I do, however, have a package of double-stuff Kid-Os sitting on my counter right now. I can't tell a difference in taste, and they're ridiculously cheaper. Store-brand FTW!)
(Right. Tangent. Sorry.)
Here at the beginning of my quest for better health and Fat Acceptance, I find myself thinking a lot about diets. For all that I was caught up in the clamor and the clangor of it, I never really stopped to think about the appeal of dieting before. (Not surprising, really; in all likelihood, I needed a certain amount of distance before I could think about it in any rational sort of way.) Considering it recently, I have decided that, for me at least, the main appeal of dieting as opposed to healthy eating and exercise was the privacy.
Whenever I think about this, I think about an episode of Gilmore Girls in which Lorelai pulls something highly unexpected out of her wallet: a gym membership card.
It's played for a laugh (and yeah, it is funny) but . . . well, it's one of those "it's funny because it's true" moments. I can't count the number of times that I thought about going to the gym (long ago, when we had a family membership to one of the local community centers) and decided that no, I couldn't, I was too fat. I'd lose a bit of weight first, and then I'd start working out, and seriously there are so many things wrong with that thought right there I could barely even type it out. And yet I thought that, time and time again.
And why? Because, having been (at least considered) fat all my life, I'd developed a sort of instinctual distrust of any setting where I was expected to be physically active around other people. Even as an adult I couldn't let go of the certainty that every time I moved I was being watched, measured, judged. The threat of insults and catcalls hung over me like the Sword of Damocles, until I was afraid to move at all lest that trigger it to fall. Running and biking and sweating were right out. Might as well hang a sign around my neck saying, "Self esteem dangerously high: please ridicule!"
Diets, on the other hand . . . oh, diets were wonderful things. They took place almost entirely in private, and on the rare occasion they did become public, far from being ridiculed I was lauded! I had such willpower! I was Taking Steps to improve myself! I saved puppies from burning buildings and nut-punched muggers and did it all on half of my recommended caloric intake! Hurrah for me! Added to that was the martyr angle: I was deliberately denying myself things that I enjoyed, things that many people enjoy, and because we've been raised in a culture that encourages a fear of food instead of an understanding of it, what I was doing was Brave and Impressive and Laudable.
Diets, you see, only made me more visible if the viewer so chose and allowed them to frame me in the way that made them most comfortable. They could choose to comment on my eating habits, praise them, or choose to (ostensibly, at least) ignore them. The important thing was that I wasn't getting in their faces with my movement and my sweat and my size 12/14/16/18 body that really, I had no business parading around in public anyway.
Did people actually think any of that? Did anyone actually see me that way? I have no idea. But I also don't know that it really matters. I felt as though they did, and fear of that omnipresent judgment had a profound influence on my actions. Fat shaming doesn't just affect you in the moment; I experienced few overt instances in between elementary school and the end of high school, but that fear never once left me.
I read Kate's article on the tails of all that thinking, and I ended up pondering "devouring the world" and "good foods/bad foods" and "good fatties/bad fatties" when I was at the grocery store this evening.
I had gone for a light bulb and some fruit and ended up with a light bulb, some fruit, a box of tapioca pudding mix, a box of Jiffy cornbread mix, some lettuce, a cucumber, and some deli meat. So I was feeling slightly weak-willed, but still rather proud of myself for making overall healthy choices. (And if resisting tapioca pudding and cornbread muffins is being strong-willed, then fuck it.) When I went to check out I ended up in line behind another woman about my size (I think? I suck at accurately assessing these things.) who seemed to have primarily microwave dinners and other easy-to-prepare things. As I was looking at what she was buying, because I'm a nosy little shit, I noticed that the vast majority of her items were either Weight Watchers-branded, Lean Cuisine, or low-fat/sugar free food.
Now, I've never tried Weight Watchers, or Jenny Craig, or any of the other programs of their ilk. (Not because I didn't think they'd work. After all, I've tried a variety of different diets for years. Usually basic calorie/fat counting, but even though I railed against Atkins as unhealthy and idiotic, I eventually tried a version of the carb-restriction plan. So it wasn't the gimmickyness that turned me off, it was the fact that I simply couldn't afford it.) I've known people who have, though, and I know that the programs are enormously popular. But why are they so popular, when they clearly don't work? Why are things like Slimfast and New Miracle Diet Pill of the Week still selling?
From my standpoint (and no, I have no marketing or business training; but then, neither do most of these companies' customers/consumers), it seems like it comes back to that complex mix of privacy and visibility that comes with all dieting.
See the fat girl at the supermarket. Bad fat girl, bad! Don't you know fatties aren't supposed to eat until they're thin? But wait . . . what's this? Her basket is full of products branded in big, bold letters declaring that they're LOW FAT or LEAN or WEIGHT-LOSS SYSTEM APPROVED! Well, at least she's trying, the poor dear. Keep it up, sweetie, and one day you'll fit into those size 4 jeans!
These products and programs are selling more than just hope: they're selling acceptability. Because as long as you're trying, as long as you're making an effort to be thin, thinner, thinnest, most of society will give you a pass. Keep up the good work, and when you fall off the wagon don't worry, it's okay, it happens to all of us, just climb back on and get going again. Keep making that effort. Listen to that thin person inside of you screaming to get out. Don't, under any circumstances, wholeheartedly accept yourself for who you are and what you look like now.
Those boxes with the recognizable logos say that you're trying. And that's the most important thing. Well, second most important; because really, what people are most concerned about is that you're trying where they can't see you.
(Myself, I do not generally buy Oreo™s. I do, however, have a package of double-stuff Kid-Os sitting on my counter right now. I can't tell a difference in taste, and they're ridiculously cheaper. Store-brand FTW!)
