The Fat and the Furious: 2 Fat 2 Furious

Michelle Weber,

Here’s a thing that happened once.

I was walking down Union Square West in New York City with my husband. It must have been June, because it was the kind of warm weather where you could meander around reveling at the heat on your shoulders without being accosted by the humid garbage funk of Late Summer in the City. We had just done something normal-weekend fun — a movie? A book shopping spree? An afternoon in the park? — and were on our way to dinner, standing at a light and waiting to cross 14th.

I remember what I was wearing; it was a pair of cargo pants with the ankles rolled up into high waters, and an orange tank top. I remember that I really loved that tank top. I remember that I was fat, because I have literally been chubby-to-fat for my entire life.

A guy walked up to me while we stood talking about whatever we’d just done or what we were about to do and enjoying togetherness and sunshine. He was a white guy of a particular age and social milieu, the kind of guy one might call a bro or a white hat, but who I will call “A Raging Jackwagon*.” Anyway, Jackwagon was really not into the idea of fat women parading around the streets of New York, upper arm fat all akimbo, having fun and not appearing to think about or be ashamed of or hide their fatness, and taking a valuable non-fat man off the relationship market, most likely through witchcraft. So he walked up to me, grabbed my stomach with both hands, squeezed and shook it a little, and said, “You should really take up smoking.”

(The joke’s really on him, though: little does he know that I’m almost always thinking about, ashamed of, or trying to hide my fatness.)

Let me reiterate: a complete stranger felt it was so important that I be publicly made to feel terrible about being fat grabbed a part of my body with both hands. Not touched, or patted, or poked, but grabbed and hung on; like I said, I’m fat, so that’s something you could do, if you were A Raging Jackwagon. And pinched it to cause extra discomfort, and shook it to make it jiggle a little, because OMG gross. And suggested that it would be preferable that I engage in a known lethal behavior, because then I would either be (1) less fat, or (2) dead, and people wouldn’t be forced to see me in public.

Two or three of his friends (the Jackwagonettes) stood nearby, laughing and congratulating him on his brave, trenchant bit of social commentary-slash-performance-art. (“Unorthodox and provocative!” said Manhattan Jackwagon Weekly.)

* * * *

What does one do in these situations? I’ll tell you what I did: I froze, until he let go of me — in real time, the whole thing probably only lasted a second or two. Then I walked as fast as I could in the opposite direction from the one he and his friends took, although that hadn’t been the way I’d was going. Then I cried. Then I got on the subway and went home, because being out and about in the world — let alone eating out and about in the world — was no longer on the evening’s agenda.

Mission accomplished, Jackwagon: no other unsuspecting dude would be forced to behold my obscene girth on this night! I hope this got you one step closer to earning your Advanced Raging Jackwagon merit badge.

* * * *

Since that night, I’ve been trying to not hate my body; one day I’d like to love it, but baby steps and all, so I’m shooting for not actively thinking it’s grotesque. I spend a lot of money that a person who didn’t hate herself might use for trips to Bali or Macchu Picchu on therapy co-pays. I read fat-positive Tumblrs and look at pictures of fat women wearing crop tops to try and normalize fat bodies. I force myself to look at my body in the mirror and wait for my inner Jackwagon to say something negative, and then tell myself that that is not my real voice. It’s starting to work, a little bit. I mean, I recently purchased a strapless romper, so either something is shifting or I’ve had a small stroke that impairs my sartorial judgement.

My reactions to the Street Jackwagon eat at me, though. Why didn’t I shove him? Give him the finger? Destroy him with a devastatingly witty insult that would garner me the grudging respect of the Jackwagonettes, then stroll proudly away, hand-in-hand with my loving, not-fat husband to proudly eat a cheeseburger? Because surely, if I loved myself, I would have done those things, and if I can’t contemplate doing those things, I don’t yet love myself.

When I think about what life might be like if I were truly at peace with my body, I think that things like this would just roll off my back. I’d yell back. I wouldn’t cry; my night wouldn’t be ruined. (Night, ha: my week, my month, my year.)

The other thing that nags is the second, more secret part of my reaction: that he was kinda right. Perhaps the way he chose to express it via bodily assault was… ill-advised, let’s say, but the underlying premise was valid: I’m too fat. It’s gross. I should cover it up. I’m too big, and not the marginally-acceptable-ish kind of female big, with an hourglass figure and a real waist and a defined jawline and I’d be so pretty if I just lost a little weight; I’m the worst kind of female big, with a sizeable, droopy gut and no hips and a chubby face.** No one wants to have to look at me. I should do something about it, anything.

