A Stranger Just Called Me Fat On My Way To Work, So That Was Cool

First of all, I should note that this is probably not going to be one of those long posts I tend to do where I rant about the body image issue the world has. This is a self-centered post about yours truly and how I felt when somebody called me fat about a block away from where I am typing this. Annoyed. And fatly.

Also, for the sake of honesty, I feel compelled to admit I actually wrote this yesterday, but there were more pressing things for me to post (such as Aaron Paul‘s face), so I opted to wait until today. But, anyway, here’s the story:

I was walking to work wearing tight dark green pants with a navy blue and white top. While going down 35th, I started slowing down in order to find my cell phone from my seemingly bottomless purse. A group of three men in their thirties or early forties were standing nearby. One of them said something grossly sexual and pointed at me, to which his friend shook his head.

“No, definitely not,” he exclaimed, looking me up and down. “Too much fat.” He made an expansive gesture around himself as he said this.

For a moment I thought about replying, but I was late and it was raining and I had nothing to say. I arrived at work, apparently noticeably upset, as two of my coworkers asked me what was wrong simultaneously. I explained it to them, and each empathized with her own tale of ridiculously rude strangers in the street.

Nevertheless, I was still bothered immensely by the comment. I kept running to the bathroom, looking in the mirror and getting hypercritical about my arms, thighs, soft jawline and just about every other part of my body. I saw my stomach, face and legs fill all the space that his gesture had indicated was my size.

I don’t need anyone to tell me I’m not fat. That opinion is totally beside the point, not to mention extremely subjective. I am fat to some people, I am not fat to others; regardless, I should be treated with the same respect I try to consistently show to people.

People often think they’re being helpful when they exclaim, “No, you’re not fat at all!” or “No, meat on a girl’s bones is way sexier!” but here’s the thing: by making that a compliment or consolation, they are defining “not fat” as an inherently positive thing while “fat” is negative. But I have fat on my body. A fair amount of it, in fact, and it’s not just my 34DDD boobs and wide hips; I have gained weight over the past few years and considering I didn’t grow any new bones I’m aware of, it is fat. And that’s fine.

Technically, I am in the “healthy” weight class of my height, if a little above that, so I’ve never had a doctor worry about my weight. I’ve got enough wrong with my body as it is, and given my long history with eating disorders, most doctors avoid the topic of weight altogether. I’m instructed to exercise for my fibromyalgia, but other than that, we steer clear of the weighting game.

The fact remains that this really, really bothered me. I didn’t want it to, because fuck — I know better. I know the people who randomly spew insults shouldn’t matter to me. I know I shouldn’t feel obligated to change my body for other people. I write about it all f’ing day.

But it didn’t so much bother me that he declared me as “too fat”; it bothered me that he viewed that as negative, which he felt the need to relay to his friends in addition to me, simply so we could all be aware of my size being unacceptable. The feeling that I am offending people merely by existing in the vicinity of those who are thinner than I am as well as those who find thinner people more attractive has been pervasive in my experience of New York so far, and I guess this just reminded me that nothing is going to change.

A moderately accurate depiction of my biased interpretations.

So I get on Skype and tell the dude I’m seeing what happened. Trevor, whose real name is still not Trevor, didn’t just do the, “Don’t worry, you’re not ____” or “But you are (insert compliment)!” thing, which doesn’t help a ton. Instead, he reminded me that however I feel is how I feel and that it’s healthier for me to let myself feel upset for a little bit than to halfway-brush off my reaction, which would wind up being internalized and more harmful in the long run. As both of my lovely coworkers reassured me, it is understandable to have shitty things make you feel shitty and occupy your mind for the next several hours.

Sometimes, it feels more convenient to just ignore how you feel. It makes everyone else stop feeling obligated to comfort you, it lets you stop thinking about the negativity, it helps your day proceed. But for me, it doesn’t allow me to move on; recognizing that it actually hurt me does. Acknowledging that something somebody else said or did to you made you feel like shit isn’t admitting defeat; it’s admitting that you are human and that you are intrinsically wired to care about how the world interacts with you.

Shit — this did turn into a big rant. My b.

In conclusion, Guy On The Street: You have officially made my day suck. Possibly my next 72 hours, because I’m oversensitive like that. And that’s okay. But in a couple of days, I’m going to forget about your comment; unfortunately, you’ll still be an asshole.

SUCK IT BODY IMAGE

Source:- http://www.thegloss.com/2013/08/02/beauty/a-stranger-just-called-me-fat-on-my-way-to-work/