The other day, one of my coworkers mentioned hearing that the average woman holds on to her favourite pieces of clothing for twelve years. I remarked that we all should be so lucky, because if I wear a favourite pair of pants twice a week, the inner thigh will be pilly in about two weeks to a month, depending on the fabric. If the pants are crap quality, the inner seam will likely give in about two months. Decently made pants hold up at the seam, but the fabric is no match for the friction of my thighs of doom. The leg will become threadbare and holey after about six months. I have considered five choices to preserve trousers:

 1. Buy multiple pairs when I find something I like that fits. This isn't always feasible due to budgetary concerns.

 2. Wear skirts instead. Tights seem to be less prone to thigh rub-out. When I go barelegged, I can use deodorant to prevent chub rub and the skin equivalent of pants-holes. 

3. Treat favourites delicately. Preserve them for fairly sedentary activities, and don't wear them to work when I'm on my feet and moving for eight hours. This option sucks, because I like to feel good about what I'm wearing at work.

4. I briefly entertained the idea of going back to wearing ridiculously wide legged pants like a 90's candy raver or inept skate kid. I used to wear these type of pants exclusively, and had few problems with chub rub, probably because there wasn't the additional strain of the pant leg being tight against my thigh. 

5. The worst one of all: Put patches on the thigh. I'm sure that there is a stylish or subtle way to do this, but I keep having flashbacks to my chub childhood when my mum suggested leather patches on the inside of my already humiliating elastic waisted jeans. I also remember the iron-on patches she did use, and how they made a sort of nylon-y WHOOSH sound when I walked fast. WHOOSHWHOOSHWHOOSH. When I wore those pants or corduroys, it was like a cat bell declaring that a dork was approaching. 

A particularly loved pair of jeans are starting to hit the biscuit. I wish it didn't have to be so soon, the wash hasn't even faded too much. I know that I can get another pair, but it means trying them on to make sure they are just right and then breaking them in. If I could find a pair of trousers that were Kevlar/lycra blend, I'd pay out the nose for them to avoid having to deal with the inevitable and untimely demise of cotton pants.

Folks who know me from elsewhere on these big wild internets are familiar with my on-again, off-again photo exploration of my body, loosely termed the Autobiography Photo Project.  When I first began this effort early last year, I explained it thusly:

 In self portraits I tend to look brittle and afraid, if not guarded and defensive.

I suspect that this is because I don't trust my ability to see myself clearly - I don't trust my capacity to accurately (?) reproduce a me that is either imaginary and existing only in my head, or concrete as the external world sees me.

Never mind that the external world no doubt sees me in a thousand different ways, mostly depending on whether there is any prexisting hatred or disgust toward fat people present in the mind of the person looking.

Self portraits scare me a bit because, paradoxically, they represent a loss of control. If the pictures I take of myself don't look the way I expect, don't match the self-image in my head, how can I even know what I look like? And is it important and worrisome if I don't? My life as a fat girl has been virtually defined by this question - we can't know the things we shouldn't wear, the way we shouldn't stand or sit, the things that will draw attention, will make people laugh or be disgusted - we can't avoid those condemning glances if we don't know what we really look like. How fat we really are. But this can't be measured in any quantifiable way. I can't ever know how every last person sees me - I can't control their perspective and their focus. Not with a thousand photographs, or a decade spent staring in a mirror.

(I also have issues of vanity wrapped up in this - are fat people entitled to be vain? Is self-portraiture always an exercise in vanity?)

So I'm embarking on another photo project - a pretty difficult one - in which I want to analyze and illustrate and process my self-portrait fears. This means putting my body out there. More to the point, though, it means putting my face out there. Headless fat bodies are a dime a dozen, man - my face, unsure of it as I am, makes me a person, an individual. Showing my face frequently, and honestly, and unapologetically, is probably harder than showing my entire naked body would be. But I'm going to do it anyway.

Though much of the above is still true, it was also a matter of honestly not knowing what 5'9" and 300 pounds looks like.  It's a natural inclination, culturally speaking, for folks to lie about their weight, or even fudge the number a bit, but this contributes to the impossibility of knowing how fat a certain person really is, at a given weight.  The Illustrated BMI Project being run by Kate Harding of the excellent Shapely Prose provides an excellent example of which bodies "count" as overweight, obese, and morbidly obese, according to medical definitions.

My original project, though only individual in scale compared to the above example, states that, "This is what 5'9" and 300+ pounds looks like."  Having recently taken it up again, from a different angle, the new project also says, "This is still what 5'9" and 300+ pounds looks like."  Though I began the project to explore some issues of my own, I realized later, though people's responses to it, that the audience's take was very different from mine.  And thus it's become a sort of chronicling of what my size looks like, on me.