(Joke’s on him for the second time: I’ve been trying to do something about it since I was eight years old! Ha, I’m laughing so hard I’m crying.)

I had no comeback because you don’t need a comeback when someone has a fair point. Because you don’t grow up fat and not internalize the the constant message that you are disgustinglazystupiduglysmellywrong. Which is just another way of saying: I deserved it.

* * * *

The weird thing is that while I sometimes try to disguise my fat rolls — I’m just gonna say it: yeah, I have rolls*** — I don’t generally try to shrink myself as a person. Even if I wanted to, it’s impossible; I’m almost six feet tall, so I’m roughly the size and shape of a professional linebacker. And yet, my brain still thinks that if I can arrange the drape on my t-shirt just so, it will create the illusion that I’m the “okay” kind of big.

(I’d like a FitBit that tracks the energy expenditure of a fat person tugging at her clothing over one 24-hour period; I bet it’d be shocking. But then we’d probably just get a bunch of magazine articles about Fidgeting your way to a beach bod!, so maybe not.)

The tank top I was wearing that night was well-worn and loved, washed to a thinned-out softness, not capable of obscuring the rolls. It put my fatness on display, so what did I think would happen?

* * * *

When I read this back, “I didn’t fight back,” “I deserved it,” and “Look at what I was wearing; what did I think would happen?” sound suspiciously like the sort of victim-blaming statements we would rightfully decry in another context. And if a friend told me this story, that’s what I would tell her. Not because I want to equate this experience with a sexual assault, but because the simple facts of your body and how you choose to clothe it are never invitations for someone to treat you inappropriately. Because when someone lays hands on you, unexpected and unwelcome, freezing is a normal, protective bodily reaction and not a sign of your weakness or complicity.

I would tell her how sorry I was that this happened, and try to help her see the encounter for what it was: a Raging Jackwagon being a Jackwagon, and not a public referendum on her acceptability as a person. I would try to help her see herself for who she is: a woman trying to get through a shocking and publicly hurtful episode, and not an object of justifiable scorn.

I would tell my younger that, if I could. I tell my current self; I mostly believe it.

I’m sorry, younger self. I’m sorry, current self.

* * * *

Man, remember when I used to write mostly funny, entertaining things? Those were good times.

*Non-gendered insults FTW.

**And slammin’ hamstrings and super strong lats and excellent cholesterol levels but no one can see that; maybe I should get my bloodwork results printed on a t-shirt. And yargh, why do I feel like I need to qualify this at all, because every person of every shape and health status should be able to walk down the street without being accosted. This whole “But I’m a good fatty!” trope is bullshit, but that’s another post. Normal triglyceride levels are not a prerequisite for humanity.

***That actually felt really good to say out loud, so I’m gonna say it again. I AM A FAT PERSON. I HAVE ROLLS OF FAT. THEY ARE ME, AND I AM THEM, AND THERE IS NOT A THIN PERSON TRAPPED INSIDE THEM TRYING TO GET OUT.****

****Goddamn, I love a footnote.

88 Comments

  3. Like Pam Kocke above, I keep typing and deleting, typing and deleting trying to get my feelings into words. 1st, hon, you’re still funny AF. You’re also capable of sharing yourself in powerful and personal ways that expose the pain and the joy of working out how to live your best life. You’re an inspiration to this random internet stranger. Keep loving all of your awesome selves.

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  4. For what it’s worth, he’s an asshole and every day he wakes up he’s still an asshole. Which is probably not a lot of fun, even if he tries to pretend it is. In case that’s some kind of consolation.

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  6. I don’t like this, I love this.
    I don’t like what happened, I love that you’re speaking up about it.

    I worked with this woman, briefly, exactly five days, and let me tell you, she is smart as a whip and my organization lost a lot when she left.
    I’m surprised she didn’t have a quick comeback, because she’s that smart.
    I’m not surprised at all because it was such an invasion.
    I’m surprised she didn’t mention her husband, other than to say she was walking with him when this happened, and I wondered what he did or didn’t do.

