Do Humanity a Solid: Stop Using ‘Fat’ as an Insult
I’m in uncharted territory. I’ve been disordered eating free for 9 months. My body isn’t in a state of constant flux, giving me the chance to get to know this more stable version of my physical self.
Now, I’m definitely not in a state of blissful body love. Not. even. close. But! I am in a place where I can more objectively observe and consider my own flesh. Where I can spend more focus on how I’m feeling in my body than how I’m looking. Where I (typically) no longer close my eyes if I’m getting changed in front of a mirror. Where I don’t allow my mood to be (heavily… pun intended?) swayed by whether or not I feel like I have gained weight.
I have come to learn about my body. That I tend to carry weight in my thighs and hips. That my fingers fluctuate in girth from day to day or even hour to hour. That my chin can easily disappear into my neck skin-fat at a moment’s notice.
It is with this heightened and slightly different perspective that I have realized a truth about myself: I am not, nor have I ever actually been, fat.
Let me stop right here and make something abundantly clear.
👏 FAT 👏 ISN’T 👏 A 👏 NEGATIVE 👏
If you take only one thing away from this story, let it be this. Being fat is not (inherently) an insult. It’s an actuality. It’s like being tall or blonde or dumb (okay, that last one might have a slight valuation to it…) And every time we think we’re being “kind” by not using the word and instead use euphemistic language like “bigger,” “plus-sized,” or “curvy,” we are perpetuating the stigma around fatness. And fat people.
Great! Now that we’re on the same page…
Somehow (I’m gonna guess it has something to do with babies) desirability has become a woman’s greatest asset or measure of worth in our society. The absolute worst thing you could be as a woman is undesirable. And also, somehow, we have gotten to a point where someone has decided for us all (how kind) that being fat = being undesirable. Therefore, “fat” tends to be pretty low-hanging fruit on the Insult-a-Woman-or-Girl-and-Try-to-Devaluate-Her Tree.
So of course I‘ve been called fat, in one way or another, as far back as I can remember. As a way to wound. As a salve for rejected men. As a vaccination from one’s own potential fat-ness. I believed it and adopted it as identity. As something I could then attribute all of my troubles to. As something that held me back.
I have even used the the term as a weapon against any fellow girl or woman who was aggravating me. Because I knew it would hurt, even though I wasn’t always wholly conscientious of why.
This is all to say — that I, much like the rest of America, bought in. I accepted that being fat was quite possibly the worst thing, especially as a member of the female tribe. And not only that, I believed I was that worst thing. I believed that I was undesirable, and therefore, worthless. Relying on other people to then try to convince me of my worth.
Almost my entire life, I believed that my body was my enemy. That it was disgusting. That I was disgusting. That me being sensual or sexual in my body was disgusting or comical, at best. I would bemoan the presence of my body. I would stare in the bathroom mirror, lamenting how unfair it was that I had been cursed with this body. I would hope and pray that I was, somehow, immaculately conception-ed, and one day soon, I would pop out a baby and instantly lose a significant amount of weight and mass.
(Ya know? I never thought much about what would happen to the baby. I guess all of this is what you get with Catholic sex education...)
Anyways, because I bought in, because I believed that fat was the worst thing I could be, my path was irrevocably changed. If I never accepted fat as a negative, I probably would never have developed an eating disorder. If I never accepted fat as an insult, I would probably have been kinder to those around me. If I had believed that being fat wasn’t the worst thing possible, maybe I could have had a better relationship with my body. Instead of only, just now, getting to really know it at the age of 29.
And this experience is from a good ole, run-of-the-mill, slightly overweight person. Someone who can walk the line and be more on the privileged side of things with this issue. As I can “pass” as average-sized. So, I can’t even imagine what it must be like growing up and existing as fat in some of the situations and environments I’ve experienced.
How does this change?
I think it’s imperative for all of us (especially those of us who aren’t fat) to examine how we talk about our bodies. How we think about our bodies. Fat is not a feeling. Fat is not a punishment. Fat is not even a death sentence. And every time you complain about being “fat,” whether fat, skinny, or somewhere in-between, you send messages that this is a bad trait. That you are bad. These messages not only reinforce negative feelings about yourself, but they also get internalized by friends, colleagues, and innocent bystanders. Each and every complaint or criticism about fatness has a ripple effect.
There are already so many weapons against women in this society. There’s sexual harassment and rape. There’s inequality in pay. There’s sub-par healthcare and security. And — there’s language. There are certain words that have been socialized and constructed to demean women. To keep them in their place. To make them doubt and potentially relinquish their power.
We have the ability to disarm one such weapon: we can destigmatize “fat.”
How?
By celebrating fat people (especially women). By showing fat people — representation matters. By using the term correctly as a descriptor. By reading fat authors (Roxane Gay & Lindy West are a couple faves). By challenging the traditional beauty standard.
PRO TIP: If you’re currently uncomfortable looking at fat people, follow fat positive accounts on Instagram (@iamdaniadriana, @virgetovar, @themilitantbaker, @mynameisjessamyn, @effyourbeautystandards, @tessholliday, @thelindywest) — because it’s on you to be comfortable with fat bodies, not on the fat bodies.
It’s all about normalizing fatness (which doesn’t promote obesity, don’t even get me STARTED). Accepting it as an appropriate way to refer to certain people. Accepting if the word could apply to you. And, ya know, the small thing of accepting fat people AS THEY ARE. Instead of assuming they’re miserable. Instead of taking things out of their grocery carts (that shit happens!) Instead of treating them as fetishes, as opposed to desirable human beings worthy of love.
I’ve typically only been able to regard myself as beautiful or wondrous in photos at least a year old. Somehow the distance of passed time allows me to appreciate who I was then, or at least how I looked. I compare my current self to that previous one. I chastise Past Rachel for criticizing herself so harshly.
In getting to know and accept not only my body, but others’ bodies, I’m getting closer to a place of acceptance. Closer to a place where I can see myself through that past photo lens when I look into the mirror.
I’ll probably always have this gut. I’ll always have thighs that rub together. I’ll only earn more stretch marks, wrinkles, and cellulite as time goes on. And it doesn’t mortify me to say these things. To refer to my gut. To own that I am an overweight woman. Because these are all a part of who I am. Just as your double chin or knobby knees or freckles are a part of you.
And you are such a wondrous being to behold. Don’t let any word get in the way of you owning that about yourself.
