don’t hate me ’cause I’m beautiful, but DO NOT love me because I’m fat!
Posted by Roberta Lipp on June 19, 2007
I’ve been reading Shapely Prose quite a bit lately. There are not a whole lot of blogs that I read regularly, because, well, I’m not a great reader, with not a lot of patience. So there’s all these great feminist blogs and essayists and fat acceptance blogs and pagan blogs and hilarious blogs and witty observation blogs and I just don’t read a lot of them. But Kate has caught my attention (not easy to do) and I’m loving it.
I started to comment, (comments are where most of my best writing seems to happen) and I decided to bring it in here.
I choose to date fat women. Not because I’m enlightened enough to “see past” their body. Not because I think everyone is beautiful. Not because I think fat women are nicer or sweeter, and certainly not “easier.” It is because I think fat women are hot.
Really!? No! way!
Wait! He goes on to say:
For most FA’s, it’s just a preference. It’s just part of what we’re looking for in a romantic relationship. There is this idea that the choices fat women have are men who date them because of their size or despite of their size. Both options would suck if you ask me.
Can you hear it? The sound of the nail being hit on the head.
I realized, reading his post, that ultimately I have never trusted it… the notion of a ‘clean’ FA… which I suppose extends to not trusting men, and not trusting society. I definitely wanted the enlightened guy who would love me despite (when I was younger and hated my fat self the most), or the ones who like all sizes (later on).
Because I have truly only believed that FAs are either fetishists or misogynists.
As I got older and the self-hatred shifted and lessened, I still rejected the FA as well as the BBW (Big Beautiful Woman) premise. I loved myself and thought I was beautiful (or, came as far with all that as I could), but it was never because I was fat. Often it was despite that I was fat, and on a good day it was inclusive of my being fat, but I was no way going to celebrate my fat as the source of my beauty.
And so even if there were men who were genuinely and sincerely attracted to fat women…why would I want a man for whom my fat, my least favorite part, was the center of their attraction?
I never got to the Who cares part of that answer. If a guy likes my breasts, do I object? If a guy prefers my dark eyes and hair to the coloring of a blond, do I mistrust? If he likes my smile or the fact that I’m short or my speaking voice or my ass, do I judge? No. I enjoy his enjoyment of me. I don’t want him looking at me wishing I were blond, and yet somehow I am comfortable with the idea that he is looking at me wishing I were thinner than with just taking his Roberta-inspired delight in and drinking it up and bathing in it. No, apparently I need to control which part of me can turn him on, so that my self-hatred can live.
I don’t have much of these conversations with lovers. I do have enough self-respect to know that indulging my bad feelings about my size is not who I want to be. I do my best to in fact, take that attraction in, and not analyze it… but if I have to analyze it, to do it on my own, in my head. I remember telling Joe, perhaps during our last weekend together, that the weight I had gained made me feel badly when we were in bed. Just so that he would know one of the places I went… you know when they look in your eyes and you know they wish they knew where you were going? And his response was just quiet and matter-of-fact (pure Joe) and just ‘well that’s not good’. But I don’t pull them into my crazy. I don’t engage in dialog about my weight that would only be designed to make me feel like a loser. I don’t want to make them any part of that, if I can avoid it.
I don’t know if I can fully accept the idea that a lover could find my fat sexy and not find it wrong. But spending this time contemplating it is certainly one more step forward.