    I’m really surprised that Raging Jackwagon had the nerve to do that WHEN ANOTHER MAN WAS WITH HER. These things are usually reserved for women when they are alone. By alone, I mean, with no man by their side, because Jackwagons are normally cowardly jerks.

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  7. You are obviously a good person. The raging Jackwagons of the world are mean, nasty little people who are no good to anyone. You should have gotten his name and charged him with assault.

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  8. (I’d like a FitBit that tracks the energy expenditure of a fat person tugging at her clothing over one 24-hour period; I bet it’d be shocking. But then we’d probably just get a bunch of magazine articles about Fidgeting your way to a beach bod!, so maybe not.)

    😶😶😶

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  9. I, for one, don’t hate your body. You might even be surprised how many people would give a whole lot to trade places with you, for a whole myriad of reasons. And another thing, when I stop to think about the people in my life who are the most interesting, witty, talented, smart, and fun to be around: size and shape are irrelevant.

    No need to react to someone like Jackwagon in any certain way. Your reaction was valid imho.

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  10. I am so sorry this happened to you. I am so sorry that you wasted even one tear on such a…such a…well, such a Jackwagon! I’m not going to spout any platitudes about loving yourself because we all know it’s not that easy. Every woman, size 2, to size 22, at some point in their life, has wasted energy trying to wish away some part of themselves. When will men get the message? They don’t need to put us down… we do a good enough job all on our own.

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  11. Dear god, I am so, so sorry that you were randomly assaulted by this absolute nightmare of a person. I hope that anything good he ever gets for himself falls to pieces, and that his life is an endless, agonizing horror show.

    I’m…maybe not a very forgiving person.

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  12. Inside I am beating the hell out of that Jackwagon again and again. I wish I could just smash his face. But I know that I would have probably reacted just the same as you. The first time something happens that is so shocking as that I always freeze. When I’m prepared for it, then the other person is toast, but when it is just an unbelievable assault on someone’s humanity, then it is just shocks you into actionlessness. Why so much hate in a world where we have so little time. Love is the only thing we got that makes any sense at all. And we just hide it away, and just keep hurting each other over and over again. And yes I read back this message and se that I myself started with hate and I moved to love, and I guess that is why we are all just so fucked up. (sigh) can I just say, I love you. Thank you for sharing your story.

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  13. Dear Michelle, I am so sorry. I am sorry this happened to you. I even more sorry that you did not pop him in the face immediately. I am sorry that the love of your husband, and friends and all who know you have not been enough to make you know to your toes that you are more than the sum of your body parts. Thank you for being honest and giving voice to how many women feel about themselves. It reminds me that we can spend much more time thinking about others than we should. Especially others who have hurt us. They are probably not giving us a second thought. May you find comfort to know that there is an especially hot rung of hell waiting for this evil heartless man. May you find peace in your body.

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  15. Just…wow. Both as a reaction to a complete stranger putting their hands on someone in such a way, and in the bravery displayed to talk about the experience by you.

    I sometimes think that the anonymity of the internet has bled into real life and manifested itself as a complete loss of civility and manners.

    I’d always rather be you, than to be him.

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    1. I couldn’t remember anything from outside myself, so I asked. He was standing to my side and saw the guy come up from the corner of his eye; he saw the guy touch me, but by the time he fully turned to me, the guy was gone. He then asked me who the person was, thinking it was someone I knew from school (I went to law school in the West Village), because he assumed that anyone who would approach me on the street and touch me would be someone known to me.

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  18. Not sure if you listened to this week’s This American Life about being fat
    https://t.co/1E9G9KwLeE

    But my favorite part is that the woman talking says that she hates the word overweight, and prefers fat. She says, overweight implies there is a right and necessarily smaller weight. But for people fat their whole lives, THIS is the right weight. And it’s not “over” anything. It’s fat, and it’s right.

    I’m so sorry that asshat assaulted you. I want to kick him and hit him, and I do wish you had kicked him or hit him, but that wish implies you did something wrong. You did nothing wrong. HE WAS WRONG. You can cry about that. I’d cry about that. Assault is wrong and any reaction is real and right. I’m strong and fierce and you’re strong and fierce, and we both want to kick him….but shock then crying is fine, too. Any of your reactions are fine. His actions were zero-percent fine.

    I hate him. I hate his friends. I hate the parents that let him grow up like that. I hate the society that made him think he has the power and authority to judge, and touch, another human being. May sudden insight and kindness descend upon that guy, and may he stew in guilt all his living days.

