Someone said to me once that I couldn’t be THAT fat, as I have a boyfriend, and obviously, if I was huge, then no-one would want to go out with me. I didn’t realise that no-one would love me if I was REALLY big. How idealistic of me to think that it was my winning personality that sealed the deal at the end of the day.
I never realised how much this had bothered me before but I feel as though the body fascism that seems to have corrupted the nation’s psyche has somehow seeped its way into my life. I’ve never been particularly moved by beauty magazines, celebrity diets or Daily Fail scare-mongering (‘cheese/deodorant/tampons/meat/wine/fresh-air/life-in-general gives you CANCER/makes you (duh duh duuuuh…) OBESE!’), yet I still find myself having to justify the fact that I am perfectly happy just the way I am.
I don’t want to go on a diet, I don’t want to lose weight, I don’t want to become a slave to consumerism, I don’t want hair extensions, fake nails or fake tan, I don’t care if I occasionally treat myself to McDonald’s or I eat a whole bar of chocolate in one sitting…I don’t know how I can make it clearer that despite being slightly overweight and a little wobbly around the edges, I like myself, and my inevitable flaws. I am only human, after all.
It’s a very sad state of affairs when women and girls measure their worth, quite literally, on the scales. Whilst it’s right to lay the blame at the feet of the media and trashy magazines, this extremely pervasive attitude has become part and parcel of our social fabric at large and it self-manifests in the lives of women who are not given an opportunity to become valued members of the community through their achievements alone. You’ve got to have the WHOLE PACKAGE to succeed in this life, ladies. Boobs, bum AND brains.
Ultimately, which of these attributes is going to be more valued in a consumerist society that revels in the insecurities of millions of people, only too willing to part with their hard-earned money for useless beauty products that more often than not, only fuel these crippling feelings of self-loathing?
I certainly believe that my healthy appetite is far less damaging than this condition that seems to have been placed on our valuable place in society.
I’d rather look like shit than have all my hope, fears and ambitions boil down to that insane moment where all I care about is the way I look and preening in front of the opposite sex.
This is a guest post by SFN founding member Kat. All opinions expressed on our blog are those of the individual writers and not necessarily those of the SFN, its committee or its membership.