A pal and I were chatting last night about The Fat Mafia.
Okay, she didn’t call it The Fat Mafia but it seems fitting. Apparently a college friend of hers was a pretty big deal –no pun intended– in the size-acceptance world and then –horror of horrors– she lost weight.
She went from very very fat to merely very fat. She “sold out” they said.
I don’t even get it. Is the fatosphere REALLY the body police now? Isn’t that kind of what we’re fighting AGAINST? Because I think it is, and to call someone a sell-out because she changed her body size? That is crackery of the highest order and if you subscribe to that nonsense you deserve a life of bad chocolate, worse sex and unflatteringly back-lit polyester chiffon.
Listen. You don’t owe it to me or anyone else in the universe to be fat or thin or tall or short or anything at all except for healthy for your kids if you’ve got ’em, and that’s not even because I care all that much about your special little snowflakes, but I’m a sucker and somehow I’d probably end up taking care of them and oh God won’t SOMEBODY think of my white furniture?!
The point is this:
If you’re fat and you’re at peace with being fat? Stay fat. I don’t care.
If you’re fat and you don’t WANT to be at peace with it? Get less fat. Again, and I think perhaps you might be sensing a theme, I don’t care.
It’s your body and you don’t have to justify it.
Does this mean you get to expect everyone to approve of you? No. If you swallow a tapeworm because the boy you like only digs girls who look like Puccini heroines in the last act, I’m going to laugh at you. Hard. And probably make a bitchy comment about your daddy not showing up to enough ballet recitals. BUT. Other people’s disapproval is the price you pay for living the life you want, and it’s worth every penny.
When I first took this gig, I knew I wanted it to be for Big Girls, but not just for the type of Big Girl who wore plus-size clothing.
Anyone who knows what it’s like to feel excluded for being “different” is a Big Girl.
Anyone whose mother ever crushingly raised an eyebrow and asked if you *needed* that slice of pie is a Big Girl.
Anyone who looked in the mirror one day with bad lighting and acne and said “Well, this is who I am so I better start loving it” is a Big Girl.
Anyone who just needs to take up more room because that much love, affection, personality and style simply *cannot* be contained is a Big Girl, and if that means you’re a man, woman, thin, fat, gay, straight, confused or just a really well-trained labradoodle with access to an iPhone, if you like this site you’re a Big Girl and I don’t give a chocolate-covered damn what your scale says about it. You are welcome here.