Typically narcissistic blogging.

Fitting Rooms

For various reasons I am not going into right now, I lost a little over 30lbs over the course of the last several months. End result, simplified? My knees hurt less and my pants don’t fit. I should note that, as a person who will never, ever be “skinny” and never plans to be, I find myself caught between two body weight dogmas. The first tells me I am just buying into systemic fatphobia and the diet industry. The second tells me I should lose weight because pretty=skinny.

Neither is true for me, but it makes me profoundly self-conscious about a personal decision I have made about my body and what I choose to do with and to it. But that’s not why I have decided to write this post.

I have decided to write this post because people keep talking to me as if this weight loss is the Accomplishments of Accomplishments. They exclaim over it with greater enthusiasm than they offer over the fact that I have a law degree, that I know Latin, that I am brilliant, hilarious, and great in bed. Okay, I do get some outright skepticism over that last claim, but whatever. Ladies, you can approach that claim scientifically if you like. My number is [redacted].

I hate being told that I should be super proud of my weight loss. I hate people acting as if it’s the best fucking thing I have ever done. I hate people asking how I feel, as if they have just handed me a fucking Oscar and I am supposed to make a fucking speech.

You know how I feel? Fat.

You know how I would feel if I lost another 30lbs?


It has nothing to do with my weight, you see.
fat hearts

The fact is, I’m pretty much okay with this. I’m okay with being fat. I’m less okay with how society has made me feel about being fat. I realize this is something of a contradiction. If I am okay with my body, then why the issues? It’s complicated; I’m a multifaceted Whiskeypants. Let’s leave it at that for now.

What gets me is how much people are not okay with it. How eager they are to praise me for my recently pronounced cheekbones and the fact that I can barely keep my pants up, even with a belt.

What gets me is how they say, “Sweet! You can go shopping now!” —as if all of my body image issues have disappeared and standing in a fitting room no longer sets off every single  issue I still have, no longer fills me with anxiety, no longer makes me wonder why designers won’t even acknowledge people above a certain size. As if pride in my body is directly correlated to my weight loss. (Hint: It isn’t.) Don’t get me wrong, I am proud of what I have accomplished, here. But not because I look 30lbs “better” according to society’s fucked up standards.

What gets me is how they think that my reward for losing weight is getting to wear smaller clothes. Shopping for clothes. Trying on clothes that were designed for people 1/2 my size and never my shape. Buying the clothes that look the least stupid on me.

Yeah. Tell me more about how I should be excited about that.

4 responses

  1. “The fact is, I’m pretty much okay with this. I’m okay with being fat. I’m less okay with how society has made me feel about being fat.” <– YEE-EEEESSSSS.

    Round about 8 years ago, I went for my last go-round with Weight Watchers. I missed a couple meetings because I got the flu and it knocked my ass the fuck out really quite spectacularly. So, a week after my last weigh in, I dragged my still recover-self there (because, you know, weight loss was better than recuperating from the flu, right?) and went for my weigh-in.

    At which point, the group leader whistled over the amount of weight I'd lost in a week and congratulated me – I pointed out that between now and then, I'd had the flu…

    … and he said "Well thank-you-flu!" enthusiastically.

    And people around me nodded enthusiastically.

    I'll never be that mental vision of me in my minds eye, the one that I'm supposed to be because that's the idealized version I've been taught to raise up. And I'll never be rid of it either, thanks to all the messages that have been shoved underneath my mental skin. But I've done and said a lot of things that are way more amazing and awesome accomplishments than being able to cinch my belt one notch tighter, and even if I can't always tell myself that, I'm gonna try – and make sure I tell my friends the same, too.

    June 1, 2014 at 9:03 am

  2. John W

    As someone firmly in middle age, I am appalled that you implicitly dismiss “My knees hurt less” as a minor thing. I’m sorry if I stopped reading there and barely skimmed the rest, but I need START DIET NOW. KTHXBYE

    June 1, 2014 at 9:15 am

    • “As a man, I feel I must make a contrary opinion so I can feel smugly superior, as I am not actually a man but a shit-twizzler”

      June 1, 2014 at 9:20 am

      • John W

        Whiskeypants is welcome to delete my comment – it was in no means intended to be contrary, although in retrospect it is derailing (I accept that my own blog is the appropriate place to discuss sore knees and make poor attempts at self-depreciating humor).

        June 1, 2014 at 2:15 pm

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