I am coming to a point here.

My point is: trapeze dresses.

There's not a lot of love out there for trapeze dresses amongst fatties.  Call it post-muumuu stress.  Call it an unwillingness to part with the hard-won self-confidence to wear clothing that doesn't disguise, obscure, or otherwise hide one's fatness.  These are totally understandable positions to take.

However, I love the trapeze dress.

It's shapeless.  Some would call it frumpy.  It essentially hangs from my shoulders, and it doesn't merely mask my fatness, it totally obliterates the natural shape of my body.   I could be hiding a watermelon or several loaves of bread under there, and nobody'd know.

My shape tends toward the apple more than the pear - I have little to offer in the way of a defined waist, and am fattest through my midsection and upper hips.   As a result, I've spent years striving to perfect the art of Waist Faking.  Wrap dresses work well for this, as do v-necks, as do partly-buttoned jackets and cardigans.  I can fake it!  I can.  But I don't necessarily always want to.  Sometimes it'd be nice to feel good in an outfit that works with my body and not against it.

Learning to love the trapeze has been, for me, an short re-education in self-expression.  And even a bit of a revelation.  I get to control how people see me.  Agency!  For years this meant I got to decide to wear clothing that fit, that showed the shape of my body.  The freedom and confidence to dress to fit one's fat body and not hide it is, absolutely, a revolutionary experience, especially for a girl who lived in jeans and baggy t-shirts for most of her life.  But it is equally revolutionary, for me, to choose not to put myself out there as a curvy, slightly more acceptable, fake-voluptuous shape.  I ain't voluptuous.  And if I don't feel like faking a shape my body doesn't fit, I'm not going to do so.  If I want to wear a big voluminous sack of a dress and to feel good and happy and attractive in it, then it is because of fat acceptance that I feel capable of doing so.

It's true that outside observers might see me, a fat person, in a big poofy dress, and think I'm ashamed of my body.   I know some folks will always hate the trapeze dress.  And some folks find the idea of wearing one themselves unthinkable, because it simply wouldn't work for them.  I personally refuse to prescribe the trapeze dress to  certain bodies, or shapes, or groups; and I care virtually nothing for broad concepts of what is "flattering", nor do I care what strangers might assume about me based on how I'm dressed.  I tend to think if it feels good, I should wear it, regardless of what other folks might read into it.

I wore the above to my birthday dinner this year, and felt fabulous the whole evening.

And I would argue that that's ultimately was good fatshion should do - not fit in with a trend, or meet a cultural expectation - it should simply pass on that feeling of fabulousness. 

 A brief, personal anecdote.

This afternoon, for the first time since 2002, I spoke to The Media about Being Fat, specifically about this website, and its origins in the Fatshionista Livejournal community.  It was a brief interview.  Some things I wish I'd been clearer on.  Some things I wish I'd said differently.  I spoke more honestly than I used to in these situations, with less reluctance.  When asked how much I weigh, I spoke the number without thinking.  When asked if I am healthy, I said yes, because I am indeed fortunate in that regard.  When asked if I was married, I said yes, because it's true.  But then I realized, these are things that make me more palatable.  I can say I weigh 300 pounds, and seen in print that number will make some people gasp, but if I can also testify that I am healthy and happily married, that gives my argument more weight [the puns round here never stop!].  It was only then that it occurred to me a better response would have been to question the need for these qualifiers at all.

Mostly, this experience reminded me of how difficult it is, talking in broad generalizations about a movement that really resists orthodoxy in its details.   We mostly agree that folks of all sizes should not hate their bodies, nor hate themselves for being fat.  We mostly agree that the hysteria around the obesity epidemic [sic] is way overblown and encourages the stigmatizing of all fat people under one big "Doomed Forever!" banner.   We mostly agree that "fat" is the preferred term over more euphemistic ways of negotiating the myriad assortment of sizes and shapes in which the human body is rendered.

But even a cursory glance over the various posts by the bloggers on this website, and on the Fatshionista community on Livejournal - posts made by extremely different people often at extremely different points on the acceptance spectrum - reveals that there is a great deal we don't agree about at all.  I am not the authority.  None of us are.  We are the sum total of all of our work, our feelings, our opinions and our experiences.  What we share is our willingness to criticize and subvert a culture that all too often tells us our bodies are disgusting, diseased, and/or laughable.  Our health, our habits are ultimately not up for discussion.  As human beings, we all deserve basic respect and dignity.  And really outstanding high-quality clothing at a reasonable price.

