Not the shenanigans that we want to see, in this genre. Not fun reality-TV shenanigans! There has been no surreptitious peeing in the other laydees’ shampoo bottles, no pushing each other into the pool fully dressed, no hair-pulling, no death threats. There hasn’t even been much garden-variety lying and/or sabotage, at least not after we lost our beloved Saint Bitch Lauren. A surprising number of the “This season, on More to Love!” preview clips we saw early on never appeared again. What happened with the shrieking laydeez and the flower-bouquet-throwing incident? What about the shot of a laydee pretty much straddling Luke in the limo at some point (I now think this was Mandy, but I GUESS WE’LL NEVER KNOW)? I am led to believe that standard reality-TV dramaz did happen, but we’ve been robbed of their entertainment, with the standard schadenfreude-driven dating-show format never quite taking shape, and in its stead we got an often painfully-dull show about sad fat women.
My suspicion is that somebody up there thinks they’re protecting us. I suggest that somebody, at some point in this process, decided they wanted these laydeez to be sympathetic characters the whole way through (Bitch Lauren excepted) and cut the show accordingly. After all, this is a show about fat laydeez and given their representation is already limited enough in mainstream media, it’s just possible somebody didn’t want to contribute to more fat-hatin’ and thus tried to make this a show about nice people. Except nobody wants to watch television shows about nice people. This is reality TV: if there’s not dramatics and histrionics and general insanity, then why am I here? If they really, really wanted to make the fat laydeez the heroes of this show, I almost wish they had done what a lot of folks erroneously predicted early on, and brought in some skinny broads to serve as counterpoint and villain. This is not to say slender women should be demonized any more than anyone with any body shape or size should be demonized–but at least then we would have had something compelling to watch. What this show has lacked is any real dramatic tension that wasn’t manufactured out of creatively-cut-together confession clips.
As things are, we got a collection of (mostly) nice (mostly) young laydeez who are very sad and very lonely and in varying stages of self-loathing and self-acceptance. And at the center of it all, like a supermassive black hole of suck, has been Luke, our lumpy hero, the literal object of the laydeez’ affections.
The distance from there to here has been traversed, and what a long strange ponderous trip it’s been. Read the rest of this entry »
Watching More to Love so closely over the past several weeks has left a bit of a sour taste in my mouth (TO SAY THE LEAST), and I’m sure it has for others too. So, I’d like to put together a public Fatshionista-approved collection of photos and stories from happy fat couples, as a sort of palate-cleanser, and to remind us all that the dire and often-depressing circumstances depicted for fatties on TV are not reality.
Thus, I’m putting out a call for you happy fat couples–these can be couples in which one or both people is fat–of all persuasions and flavors to submit a photo and a short telling of your story together.
Last week: I had an hilarious nightmare about dancing with Luke Conley and Kate Harding battling MeMe Roth Beat-It style, and the wonderfully talented Fillyjonk saw fit to illustrate it for us all, which you can see in all its furrowed-brow glory here (I am particularly impressed with how well she’s captured Luke; it’s the hair, I think). Also, Luke met some of the laydeez families with awkward and knee-slapping results that should have surprised no one.
Turn around, bright eyes! We begin this week’s episode having been magically whisked away to Hawaii. What, no shots of Luke and the laydeez being forced to buy a second seat for their flab on the airplane? No confessionals of flying-related fat pain? Psshhht, that’s not reality. Hawaii, at least, is beautiful and oh yes, I would like to go lie on that beach right there, yes that one, with a fruity drink please, now, without the hassle of flying whilst fat. No? Fuck. I am still in my living room. I guess More to Love’s Fat Travel Magic only works for those contracted to be on the show.
Luke lingers on a beach taking abnormally deep breaths and voiceovering about how like totally intense this whole experience is, like shyeah. A hundred years ago, when I was in film school, this would have been an object lesson in “show, don’t tell.” Luke standing on a beach sucking in air like an errant whale whilst in voiceover he tells us how intense this is not really showing us anything aside from Luke’s lung capacity and the real prospect that he is, indeed, full of hot air. Is Luke deeply moved? He may very well be, and he may just be the kind of guy who’s not very expressive. That or he truly is a lump of animatronic wax and the climax of the final episode will be when they open his casing to reveal a chimpanzee sittting inside pulling the levers. Now THAT would be a fucking FINALE.
