"Fat Talk"

A friend sent me this article  on "fat talk" earlier in the week. 


I found it interesting, and it came as no surprise.  I remember engaging in "fat talk" with other girls from about age 11 or 12 on.

It might be a form of bonding, but for me, a "plus size" woman, I find it really uncomfortable when grown women, clearly much thinner than I am, talk about "feeling fat" today.  It strikes me as rude--I can't tell if I'm being made fun of or what. My inner thought is, "Well, I'm fat every day, and I still manage to have a fairly productive life!"


My friend pointed out that "fat talk" is usually so focused on the person doing the talking that she may not even realize her words come across as an insult to someone who is heavier.

I am reminded of the scene from the movie Bridesmaids, when the women are sitting down to dinner, and "fat talk" begins.  The heavier character chimes in that, "She's lucky because she never bloats."   Instead of her being the uncomfortable one in the conversation, she turns it around (intentionally or not) and the other (much thinner) women become uncomfortable, and the fat talk ends abruptly. 

I'm not saying we need to walk on eggshells in our conversations with other women, but possibly be mindful of what we are saying, and what we are implying by what is said about ourselves to others.  I think we can all stand more kindness in our lives, particularly kindness to self.

I don't know why it is so difficult to be kind to the person I am every day.  I say things to her that I would never say to a friend or even someone I didn't know well at all.  I am trying harder, particularly when my children are around, to avoid negative talk about the way I look.

My daughter says she likes leaning against my arm because "it's soft, like a pillow."  Not that it's fat and flabby.  That's what I say to myself, even as she's leaning into the place, the curve of my arm, the place she feels most comfortable.  I would rather her remember softness, comfort, and love--not that I never liked my own bare arms. 




 

Wish I may, wish I might...be thin and white?

So this week there was a bit of a hullabaloo about this Dove ad:

Real Beauty Sketches

It sparked lots of lively discussion on my Facebook page as well as others.  My first reaction to the ad was an emotional one.  Tears did well in my eyes a little.  I admit to being far too critical of my own appearance, and I have always been this way.  So, the ad touched a nerve.

Then others wrote rebuttals to the Dove ad, like this one:

Response to Real Beauty Sketches

I think all of it makes for interesting, necessary food for thought about appearance, body image, media, advertising, and being a woman in a culture that glorifies certain physical characteristics, as hard as we might try to "embrace differences."

I think it is fantastic that I see plus-size models more frequently and even know that there is a niche for such models.  I enjoy being able to see what a piece of clothing might actually look like on me.  When I was growing up, I had no such knowledge or images.  But that is coupled with the reality that "plus size" for a model is about a size 8 or so (I've heard).  Hmmmm.

 I think is it fantastic that I see models of various skin tone, hair color, nationality, etc.  But it still seems that a disproportionate number of images are the same old ideal--thin, blond, white.  Is that what our little girl selves still dream about, or is that what the media tells us we should be dreaming about?

I don't know.  I do know that I've been doing some serious soul searching about my own body/appearance hang-ups.  I've got a little girl to raise.  Through all of this I have to ask myself, what will she remember?  Will she chase impossible images and always find herself coming up lacking?  I hope not, but I think at least part of the burden of making sure that doesn't happen falls to me.   

Bathing Beauty

I read this article yesterday, and I am completely inspired by this woman's pictures.

Brittany Gibbons


I am not sure I have ever seen pictures of another woman in this state of undress who so completely represents my body type and skin tone.  So I've decided--this summer I'm going to rock a two piece.  My husband is thrilled.  I'm hoping I won't chicken out. 

Here's the truth:  I have always felt "too big" to wear a two piece, even when I was 18 years old and about 130 pounds.  Even if I felt good about my body, that huge expanse of porcelain white skin from head to toe was just antithetical to what anyone thought looked good.

So I covered up.  I've been "covering up" my whole life.  Now that I'm in my forties, I want to break free.  I want to shed the restrictive skin of giving a damn about what people think of my chubby white self. I want to feel sexy.  I want to be sexy.  I want to believe that I am sexy.

This will be the summer of the two piece.  I don't mean a two piece that covers up my entire torso with a skirt for bottoms.  I want to own it.  Show some skin.

Thank you, Brittany, for your article and your pictures.  We'll see how it goes.  My husband has offered to punch anyone who says something mean to me.

Reality Check

On Saturday, I took my son Tristan to his basketball game.  I only do this on occasion--it's normally something my husband enjoys doing with his fellow basketball-lover, and his games are also often scheduled at the same time as my Saturday Zumba class.   But my husband was not feeling well, so off I went.

As we were driving to the game, I said, "Tristan, I'm excited to see your game today!  I haven't been to one this season."  

"Well, we might lose."  Tristan replied.  "We're playing a black team today, and they're really good!"

I didn't know quite how to respond to that, so I just told him to do the best he could.  Inwardly, the dialogue began.

Oh, no.  He's already absorbing stereotypes about race and sports. What can I do to make sure he doesn't grow up believing generalizations about groups of people? 

It also seems kind of strange that a team of eight and nine year old kids would be all black.  Most of the teams I've seen have been a mix of kids.  And how would he know in advance the team he was playing today was an all black team?  Did someone tell them that?  That's odd.  

I was still formulating the conversation I would have with him later about race and the sports world as we  walked into the gym.  And there they were, the opposing team, wearing black uniforms.  All kinds of kids wearing black uniforms.

Score:
Tristan, 1  (being a kid)
Mommy, 0  (over-thinking)

Though the conversation about stereotyping is one I'm sure we will have to have at some point, Saturday was not the day.

My son's blue team stomped the black team, and my son scored his first basket of the season!  I was elated I was there to see it.