That's what I would have said, if I'd had the time to assemble a response beforehand.  But possibly my honesty and off-the-cuff remarks are valuable too.  Either way I'll have to wait and see.

Edit: And here it is - "Bloggers Preach 'Fat Acceptance'" 

One of the best things about time spent in front of the television aside from not finding anything decent to watch, would be the commercials.  I can eat everything in my neighborhood for ONE LOW RATE, buy a mattress for ONE LOW RATE, refinish my bathroom for ONE LOW RATE, bake cookies for ONE LOW CHILD, and diet WITHOUT REALLY DIETING!!!

So after my house looks the way I want it to and my stomach is full of amazingly cheap food and I've sugared up the neighborhood children and sent them on home, I can begin improving myself.  You know - without actually calling it that.  Or rather, and stuff.   See, Weight Watchers, that ellusive machine calling my love handles since the ripe age of 11 has dug up a new way to try and lure me in.  The gold stars didn't work.  The little buttons proclaiming how many pounds I could/would shed didn't work.  The dehydrated food-like substances sold in cardboard boxes didn't work, so now surely snazzy marketing would.  Just lie to me.  Go on - lie to me.  I like it when you play......dirty.

"Diets don't work.  Weight Watchers does."

That's the tag-line.  Snazzy, right?  When I first heard the 'diets don't work' thing I was like ZOMG FAT HEALTH ACCEPTANCE POTATOES SHEEP SMALL COWS POTATOES OMG OMG OMG.  Then they finished the sentence.  What the hell?  Weight Watchers does?  Does what?  What doesn't work?  The health part or the shed-your-weight-in-gold part?  The part where you starve yourself for an indeterminable amount of time or the part where you vomit it all up?  Right-o.

I checked the website.  It goes on from there (sneaky, sneaky marketing goons you!) and tells me that I can do WW and keep those pounds I'll shed off.  Same message, snazzy health-at-any-size sleeve.  That's about all I could read on the website, the actual program is hidden.  That and it's not really made for blind folk, not that I'm complaining.....

Oh but I hear you saying 'losing weight isn't a bad thing! HEALTH HEALTH HEALTH FATTIES DIEEEEEE ZOMG!" and I say right on.  Losing weight isn't a bad thing.  Sometimes I lose weight.  I'm losing weight right now.  Sometimes I gain weight.  I did that last year.  Sometimes I'm healthy, I'm healthy right now.  Sometimes I'm  not, like when I got some bad take-out and digestively exploded for over a week.  But none of that is contingent upon some strict set of guidelines calling things 'bad' and 'good' and calling myself 'bad' if I 'give in' and 'good' if I hold out.  None of that is dependant on size for health.  That's right, I said it.  I've said it before.  Size =/ health.  It's true!  Trust me, I write in a blog so I'm always write.  Or at least go ask some doctors who aren't ignorantly duped into the fatphobic game.  Lots of folks wrote good books on the subject, dig 'em up.

The best ever would be the story of Suzanne LaFleshe.  My favorite fictional character buzzed in to Weight Watchers and did what it said to do - watch the weight.  Go on.  That's right, she watched it go on.  But I won't ruin the story for you. You can find it here . 

Funny story.  Remember how Old Navy moved its plus size line online to banish fatties offer greater selection?

Yeah.

So I got this UGLY sweater-and-blouse set from the g-maw for the hollydaze and thought returning it for store credit would be a good idea.  Yeah.  Right-o.  So I schlepp to the nearest Old Navy and bring my items to the cashier.  Now I don't intend on purchasing anything in-store, rather I want to make good on the sales online and grab a few hott dresses.  I inquire about how this works, a fattie returning ugly items to turn and make an online purchase.

I probably shouldn't have asked. 

The cashier balked.  Certainly this isn't possible.  Perhaps I could order something online, bring in the receipt and a credit that will take 2 weeks to mail to me, and I could possibly get a refund.

Huh?  I ask if she could confirm this possibility for me as I would certainly cross a few miles of red tape for Hott Dress x2. 

She says something to the affect of "how stupid are you to question my intelligence you piddly fattie?" and takes my name, address, urine sample, and blood type into consideration.  I get a receipt and am instructed to do the aforementioned dance three times in front of a mirror while saying "bloody stupid bloody stupid bloody stupid" really fast and perhaps I'll get money from Old Navy.

Or the Fatshion Police will take away my debit card.  Who knows?

I'm disappointed in Old Navy.  Surely they would have thought about these sorts of things when moving an entire section of their purchasing power online.  Surely the red tape is the result of some stupid loophole in the universe and my complaint will have fixed that.  Or perhaps Old Navy is furthering their attempts to banish fatties from their target audience.  Perhaps.