Luke finally gets off Deep-Breathing Beach and reunites with the laydeez at a luau, where they proceed to chow down. For all my endless bitching about this show, seeing people unselfconsciously eating on television is so refreshingly normal, even though the context is clearly the implication that fatties do nothing but gorge themselves on food all day long. Unfortunately, the meal is followed by dancing, and Luke does that same horrifying butt-shaking dance he did at the fat prom. I had hoped, however feebly, that we’d seen the last of Luke’s ass-dance, but no such luck. Luke then breaks the news that this luau is their final group date. Mandy is especially stoked, pumping her fists and twirling. Damn, y’all, this show might actually finish its entire run! But not before taking us on some of the most boring fucking dates ever to be committed to digital media. Read the rest of this entry »
Gather round, friends fat and otherwise, and I shall tell you how More to Love is slowly devouring my will to live. This travesty of a television program has burrowed so deeply into my subconscious that — chillingly — last night I had a More to Love-related dream. In this dream I was a contestant on a sort of fat-blogger version of Dancing with the Stars, and I was paired with none other than detestable lummox Luke Conley. We were supposed to do a paso doble, but I was a total bitch to him and he was a ragingly passive-aggressive asshole back and so there was much Reality TV Drama over whether we’d get our shit together enough for the performance.
But that is not the punch line. The punch line is that the fabulous and whip-smart Kate (who is, incidentally, guest blogging at Jezebel this week) was also in this dream. Kate’s dance partner was none other than MeMe Roth, and they were tasked with reproducing the knife fight from the “Beat It” video. This is one of those times where I fervently wish that either I had a talent for drawing myself, or a great illustrator on staff at Fatshionista, because the epic dance battle I dreamed between Kate and MeMe cannot adequately be described using mere words. Dream-Kate was like a fat ninja, though sadly I woke up before I could see her dispatch MeMe to hell, which in MeMe’s case would probably involve Fat Satan’s minions rubbing their bellies on her while forcing her to eat food that is of dubious nutritional value.
Last time on More to Love: Luke made out with many laydeez. The intro montage would have us believe that nothing else happened, but we know better.
Now, my pets, we approach the really draggy endgame of More to Love, since it appears henceforth we shall be losing but one laydee per episode. I remain perplexed by the producers’ decision to dispense with so many laydeez so rapidly, and so early on; all this has done is leave us a glut of episodes from which all the most interesting characters have been meticulously scrubbed. Is it possible that Anna, Mandy, Malissa, and Tali are all, in fact, deeply engaging people? Sure, but my money’s on our never finding out for sure. Now, this show is likely to devolve (further) into your standard gross-out Bachelor fare; it almost ceases to matter that the women involved are slightly larger than some other women, as the song they’re playing is the same. Bitch Lauren, your mathmatically-challenged, complusively-mispronouncing-multisyllabic-words brand of haterism is sorely, sorely missed. Kristian, the loss of your sweet and wild-eyed LOVE YOOOOU TV BOYFRIEND idealism renders this experience even more soulless and vapid than it was before. And I am still upset that Arianne–who, when the first amphibians first crawled out of the ocean and onto the land, was present to lovingly mop their little amphibious brows, feverish with the evolutionary effort, and to offer words of kind encouragement–got cut before she could do a loving tribute to Liza Minelli, or at least before we saw her in a sequin-spangled top hat, or at least before we got to see her dressed up as Jerry Sizzler for More to Love’s special Halloween episode, Henhouse of Horror. But perhaps poet Carl Sandburg said it best: “I tell you the past is a bucket of ashes, so live not in your yesterdays, no just for tomorrow, but in the here and now. Keep moving and forget the post mortems; and remember, no one can get the jump on the future.” The laydeez of yore are gone but not forgotten. Now, let us get on with the pig jokes. Read the rest of this entry »
Over at Newsweek, there is a fantastic and thorough article on fat hatred, quoting Glenn Gaesser, Linda Bacon, and even Peter Stearns (whose book Fat History was a frequent reference for me as a grad student many years ago). I am virtually overcome with excitement, let me tell you.