    My father in law once made a comment about a woman on TV and her weight, and I asked, loud enough so my children could hear, “what makes her body your property, so that you feel you can comment on it. She is in public, but her body is not public property.” I remember being so mad, borne of decades of hearing from society that women’s bodies must be just so, that he said something about her. None. Of. His. Business.

    Ugh. I hate this story. I hate this story because I hear all the things I say to myself in this. Because I don’t want your brilliant mind consumed with food-plus-body badness rather than gladness. And because I really like the sound of that orange tank top, and of the way it made you feel; and I really hope some day we go out to lunch and you wear it. This story makes me think you won’t. And if you don’t, then I hate that asshat even more.

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    1. I have it bookmarked in my browser to listen to, but haven’t yet. And it’s true, I won’t wear that tank top, but only because it has since been worn and washed and worn again, into oblivion. There’s a pretty great green one that’s taken its place, though. (I know I owe you an email to make plans!)

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  19. Talk about a basis of sexual harassment. Just saying. But don’t ever be ashamed of what and who you are. We are all different for a reason. Other’s standards reflect THEIR story, not yours. By all means, stay healthy, go to the gym, go on walks or runs, work out but don’t let bodyshaming get in the way. You are beautiful just as you are 🙂

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  20. I’m so, so sorry that this happened to you. Please don’t let the actions of one moron change how you feel about yourself or your right to take up space in public places. In fact – come to London and bring your cute tank top, we’d love to have you hang out in our streets. That twat, on the other hand, will never be welcome.
    As for your reaction – it’s so shocking when a stranger invades someone’s privacy and subjects them to some boring, self-hating shitty comment that most of us would do what you did, ie freeze while our brain tries to work out that the hell is going on.
    Anyway, fuck him

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  21. Pingback: ‘Here’s a thing that happened once.’ : Longreads Blog

  22. What a mentally unstable, narcissistic creep! I’m sure he didn’t have a campion or has been in broken relationships his whole life! He was truly pissed in your imperfection that you were happy! Sorry a police officer wasn’t around so you could bust his small penis ass!

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  23. Pingback: ‘Here’s a thing that happened once.’ | Maybelle Chan

  24. I can’t believe the outright indecency of some people. I definitely relate when it comes to responding… well, not the way I want to (or think I should) in some (okay, most) situations. However, your determination to do what you can about your own thinking/feelings about yourself is admirable and inspirational. And you are an amazing amazing, entertaining writer! 😀

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  26. Karma. I have to believe in it because it is the only way I can make sense of the world and not want to shove people in front of a bus. I hate to wish harm on people but hopefully Jackwagon’s man bits become riddled with disease and fall off his body so he can’t make tiny Jackwagons.

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  27. Dear dog-snorgler… I’m so very sorry you cried afterwards.
    And I will not confess to anything but this was a lesson to me ( not that I accost people on the streets, of course) .
    You are still hilarious and I hope you wear the green tank top, who has inherited a HUGE responsiblity to uphold your right to wear whatever the fuck you want on the streets, to Infinity and Beyond .
    Saludos desde México, hermosa.

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    1. I fully agree with your “total ass” conclusion, and appreciate the anger. I do want to put it out there, though, that while I think this was an assault, based on the impact I’ve seem rape have on women I know — this was definitely less damaging, and was troubling on a substantial, but entirely different level.

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  31. Thank you for writing this. I am constantly struck dumb by people who think they have the right to openly accost anyone that has a body outside of the ‘norm’– super fat, super hot, super tall, etc. It’s like, because they can see it, people think it’s their duty to make their opinion known.

    I fall into the “super tall” category and, depending on where I am, I’ve had people stare, shout at me, talk loudly about me as though I’m not there, stop me in the street, and pull their cars over in the middle of the night when I was walking alone to comment on my appearance. What they don’t realize is that it isn’t fun or funny or cool or a good conversation starter. Ever.

    Yesterday, for the first time, I didn’t smile and nod when two fully grown adults (a man and a woman) got in line behind me and began to discuss my body, what my life must be like, that I wasn’t even wearing heels, etc. I tried ignoring it– which I’m embarrassed to say is my go-to move even after more than thirty years of dealing with this. When they got louder, I turned around and gave the woman what I hoped was my most disapproving look. They kept going, and escalated by getting closer and talking directly at me. “No, it’s a GOOD thing. Your height is great. You could play basketball or be a model–” I turned around and said, “I’d prefer if you wouldn’t do that.” BOOM.

