I am fat, it is no secret. I should not look at a mirror and see only creases, unsightly curves or fabric slowly sinking into the folds of my skin. I should not bow my head in defeat whenever I see a scale’s numbers race into the deep hundreds. I should not feel ashamed taking the tray of food I ordered from the cash register to my table. But, as much as I fight it, sometimes I do, and so do countless others.
It shouldn’t be this way.
Being called the “fat” kid all my life has necessitated my having thick skin, literally and figuratively. There’s nothing wrong with being fat, we’re just made to think that being fat is objectively wrong. That makes all the difference.
When you grow up with the ideal body being shown to you from left and right, it becomes difficult to not think about your own body. Hearing, “Get thinner, get the girl,” “Go green, lose that fat,” or “Exercise, you’ll feel better,” you begin to hear instead, “Starve, you’re not normal,” “Lose weight, you look disgusting,” “Stop eating, you’re not natural.”
Being called fat is not merely being called fat. Being called fat is saying, “You look unattractive,” “You look unhealthy,” “You are unsightly,” “You should control what you eat,” “You are ugly.”
Our social aversion towards being of a larger size has perpetuated a world of anxiety, depression, and constant self-loathing. “Never call a girl fat,” they would say. “Do I look fat?” they would ask frantically. “You don’t look fat!” they would explain. It rings in dismay; it tinges our ears and our spirit. This is what we think, or more accurately, this is what we were programmed to think.
Programmed by a multi-billion industry that has proclaimed, nay, decreed the ideal body. An industry that has said that beauty is skin-deep only if you can fit into our skinny jeans. An industry that has made food unattractive, simplified to a prescribed plate of nutrients. An industry that has given us all the scientific evidence, but at the price of our self-esteem, self-efficacy, and to some extent, dignity. An industry that has made us forget that we are all different—that regardless of how we look, we are all equally human.
This has made us apologize for every utterance of the word. It’s scandalous, hazardous even. We have to hold an exhibition of vocabulary acrobatics just to traipse from offense. Words like plus-size, full-bodied, and chunky have come to take its place. These words, their mere existence, has proven that we have come to fear “fat”.
It should be realized that vanity is plural. Our bodies are modeled differently, they should be appreciated accordingly. Children should not feel insecure, teenagers should not feel unnatural, people should not feel grotesque. It should be that we are able to feel proud of our bodies, our varied beings, without asking otherwise.
“Fat” should not be hidden beneath euphemisms and subtle injections. It should be celebrated, loved, appreciated. “Fat” should be released from every shackle that society has chained upon it—it should be used in unabashed freedom. It should be that when we say we are fat it is in nauseating positivity. Imagine a day when a compliment is worded as, “Wow, you’re so fat!” Imagine a day when we can freely look at the mirror and look at our stomachs without feeling the need to hide it. Imagine a day when we can be simply—and resolutely—content. Imagine.
Being obese and being fat are two completely different things. The former is, objectively-speaking, a life-threatening condition that has serious repercussions to your organs. I won’t list them anymore as this should come to you as a no brainer.
Given that, I’m not putting shame on one’s weight. However, it would be unwise to shrug off the consequences of being obese, not on the basis of what is ‘socially acceptable’ but due to its long-term effects on you health-wise.
If that should come to no concern to you, then go on with your immoderation. I give you my best wishes.