“My cellulite doesn’t make me less of a woman..neither does my less than perky breasts or my inability to justify why I should have to hide my body.” — Tess Munster, (an actual plus)-sized model.
I had to repost this because what I could say about this makes up an entire essay.
I don’t think most people realize what is going on here, which is why it is not directly addressed. Weight stigma is a feature of sexism, it is a strange mixture of the overt and covert to continue to place the status of all women below all men. When you follow the logical thread, it is easy to see, but most people don’t follow the logic.
So here’s the logic:
After reading a blog today, my thought is that the answer is yes.
Is your diet strategy promoting a sense of disgust? That’s a question I never asked until I came across this: Nutrition and Disgust (“Why do people get religious about nutrition?”).
I think it’s a disturbing trend, not just because of the implications, but because its something that can be easily dismissed (or, as the comic proves, made fun of). A lot of people may see it in action, but never really think about it. People read blogs or news articles, watch shows or read magazines devoted to “health and nutrition”, but aside from maybe checking the factual content, people don’t really look at the language being used, or what effect that language has on his or herself, or any other person who is reading.
I blog cuts off abruptly toward the end of August because I went to visit my boyfriend in England for two weeks.
What happened there was an eye opener and one I could blog about for the next month. What was happening at home, however, has taken away my desire to write.
My father died less than a week before his 72nd birthday. I do not like discussing it because he was, in a lot of ways, the poster child against everything I want people to feel and believe: He was a morbidly obese ex-smoker with COPD who was so heavy that he could barely get around, let alone lose the sort of weight that he would need to undergo the bypass surgery that would have helped keep him from dying of the congestive heart failure/COPD combo that took him away from us on Sept. 5.
This news — heard after my real struggles in England based on the fact that I simply was not in a physical or emotional shape to tackle the busy, walking-intensive vacation that I thought my boyfriend wanted (turns out, had we actually discussed what we really wanted instead of what we could do, we would have realized we were both much more in a spa-vacation type mood than a whirlwind sightseeing mood) — has made this last week an extreme struggle. I have had issues with my father for a long time, but now he has become a statistic that can easily be used to bolster the side of those who want to cure obesity by destroying every human being that happens to find themselves in the BMI trap.
How does one speak against it all without feeling like some kind of a hypocrite. After all, he WAS too big. It’s not what killed him, but it did exacerbate his health issues as the only real treatment for congestive heart failure is an extreme lifestyle intervention: exercise and a restrictive diet.
Because of all this, I have had to stop following various FB pages/blogs on the subject of body positive/fat acceptance/etc. and I do not know when I will be able to write this blog again, or if I will be able to.
I want nothing more than for every single human being to be able to walk this world with dignity, knowing that those they encounter will treat them with honest respect instead of hidden loathing. But it seems like an impossible thing to ask for when there is so much ammo that can be used to suggest that I and others like me not only deserve to be treated with loathing, but should also loath ourselves for being abnormal.
Now there’s an idea I can get behind. Kidding.