    I guess it was pretty mild. And maybe more polite than necessary, but baby steps, you know?

    Oh and they were total assholes about it. They decided to turn their conversation to how touchy and PC I was. By the time I got to the front of the line, I felt pretty drained by the whole thing, but maybe next time they’ll think twice? Rather than thinking everyone they see is their property to ogle and prod and measure.

    That was my long-winded way of saying: Your post reminds me that I’m not alone in struggling with an appropriate response to people who treat our bodies like public property. Thank you again for telling your story.

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    1. Thank you for sharing yours, and also: ugh, I’m sorry. What must your life be like? Like anyone else’s life, except with more people don’t know when to shut the eff up. (Also it’s probably harder for you to find jeans.)

      I have a special level of ire reserved for the people who shout from/pull over in/follow me with their cars.

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  32. I have a sister with your particular body shape, since she was born. Dont apologise for just being who you are. I, on the other hand, had I seen that mofo and his insane clown posse do that (and I have PTSD so for reals) would have shoved his ass into oncoming traffic. Hands to yourself was apparently never taught.

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  34. I, too, am very sorry. I want to call it what it was and is and will remain–an assault. It didn’t matter what he grabbed and jiggled–an upper arm, a breast, a thigh, your butt, a part of your waist–it was an assault on your body. It didn’t matter if you were fat or thin or pregnant or simply female…he felt entitled to verbally and physically abuse. And you did what the girl in the bar did when the guy grabbed her breast…and the pregnant woman did when a stranger rubbed her belly…and what I did when the stranger came up behind me and sniffed my neck and rubbed his crotch against my backside in the subway…. We feel violated and internalize the violation… and wonder what we could have and should have said or done or worn…. And it sucks because it happened to us…but it is about them…
    .

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  35. How dare he?? You have as much right as he has – more because after reading this, I don’t think he is worthy of co-existing with humans.
    Fat? Yes that despised word for so many of us! But hey, everyone has a right to his/ her own diet, style of living, choices. Freedom is what it all is about! Advice ( in moderate proportion) by close friends and family is okay but a total stranger walking up and touching you – NOT DONE!!
    I sympathize with you and am glad that after the initial bout of unhappiness you took it in your stride. Nay, wore it proudly!
    We all want to lose weight but often it just doesn’t work out for various reasons.
    So what?? I LOVE MY BODY ANYWAY.
    I admire your courage to speak out on such a sensitive topic. Great going!!!

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    1. I think you write really well and people really need to learn to accept people for who they are and stop judging everyone for their size and shape; their appearance doesn’t determine nature. I really do admire the fact that you spoke about this, I don’t think I’d ever have the guts to speak about something like this openly:)

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  37. There will always be assholes who think they can say whatever they want. But that Guy crossed line. It is not okey to insult People but grab them on Street? Psyho. True psyho. I learned a long time ago no matter what i do, say or look like, some People will go all way to tell me I am not good enough. I think you really need to have some mental disease to show that lack of empathy by humiliate and insult people.

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  38. This is abhorrent, awful, unbelievably insane. I would literally prefer that a stranger grab my breast than my rolls. I want to think that I would have knees him or shoved him or something but I suspect I too would have just froze.

    I have always been fat, and only since my children were born have I started to come to terms with that, partly because I have an opportunity to shape how they see me and I have made a conscious decision that “fat” won’t be a thing they learn about me from me. If they come up with it on their own by comparing me to other people, fine, so be it, but until they can draw that conclusion we swim and we go to the splash pad in our bathing suits and we wear tank tops and shorts when it’s hot. And I stay in the picture even in my swimsuit. It’s hard but I want them to feel confident in their bodies their whole lives and not just in their thirties.

    I hope you are able to rewrite your internal narrative, it’s really hard but it’s worth it!

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    1. It’s funny — I was talking about all this with a friend on Monday, and mentioned that the one other time I’ve been touched on the street was by a creepy lurking guy who came up to me on the sidewalk, grabbed my breast, and then followed me back to my hotel (I was on a business trip, and walking from a restaurant to my hotel with some friends and coworkers after dinner.) I elbowed the guy in the gut and told him to fuck off, and while the whole thing was, obviously still upsetting (I I wrote about it, of course), it was far less upsetting than this, and stayed with me for far less time.