It’s a fallacy to conflate the unhealthy action—overeating and not exercising—with the unhealthy appearance, says [Marlene Schwartz, director of the Rudd Center for Food Policy and Obesity at Yale University]: some overweight people run marathons; eat only organic, vegetarian fare; and have clean bills of health. Even so, yelling at the overweight to put down the doughnut is far from productive. “People are less likely to seek out healthy behaviors when they’re criticized by friends, family, doctors, and others,” says Schwartz. “If people tell you that you’re disgusting or a slob enough times, you soon start to believe it.” In fact, fat outrage might actually make health-care costs higher. In a study published in the 2005 issue of the Journal of Health Politics, Policy and Law,Abigail Saguy and Brian Riley found that many overweight people decide not to get help for medical conditions that are more treatable and more risky than obesity because they don’t want to deal with their doctor’s harassment about their weight. (For instance, a study from the University of North Carolina found that obese women are less likely to receive cervical exams than their thinner counterparts, in part because they worry about being embarrassed or belittled by the doctor because of their weight.)
There’s also an interesting post on the Women’s Issues blog on About.com today, taking More to Love and other Fat TV to task for everything they’re doing wrong.
I have a good friend I’ll call Kate who has always struck me as the most beautiful woman I know. She is overweight but incredibly fit and has no health issues. She’s warm and caring, funny and outgoing, a gifted ‘people person’ who demonstrates astounding creativity and boundless enthusiasm for whatever work she’s involved in. And she has a knack for organization and team-building.
A reality show fan, Kate has talked about auditioning for a couple of show over the years until finally she went to a Biggest Loser casting call. …As she described it, the production staff did their initial screening in groups. When she was called, she sat in a room with other overweight women and men. Each briefly told a little bit about themselves. Other questions followed.
She thought she was doing fairly well in the interview process until the participants were asked to describe how they felt about their size and weight. One by one, each person spoke of insecurity, inadequacy, self-hatred and low self-esteem. When it was Kate’s turn, she refused to go down that road. She said she was happy with her life and with herself, and that although she wanted to lose weight it it wouldn’t change how she felt about herself.
Kate didn’t make it on the show. She had the looks, the intelligence, the spirit, and the personality. What she didn’t have was the self-hatred — the only ‘fat person’ narrative that television seems willing to tell.
It should come as a surprise to no one that I have done far more of my share of pondering on More to Love and what it’s saying to and about fat people, fat women in particular. While I have many thoughts to eventually assemble into a final assessment of the show, right now I am compelled to say something on the subject on the alleged craziness of recently-evicted cast member Kristian.
Of course, we begin the episode in the kitchen, where the laydeez line up at the trough to gorge themselves on an hourly basis. Kristian is talking about eating nothing but waffles since their second day here. CUE CLOSEUP ON THE STACK OF WAFFLES. CAN WE GET A PA IN HERE WITH MORE BUTTER? MAYBE SLATHER SOME ON KRISTIAN’S FACE AND GET A SHOT OF THAT TOO. ALRIGHT WE’RE GOOD. I totally suspect there is a production assistant on this show who is exclusively responsible for smearing butter on things.
LUKEMAIL, woo. Kristian and Mandy are going dancing with the Lukenator. Kristian jumps up and down and jiggles like the proverbial bowl full of jelly. It’s totally cute. In confessional, Luke says he thinks Kristian and Mandy are the two best dancers in the house. The note says something about a tango, but they’re actually getting salsa lessons. SEMANTICS, am I right? As they enter the dancing facility, Luke says he can’t wait to see what kind of moves they have, and Kristian says “I’ve got moves you’ve never seen.” Hee! I want to pinch Kristian’s cheeks and buy her an ice cream. Shortly the dance instructors appear. They are both slender, probably because they live in LA. In confessional, Kristian admires the lady instructor’s legs, and says her jiggliness makes her look like two pigs fighting under a blanket, however she also asserts that “dancing wasn’t just made for thin people, hello!” Kristian thinks you need some ass to dance. Awwww yeah. The lessons begin, and Mandy confessions that it’s “hard” to have a date with another woman along; she says Kristian was loving every minute of dancing with Luke and “couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.” Of their dance-time, however, Mandy also says she and Luke “were connecting on every level; everything was like perfect.” I don’t think Luke has that many levels, so that may be less impressive than it sounds. I’m guessing he has two. Maybe three, if “hungry” counts as a level.
