Permit me to explain The Fat Spectrum
I worry that people think I’m being facetious when I say “I identify on the fat spectrum,” much like I worry that they think I’m making an inappropriate joke when I call rape culture my university’s favorite intramural sport.
I’m dead serious. Let me explain.
I am 4’9” and a size 8 to 10, with proportions much like a cartoon character: laughably big boobs, big hips, big thighs, proportionally small waist. My body has varying amounts of squish, in an exaggerated form of an ideal female shape—except for the giant calves. If asked, I’ll give you a number of answers—I’m curvy, I’m voluptuous, I have chub, etc. I don’t call myself fat, because I have been fat in this body, and this is not the state it’s in at the present.
While I don’t experience the same issues as larger folk, there is overlap in the things we experience. Mine are very much affected by the crowds I am wandering about in—perception of my size and shape are relative to their standards.
In mainstream hetero-girl society as filtered through an NYC lens, I’m obese.
In my queer circles, I’m averagey average average. Also my cleavage is an asset and not a liability.
Among my older coworkers, I’m downright tiny.
All of this affects how I relate to my body on any given day. Within hours, I can be sneered at for taking up too much room on the subway (essay for another day: I hate the L train and here’s why, maybe if I clench my buttocks I can afford you another inch of space) and lauded for wearing hot pants.
I’ve worked really hard to be at the place I am at in my body—not love, but tolerance and occasional fondness and appreciation. It does me well, for now.