Hello.   Call me DS.   I'm 33 years old, straight, white, male - and fat.

There's still a part of me that doesn't want to use the word "fat," but due to the influence of a very special woman in my life I have come to be able to use it without feeling shame.   I never know how other people are going to react to it, however.   Some people would break down in tears if you called them "fat."

I've always been heavy.    Now, I'm plain-old fat.   I have a very large belly.   And I don't really care.  I pass my physicals with flying colors, have average blood pressure, low cholesterol -  I'm as healthy as anyone else.

Typically, being male, fatness doesn't effect me much.   I don't get judged the same way women do, so historically-speaking I haven't paid much attention to fat prejudice because I was privileged enough not to.

When I was younger, I used to have self-esteem issues on account of not being able to get dates with the women I wanted to and chalking it up to being fat.   When I was a high schooler, I used to worry about being judged for being fat.   

As I got older, I gained more confidence as women started coming on to me when they saw that I was intelligent, funny, charming - and a sensitive, nice guy.   I didn't have any trouble making or keeping friends, and so I kind of forgot about what it was like to experience fat hatred, either self-imposed or externally. 

But, recently, I was confronted with an entirely new aspect of fatness in a way I hadn’t been before.   I was face to face with fat prejudice, really for the first time.

I’m a video gamer, who has played online games for years, and am part of a “gaming clan.”   This clan has internet forums, one of which is specifically designated for discussion of tumultuous topics.   Politics is a mainstay, for example.   Current events often come up.

Recently, the issue of weight came up.

Someone posted a picture of a fat kid getting hit in the face with a basketball, and the caption “That’s why you get picked last, fatty.”

I took offense.   As an officer of this guild, I reported the post - and was told that this wasn't offensive.

I have been exposed to almost a decade of fat studies, learning about the prejudices fat people face, the moral judgments, the hatred – and I have felt for a long time that fat prejudice is the last socially-acceptable form of prejudice.

Oh did I get an exercise in just how true that is.

Statement:  “Fat people are greedy, lazy, uneducated cunts.”

I have been told that this statement wasn’t directed at me, and that I shouldn’t take it personally.

I am fat.  NO ONE seems to understand why this statement would offend me.

For the first time in my life, I was face-to-face with the utter ignorance of the majority.   I wouldn’t think that the reason I took offense could be any more elementary!  Yet the concept that blanket statements about a group of people could offend individual members of that group utterly sailed over the heads of everyone who bothered to respond to me.

One member said that “They didn’t see anything wrong with making fun of someone for something they could change.” 

Another said that I must have self-esteem issues, and that was why I was taking the stance I was taking.    I stated that my wife is fat, and that I took offense on that score, as well – and was told that that meant I must have issues with what I thought about my wife.

I was told that if I exercised for ten minutes a day I could lose weight.   I was told that changing what I ate was simple, and that I was just lazy if I didn’t do it.   I’ll admit to not wanting to exercise because I am lazy – but does that mean I should have to face criticism for it when I wasn’t complaining about being fat?

It was as if everything I had ever learned about fat prejudice suddenly became crystal clear.   For the first time, *I* was taking the position of a fat activist and standing up, calling “Bullshit!” and fighting back against prejudice of a group to which I belong.

For the first time, I truly understood just how ubiquitous fat prejudice is amongst the masses.

My wife disagrees with me on the following point; but as someone who has studied moral philosophy, and who strongly believes in right and wrong, I posit the following:

Prejudice is prejudice.   There are no degrees, no “more offensive” or “less offensive,” no “tolerable” or “intolerable” – it is an absolute.   To make distinctions between racism, sexism, homophobia, classism, or weightism is folly and has no logical leg to stand on whatsoever.

The leadership of my gaming clan is currently discussing the situation behind closed doors, but I already know the outcome.   I will either be asked to leave as I am a troublemaker, or my access to certain parts of the forum will be removed.   Our Code of Conduct will not be enforced, and exception will be made for fat prejudice – because it is still socially-acceptable.

For the first time in my life, I understand.   I truly get it – and it disgusts me.  No more than racism, or sexism, or homophobia, or classism, but now I understand that weightism truly belongs right alongside all these other formalized systems of prejudice…

…and I am glad that I have been lucky enough to be exposed to a woman who taught me to recognize this truth when it was finally presented to me.

I am a straight, white, male.   I define privilege in this country; but if the sort of philistine pig-ignorance I’ve been exposed to and speaking out against over the last couple of days is what privilege leads to, then I don’t think I want it anymore.