      Your kids are lucky to have you.

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  39. Oh. My. God. Words can’t even do justice to all the thoughts rolling through my head. First among them, how dare that Jackwagon put his hands on you! It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, what you look like, or whether you think you’re a fat person or if you think you’re not. Were you comfortable? Were you happy until that Jackwagon touched you and made hateful comments? Secondly, I am beyond proud of you for how you have handled the situation. I am so sorry it made you cry and upset you at the time (and now even after time has passed), but the fact that you have put all of that into words, is wonderful. You’re beautiful. Inside and out. Which is the reason you have a husband who may not be considered fat by today’s standards. He sees the inside of you as well as the outside and loves it all.

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    1. Were you comfortable? Were you happy until that Jackwagon touched you and made hateful comments?

      As comfortable as I ever was at that time in my life; I liked myself less then, but I was still happy.

      You’re beautiful. Inside and out. Which is the reason you have a husband who may not be considered fat by today’s standards.

      I get (and appreciate!) the meaning of your comment, but If I may push back at the wording of this bit — if my husband were also fat, that’d would also be a-okay.

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      1. I completely understand being happier after a change in your life, and I am glad that you like yourself more now (I hope).
        I didn’t mean for the last bit to come off the way it sounded. Souls come in all shapes and sizes and I know that is what attracted your husband to you, and you to your husband.

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  40. It may be, because of the Jackwagons in the world and the ones I have dated; I became a recluse in my latter years. I had always been ashamed of my few extra pounds that make want to cover it all in public places and not wanting a full length mirror around. I don’t even like seeing my chubby cheeks in my small bathroom vanity. I think because I used to be one of those Jackwagonettes as a teenager and into my early 20’s. I looked at everyone with a shallow judgmental eye and living in Southern California close to the beach, where everyone wants a bikini worthy body, doesn’t help with the learned and acceptable self-image.

    So I went for the Weight Loss Surgery door, along with diet and extreme exercising. But in the long run, I am doing better health wise. Also on days I am feeling good enough to be in public places, I occasionally do my hair and put on makeup. When I am at the gym working out, I am on guard for the “Gym Jackwagons and Jackwagonettes”. I just keep my earbuds in and music up; so I don’t hear any comments, while working toward my goal weight. Maybe in the end a serious reality-check was needed. And all my shallow judgments and low self-esteem of what is publicly acceptable, has taught me a lesson of what it feels like being on the other end of the spectrum.

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    1. I don’t even like seeing my chubby cheeks in my small bathroom vanity.

      Really looking yourself and seeing yourself as you actually can be such a difficult thing for lots of us, but such an powerful thing. Forcing yourself to look is hard, and important.

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      1. It’s because I have taken a good hard look at myself and my self-image, that I have set goals for myself. Instead of putting myself on the back burner for everyone else’s dreams and expectations of who they think I should be. For example, losing weight for health reasons and life-longevity of being a part of my grandchildren’s lives. Also, restarting my own childhood dream of writing books, poetry and journalism.

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  41. You know what having just read your post.I can totally relate to how that used to feel. Answer – some people are just ignorant. He probably thinks insulting you will make his manhood grow bigger haha! You should never be ashamed of who you are and what you look like. Even writing that must have been difficult for you! People like that need to take a good hard look at themselves. I’m new starting my weight loss blog and how I felt on my journey to get where i am. Reading that people actually do these things makes me feel so sad. Seriously the parents must be so proud of that one NOT! The most important thing is you love yourself! Karma comes round in funny ways to people you get what you give out so good luck to him if he thinks that’s acceptable! Your awesome! x

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  42. There’s always mean, mean people in the world who can’t stand people being happy and content with themselves. Keep being you; you’re a beautiful person in my book…and you write well! Forget that guy. don’t let him rob you of your happiness.

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  43. Amazing entry!!! The world is filled with Jackwagons, in’it? Although I’d like to think that sometime since then, your Jackwagon grew a conscience, and has lost much sleep over this, there’s a greater likelihood that he went about his path, too stupid to even give it a second thought. I know this because I worked for a white-collar Jackwagon.

    You go revel in the heat, wear that orange tank top, and hang on to that lucky man of yours, and don’t give any more power to this Jackwagon. He’s an ass.

