Oh. My. God. Y’all.
ENOUGH WITH THE FAT TALK. The next time I hear someone Fat Talk themselves I swear I’m going to put on my best shoulder-padded black and cream bias-cut chiffon wrap dress and matching hat and slap their whinging tedious self straight into the nearest lily pond.
“Blah blah blah I’m so fat blah blah I’ve lost weight but still look like a cow blah blah blah.”
ENOUGH! Because aside from all the other reasons not to Fat Talk –like it sets a bad example for other women, it’s self-destructive, plays into misogynistic stereotypes etc– it’s REALLY FREAKING BORING. I don’t know about you, but Mama’s got Things To Do and I really don’t have the time to sit around listening to you complaining about your thighs. Do you know whose thighs I care about? Andre’s…and occasionally Colonel Sanders’. That’s it. Are you Andre or Colonel Sanders? No? Then stop ruining my dinner party!
The way I figure it is you’ve got three reasons to be Fat Talker:
You really do have low self-esteem and you WANT to air your self-loathing and manipulate innocent bystanders WHO BY THE WAY ARE TOTALLY NOT INTERESTED AND JUST WANT TO FINISH THEIR MANHATTAN AND GO HOME into telling you how pretty/not fat/wonderful you are. In which case you need to do what My People do and bottle that stuff up deeeeep inside until you can get to a therapist and sort yourself out or develop a respectable drinking problem.
You’re one of those girls who has lost weight and are pleased but can’t say anything nice about yourself without qualifying it because GOD FORBID a woman sounds confident, so instead of saying “I look FANTASTIC so you all can just CHOKE ON MY MAGNIFICENCE.” which is what you really want to say (and you totally should) you have to say “Well I’m still a cow, and these pants look stupid, and my makeup looks like hell, but at least my clothes are looser.” Because that’s MUCH more entertaining than being told to choke on someone’s magnificence.
You are Alana Edelstein, we are in 7th grade gym class and you’re taking great joy in “complaining” how you can’t wrap your hands around your upper thigh anymore because you’re a Mean Girl even though everyone just likes you because you have a rabbit fur jacket and your dad is the second best plastic surgeon in town. In which case, just go for it because you’re two years away from a high school career punctuated by an ironically botched nose job and an impressive series of life choices resulting in knowing the free clinic staff by first name (proving once again my theory about rabbit fur jackets) and there’s no schadenfreude like junior high Mean Girl schadenfreude.
Fat Talk is self-destructive, misogynistic, manipulative and really REALLY boring so quit it before someone winds up choking on a lily pad. THE END.