Back at the laydee farm, the laydeez decide to make Luke cupcakes, which they will leave for him to find when he gets back from his date. Clearly, the laydeez are compelled to make cupcakes because they’re fat. And fat people make cupcakes. It’s what we do. Like baby sea turtles instinctively seeking out the ocean after hatching, cupcake-preparation is our deepest instinct, so inherent to our being that we are barely aware of its influence. Deep in the genetic memory of every fat woman there is an ingrained knowledge of cupcake-making, going back to our early fat ancestors, who baked cupcakes made of rocks over a fire in a cave. Cupcakes are a critical part of the rich legacy of the Fat Race; nay, cupcakes are the very axis on which the world of the Fat turns! So it has always been and so it will continue to be. Fat people & cupcakes are a partnership older than TIME ITSELF. Read the rest of this entry »
Hey, no “THE AVERAGE WOMAN WEARS A SIZE 14 SO WATCH THIS SHOW AND FEEL SUPERIOR” montage this week! I guess Fox has decided they’ve ensnared all the viewers they’re gonna get. Last week: there was a fake prom, and laydeez cried. Incidentally, does anyone know how many episodes this horror show is going to go on for? If it’s six, I’ll be very sad I squandered an opportunity to set up a series of Star Wars-themed post titles.
The episode opens with Luke at home in the guesthouse. He makes coffee! He sits on a couch! Famous people, they’re just like us. Luke blabbers in voiceover about wanting to do something repellent to the laydeez (okay, I’m embellishing), so he’s asked Emme to assemble the laydeez for a little activity. Oh, I hope they’re going to make friendship bracelets! Alas, no, they’re going to assess one another’s wifely qualities. In confessional Luke tries to take credit for this idea by saying, “I’m hoping that their honest opinions of each other could help me find out who could potentially be who could be Mrs. Luke Conley.” OH, I need to unpack this a little. To start, this is not going to bring the honest opinions of anyone; in fact, it’s more likely that the laydeez will each try to downplay the advantages of their biggest competition, if not sabotage each other outright. It’s politics and jockeying-for-position; ain’t nothing “honest” about it. I guess we’re supposed to assume that Luke’s never seen a reality show before. Secondly, I love that it’s just assumed that any and all of the laydeez would be into marrying Luke. I mean, I’d expect some of them are rational enough to occasionally think: hmm, maybe we should get to know each other without the warm glow of industrial lighting and an omnipresent camera crew watching us before we talk about spending the rest of our lives together? Lastly, Luke sucks. Really, though, I think we’re all aware these are producer-hatched shenanigans and Luke, ventriloquist dummy that he is, is just saying the words they’ve told him to say.
The ladyeez are assembled on the laydee-stacking couch in the laydee-stacking room, and Emme passes out sparkly-edged plate things that say “good wife” (in pink!) on one side and “bad wife” (in RED! WARNING WARNING) on the other. Emme tells the laydeez that they’ll each stand up before the group and be judged by the others as a potential wife for Luke. (My husband interjects at this point to say, “I can’t believe Emme is doing this; that’s like the biggest disappointment of all,” and I’m inclined to agree.) The laydee being judged stands with Emme before the other laydeez on the laydee-stacking couch and has to listen to each laydee explain their assessment of her. It’s like the worst group therapy in the world. I wonder if the More to Love Fat-Lady Prison Compound has a locked gate or something. Not to inject myself into the proceedings, but folks, it’d be tough for a woman with a shred of self-respect to stand up there and let this happen. I’d be all “See you assholes later! I’m out! Fuck you very much!” but unfortunately none of the other laydeez seem to be receiving my psychic suggestions to get the hell out of this circus. Read the rest of this entry »