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  44. Thank you for expressing the way I feel: apologetic for my size. And despite my best efforts to 1. shrink the space I occupy in the world or 2. to completely engage in body positivity, you have single-handedly put my thoughts and feelings into one brilliant post. Why some people feel that they have the entitlement to decide what is acceptable for a person to look and feel like I will never understand. Stay positive, friend.

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    1. ((hugs))

      I gotta say, the body positivity/self-compassion thing is totally working. Slowly, slowly, but surely.

      I was looking at a photo of a fat woman yesterday, and I thought: Who says that’s not beautiful? *I’m* the one who gets to decide what I think is beautiful, and I just can say that it *is*. Swear to god, I almost cried.

      Liked by 1 person

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      1. I love seeing those sort of things floating around social medias! I just want to send a mental hug to everyone who creates a positive space for people like me who will always have bingo arms! I’ve always considered the f-word (fat) the worst kind of swear word that I would never use to describe myself or others. But perhaps its more about reclaiming the word?

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        1. I own it. It’s a descriptor. I’m tall, I have curly hair, I’m fat. It’s a part of my body, of me, like my arms and legs.

          And language is important; how can you ever like yourself if one of your key descriptors is “the worst kind of swear word?” It’s just a word that accurate describes a part of your body.

          (What I do reject is the word “overweight.” Over whose weight? I am my weight. And I’m fat. And those are both just facts, not pejorative.)

          It’s hard, though — even my old therapist would wince when I described myself as fat, because the, “No, you’re not *fat*” response is so drilled in to us, because someone decided we should all think that fat is THE WORST.

          Fuck that someone.

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  45. Excerpt of “All about that Bass,” by Meghan Trainor

    1st verse:

    “Yeah it’s pretty clear, I ain’t no size two
    But I can shake it, shake it like I’m supposed to do
    ‘Cause I got that boom boom that all the boys chase
    All the right junk in all the right places
    I see the magazines working that Photoshop
    We know that shit ain’t real
    Come on now, make it stop
    If you got beauty beauty just raise ’em up
    ‘Cause every inch of you is perfect
    From the bottom to the top
    Yeah, my momma she told me don’t worry about your size
    She says, boys they like a little more booty to hold at night
    You know I won’t be no stick-figure, silicone Barbie doll,
    So, if that’s what’s you’re into
    Then go ahead and move along…”

    The fact that we aren’t all a “size 2 or a stick-figure, silicone Barbie dolls,” some may like that. But we who are not that should sing this song every morning adding it to the morning routine or commute to work. Because, the stigma of what is beauty, should come from the inside of who we are and should be the way to see others.

    Liked by 1 person

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    1. It’s a start? But if I may, I’d rather sing a song that doesn’t denigrate thin women to lift up fatter women.

      We are all more than our ability to attract men. We are the ones who get to decide what we think is beautiful.

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  47. Reblogged this on WhenPigsFlyInNeverland and commented:
    I really think that this is an inspirational post. Yes, I know I sound like the type of person who doesn’t get “inspired”, but even strange people need help sometimes!

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  48. You didn’t deserve that! No one does. You do not need to fit the mold of what society thinks you should look like so they don’t feel uncomfortable. Obviously you have a husband who loves you, and sees how beautiful you are. I struggle with being overweight myself, and think that if only I could just hide everything that brings discomfort to myself and society… then I can live a normal life. The only thing that accomplishes, is a life not being lived. I’ve been on the receiving end of those comments too. I know how they can cut deep, and scare away the self esteem that is fighting to stay. With every punch we take, stand straighter, face the oppressor. This is your life. Do not apologize for it.

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    1. The only thing that accomplishes is a life not being lived.

      Truth.

      And fuck “overweight.” Over whose weight? No one is the “correct” weight; there’s nothing for us to be over. We are our weights, the end.

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  49. We are all here to support you through this emotional and embarrassing situation. You can begin the healing process with all of the acknowledgments from your readers. We are a fan of your work. Keep the blogs coming…

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  50. goodonyer fat chick! I don’t have many fingers or toes and sometimes children ask me why I have funny hands. I try not to want to smoosh those kids. I sometimes reply that I don’t think they are funny, they are special, no-one has hands like me!! Mostly I walk away blushing and feeling ill with sadrage.

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