Overweight and female in America - a view from the other side.
Contrary to popular belief, growing up the fat girl was not without its advantages. For one, the humiliation and degradation of carrying extra weight throughout the ever-formative adolescent years served the wonderful purpose of preparing me for everything - and I do mean EVERYTHING - else in life. I am rarely disappointed with the undesired outcome of my dreams. This is not to say that being overweight is an excuse for my failures, but rather that I am used to them, and therefore better able to handle the day-to-day struggles that are invariably thrown my way.
Another benefit is the gift of humor and personality that growing up overweight has bestowed upon me. Unlike beautiful girls, I have been forced, by matter of survival, to become a kinder, funnier individual. Were it not for the extra pounds, I sincerely doubt I would have established the gregarious and comedic appeal that people tend to appreciate in spite of my size. The pigeonhole of “that fat funny girl” has never bothered me, save for the fact that it is just that: a pigeonhole. Those who are blessed enough to not be pigeonholed have little to no idea how confining it is, especially for a woman of size. There is rarely any room for escape, and even if there were, I’m not sure I would want to free myself from the safety of its confines. It’s comfortable here, and I like the view. It allows one to see without having to be seen.
Anne Frank has this poignant moment in her diary where she discusses her own less-than glorious appearance. Having grown up with a beautiful sister and an even more beautiful mother, Frank is painfully aware of her shortcomings in the looks department. Coupled with her youth and her adolescent understanding that beautiful people more often than not finish first and finish best in life, she writes with timid observation, void of ego, that other girls are prettier, but they’re not nearly as much fun. That axiom of truth, which I read when I was a lonely, fat twelve-year-old, has been my salvation. This is not to say that there exists no gorgeous women without wit and candor, but in my experience these women are rare gems that are so set apart by possessing the complete package they seem almost holy, and thus somewhat unapproachable.
Beautiful girls suffer as well. Not as much as fat girls, but there still remains a kind of alienation that surrounds a truly beautiful woman. Other women tend to despise these visually blessed beauties, and men tend to have ulterior motives when dealing with them. Often these glorious creatures find it difficult to maintain relationships that are not solely based on their looks; because of this, quite a few find themselves alone, void of the sympathy that is reserved for the unattractive. The best circumstance a woman can find herself in is to be attractive, but not so attractive that she is morally defined and corrupted by her own beauty.
Fat girls who manage to lose a considerable amount of weight are not easily forgiven for having been fat. I recently lost 60 pounds, and while I am proud of myself for this accomplishment, I find that the result of being, if not svelte, at least acceptable as a human being, comes with it’s own set of psychological issues. I still relate to myself as a fat person. I forget I’m thinner than I was, and this leads to awkward situations. For starters, there is the matter of rising from a sitting position to a standing one. Used to my extra bulk, I tend to use an incredible amount of unnecessary force to propel myself upward, causing people around me to ask “where’s the fire?” When I meet new people, I forget that I am slimmer, and therefore they do not automatically assume that I am funny and overly hospitable.
The most difficult aspect of my weight loss, however, is that I can’t take a compliment without searching for the joke behind the praise. I’ve never had a boyfriend, assuming that my weight barred me from meeting someone who would be willing to date me. When I am at a party or other social setting and a man attempts to flirt with me, I tend to become rather short with him, assuming that he is playing some kind of cruel trick. The kind of trick that back in high school would involve a boy asking me for my phone number, and I, in my infinite naiveté, supplying it only to have the boy return to his circle of friends and start whooping it up in delight with his friends, the likes of whom found humor in daring him to ask for the fat girl’s phone number.
However, there exists a magic in transformation. The most poignant moment of my weight loss occurred in New York City, a place I have long desired to live but was unwilling to venture into due to my size. Walking down a busy city street lined with expensive shops, I caught an image of a girl reflected in a store front window. The girl wore the same clothing I did, had the same hair and similar features, and yet she was far thinner than I was. I turned, and so did the reflection. It took me a long time, standing paralyzed in front of that window, the glittering city of my dreams shining behind me as the sun dipped below the horizon and the lights of the skyscrapers began to illuminate the sky, that I realized the girl was familiar. It was in that moment I had the most significant epiphany of my life. That girl - that average looking, average sized girl, reflected in a shop window with the marvelous city twinkling behind her as a backdrop - that girl was me. I couldn’t explain what I felt when I recognized this, only to say that for the first time I could remember, I felt human. And almost - almost - complete.
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