(Right. Tangent. Sorry.)
Here at the beginning of my quest for better health and Fat Acceptance, I find myself thinking a lot about diets. For all that I was caught up in the clamor and the clangor of it, I never really stopped to think about the appeal of dieting before. (Not surprising, really; in all likelihood, I needed a certain amount of distance before I could think about it in any rational sort of way.) Considering it recently, I have decided that, for me at least, the main appeal of dieting as opposed to healthy eating and exercise was the privacy.
Whenever I think about this, I think about an episode of Gilmore Girls in which Lorelai pulls something highly unexpected out of her wallet: a gym membership card.
Luke: You joined a gym?
Lorelai: Yeah.
Luke: When?
Lorelai: After I had Rory, to lose the pregnancy weight.
Luke: Did you go?
Lorelai: God, no. I was way too fat.
It's played for a laugh (and yeah, it is funny) but . . . well, it's one of those "it's funny because it's true" moments. I can't count the number of times that I thought about going to the gym (long ago, when we had a family membership to one of the local community centers) and decided that no, I couldn't, I was too fat. I'd lose a bit of weight first, and then I'd start working out, and seriously there are so many things wrong with that thought right there I could barely even type it out. And yet I thought that, time and time again.
And why? Because, having been (at least considered) fat all my life, I'd developed a sort of instinctual distrust of any setting where I was expected to be physically active around other people. Even as an adult I couldn't let go of the certainty that every time I moved I was being watched, measured, judged. The threat of insults and catcalls hung over me like the Sword of Damocles, until I was afraid to move at all lest that trigger it to fall. Running and biking and sweating were right out. Might as well hang a sign around my neck saying, "Self esteem dangerously high: please ridicule!"
Diets, on the other hand . . . oh, diets were wonderful things. They took place almost entirely in private, and on the rare occasion they did become public, far from being ridiculed I was lauded! I had such willpower! I was Taking Steps to improve myself! I saved puppies from burning buildings and nut-punched muggers and did it all on half of my recommended caloric intake! Hurrah for me! Added to that was the martyr angle: I was deliberately denying myself things that I enjoyed, things that many people enjoy, and because we've been raised in a culture that encourages a fear of food instead of an understanding of it, what I was doing was Brave and Impressive and Laudable.
Diets, you see, only made me more visible if the viewer so chose and allowed them to frame me in the way that made them most comfortable. They could choose to comment on my eating habits, praise them, or choose to (ostensibly, at least) ignore them. The important thing was that I wasn't getting in their faces with my movement and my sweat and my size 12/14/16/18 body that really, I had no business parading around in public anyway.
Did people actually think any of that? Did anyone actually see me that way? I have no idea. But I also don't know that it really matters. I felt as though they did, and fear of that omnipresent judgment had a profound influence on my actions. Fat shaming doesn't just affect you in the moment; I experienced few overt instances in between elementary school and the end of high school, but that fear never once left me.
I read Kate's article on the tails of all that thinking, and I ended up pondering "devouring the world" and "good foods/bad foods" and "good fatties/bad fatties" when I was at the grocery store this evening.
I had gone for a light bulb and some fruit and ended up with a light bulb, some fruit, a box of tapioca pudding mix, a box of Jiffy cornbread mix, some lettuce, a cucumber, and some deli meat. So I was feeling slightly weak-willed, but still rather proud of myself for making overall healthy choices. (And if resisting tapioca pudding and cornbread muffins is being strong-willed, then fuck it.) When I went to check out I ended up in line behind another woman about my size (I think? I suck at accurately assessing these things.) who seemed to have primarily microwave dinners and other easy-to-prepare things. As I was looking at what she was buying, because I'm a nosy little shit, I noticed that the vast majority of her items were either Weight Watchers-branded, Lean Cuisine, or low-fat/sugar free food.
Now, I've never tried Weight Watchers, or Jenny Craig, or any of the other programs of their ilk. (Not because I didn't think they'd work. After all, I've tried a variety of different diets for years. Usually basic calorie/fat counting, but even though I railed against Atkins as unhealthy and idiotic, I eventually tried a version of the carb-restriction plan. So it wasn't the gimmickyness that turned me off, it was the fact that I simply couldn't afford it.) I've known people who have, though, and I know that the programs are enormously popular. But why are they so popular, when they clearly don't work? Why are things like Slimfast and New Miracle Diet Pill of the Week still selling?
From my standpoint (and no, I have no marketing or business training; but then, neither do most of these companies' customers/consumers), it seems like it comes back to that complex mix of privacy and visibility that comes with all dieting.
See the fat girl at the supermarket. Bad fat girl, bad! Don't you know fatties aren't supposed to eat until they're thin? But wait . . . what's this? Her basket is full of products branded in big, bold letters declaring that they're LOW FAT or LEAN or WEIGHT-LOSS SYSTEM APPROVED! Well, at least she's trying, the poor dear. Keep it up, sweetie, and one day you'll fit into those size 4 jeans!
These products and programs are selling more than just hope: they're selling acceptability. Because as long as you're trying, as long as you're making an effort to be thin, thinner, thinnest, most of society will give you a pass. Keep up the good work, and when you fall off the wagon don't worry, it's okay, it happens to all of us, just climb back on and get going again. Keep making that effort. Listen to that thin person inside of you screaming to get out. Don't, under any circumstances, wholeheartedly accept yourself for who you are and what you look like now.
Those boxes with the recognizable logos say that you're trying. And that's the most important thing. Well, second most important; because really, what people are most concerned about is that you're trying where they can't see you.
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