Who Gets To Call Themselves Fat?
Who Gets To Call Themselves Fat?
Some thoughts on thin privilege, and what to do when the grandparents think your kid doesn't need dessert.
One quick housekeeping note before we get started:
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Q: Do you think it’s problematic for people with thin privilege to call themselves fat?
A: Yes, yep, a thousand times yes—if only because I’ve never heard a thin person describe themselves as fat in a truly positive way. I’ve heard thin people say “I feel so fat.” I’ve heard thin people explain that they are “fat” by the standards of a certain community (ballerinas, models, Hollywood, gay guys who brunch in Chelsea). I’ve heard thin people make fat jokes. I’ve even heard thin people describe themselves as fat in a semi-rebellious way, like when a very thin supermodel says in an interview that she loves her “big booty,” only the booty is objectively not big and so her claiming that it is only reinforces that you have to be very brave and very thin to do this. In every one of these instances, a thin person is using fat as an insult, a weapon, a worst case scenario.
I do sometimes hear thin people use “fat” to mean “cute.” This happens when encountering the chubby thighs of a baby, or a funny cat meme. In this scenario, fat isn’t an insult, exactly. But I’ve never heard a thin person say they wished they had the thigh rolls of a cherubic one-year-old. Even when fat is adorable, it’s not aspirational to most thin people.
And yet. Most fat people have experienced a thin person describing themselves as fat, or bemoaning their weight gain to us with some expectation of validation and solidarity. There seems to be a sense that if they are struggling to love their body that we must be having a shared experience. But we aren’t. When I walk into a store with a thin friend, we might both struggle to like how we look in jeans but she can struggle while trying on jeans in her size, in that store, while my struggle will be more existential because jeans in my size are nowhere to be found. Similarly, if I were to tell someone fatter than me how empowering it was to say no to the scale at a doctor’s appointment, I would not be building solidarity with them because mid-fat and superfat people don’t approach that question the same way. (It doesn’t matter if they get on the scale or not; they will still experience medical fatphobia.) When smaller people tell larger people how hard it is to be large, we aren’t being good allies. We’re telling them that their bodies are our nightmare—and rendering their own struggle (or their own acceptance! Not every fat person hates their body!) invisible at the same time.
What’s a better way for thin people to talk about their bodies? For starters, by doing it way, way, way less. Whether your thinness is the result of genetic privilege or restrictive lifestyle behaviors or both, it’s truly the least interesting thing about you. If you’re struggling with your body and want to talk about that struggle to someone with less thin privilege than you, maybe don’t. Or at least, consider this advice from Aubrey Gordon (from our Burnt Toast Podcast conversation):
I think asking for consent about that stuff is important. Like, “I’m having a bad body image day, are you up for talking about it?” [...] And check yourself in the process, not just for the person that you’re talking to, but also for your own perception. Like “I’m having a really hard time finding clothes that fit,” and “I know people who wear larger sizes than I do, and I can’t imagine what it’s like for them. This is so frustrating, right?” This way, you’re acknowledging the experience of either the person that you’re talking to or fat people more broadly.
And if you want to call yourself fat as a compliment, consider whether fat people around you will take it that way. A useful exercise here is to consider how it feels when white people try to “act Black,” by using certain speech patterns, wearing dreadlocks, or otherwise appropriating Black culture. It’s not a great look! And it’s similarly problematic to turn fatness into a novelty, or a persona you, as a thin person, can dabble in without risking any of the oppression that comes with living as a fat person in our culture. A better first step for thin allyship is to just stop making it about you. Says Aubrey: “Ask [your fat friends] how they want to talk about fatness. And then do those things.”
Q: My parents will be watching my 11-year-old fraternal twin boys for a week this summer. One of my twins, Joe, has always been extremely skinny while the other, Max, has a more average/small frame. Both boys love food and love eating.
Recently, Max gained a little weight. He's active and healthy and still growing and we have talked about it twice—both times initiated by him. His father and I have not said anything else.
I'm afraid my parents will say "innocuous" things to Max about his weight and eating habits. For example, they wouldn’t say anything if Joe has seconds but may suggest that Max should think before he eats a second helping. Or, because Joe doesn't like desserts, they will discourage Max from eating any. They think they're subtle, but they're not. Yes Dad, I do remember the time when I was 16 and you asked me if I really needed that chocolate bar. I did. It was delicious.
Can you suggest any language I can use to ask my parents not to compare my kids to each other? Or to hold their tongues if Max asks for dessert every night? He has anxiety issues and is finally not hating his body and I'm worried this could set him back.
A: Almost exactly a year ago, I wrote an essay about why the grandparents are not OK. It is still one of the most widely read pieces on Burnt Toast and we continue to get some version of this question every month. So with summer vacation and family visits on the horizon, let’s get into it again, and go over some strategies we may all find helpful when we find ourselves mired in this kind of intergenerational diet culture.