(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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