Posts Tagged ‘fat’

So Let Me Get This Straight: Lady Gaga, Body Image, and The Media

September 27, 2012 - 7:25 pm No Comments

Note: This post was so popular on my Facebook and Tumblr I’ve decided to post it here for posterity. Could this be a sign of new posts to come? Perhaps…

So let me get this straight: Lady Gaga puts on 25 pounds and suddenly she’s “fat.” Or putting on weight because she’s a drunk.


So she looks exactly like I do now. In fact, she’s almost exactly the same dimensions as me, head to toe.

I went to the doctor today and weighed in at 115. Doc informed me I’m at “low normal” weight, but I should definitely take steps not to lose anymore or I could risk becoming unhealthy.

I don’t care what you think of Lady Gaga. I don’t care what you think of her music. I don’t care what you think of me.

But what the fuck is wrong with this society when a woman who is at a normal to low weight for her size is “fat” because she put on weight, even if it only takes her to the low side of what is considered conventionally healthy, conventions which are, in this country, skewed to hell in the first place.

What. The. Fuck.

We are so fatphobic, so disgustingly focused on extremes, that a woman who admits to weight gain is automatically shamed.

Don’t… don’t even get me started on using “fat” as an insult. Don’t even get me started on what is and isn’t healthy and who the fuck we are to judge what people should and shouldn’t do to their bodies. Don’t even make me go there. That’s a different issue for a different time. But this… This is a new fucking low, society, and I’m seriously angry with you.

Go to your room.

In case you didn’t know…

January 1, 2010 - 1:01 am 5 Comments

I am ridiculously vain. I am unabashedly, unashamedly vain. I think I’m hot shit. I have big dark blue eyes and a little chin and soft hair, voluptuous breasts. I love to look at myself. People love to look at me. I’m cute as a button. I’m short. I have perfect legs.

I’m also fat.

I’m five foot and three-fourths of an inch tall, and I weigh between 150 and 160 pounds depending on how much water I feel like retaining. On the hilarious BMI scale, I sit comfortably on the hump between – now get this – overweight and obese. I wear a size 12 pair of pants (not that you’ll ever catch me in a pair of pants). I wear a 36DD bra. Modern society calls me fat.

And I could not care less.

Because both of those paragraphs are true.

I am beautiful. I am chubby. And there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it. And I wouldn’t, either.

The thinnest I ever weighed, after a terrible bout of a near-fatal illness, was 120 pounds. I was far from skeletal, I’ll tell you, but damned if once a day I didn’t have someone asking me if I was okay. It’s not a weight at which I look correct.

Remember that BMI scale? It thinks I should weight 113 pounds. It doesn’t know that I’m fabulous. I’m like mini Crystal Renn for fuck’s sake.

It might seem contradictory, then, that my one honest new year’s resolution is to complete a vigorous yoga routine daily, and indeed, through my entire self into the five forms of yoga.

Bull. Shit.

I want to be stupidly fit. I love the idea of being in shape. But I don’t care what it makes me look like or how to makes my clothes fit or what it makes middle America think about me. I value my health and my spirituality and my flexibility. I love to dance and to jump around and to sing. But this resolution? This resolution and my 150 pounds of awesome are gonna work together and make 2010 the best year ever.

And we are gonna be famous.

Happy new year, everyone, if you’re into that sort of thing.