20 - Fabulous: The New Fat

I’m sure you’ve noticed it. I have before today, but it really struck me this time. Recently I’ve been seeing an ad on the subways for Reitmans, a women’s clothing store that carries plus sizes. The woman in the picture is ostensibly plus sized. The copy next to her reads “Comes in small, medium and fabulous.”

I know I’m supposed to feel all special and empowered by this declaration of my fabulousness as a plus sized woman, but I just feel sort of condescended to.

Dove’s Campaign for Real Beauty has also used this particular trick. Some time ago they had billboards up around the city showing the image of a woman and two descriptive words. The public was invited to e-mail in their opinion of which word was more accurate. For example, one was a very freckled woman and the listed options were “ugly spots” or “beauty spots.” The options on the billboard I’m thinking of were “fat” or “fab.”

Understandably advertisers are not going to touch a word like fat, and all its negative connotations, with a ten foot pole, unless they are positioning it next to a more positive word—like fabulous. I get that it’ll probably be a while until we’re able to unpack a word like “fat” and allow it to just be a descriptor of size rather than an attack on character. It’s just odd that in a culture apparently suffering an epidemic of obesity we still can’t manage to find a way to talk about size that doesn’t make it feel like we’re avoiding swearing. Instead we’re busy re-claiming and disowning and doing everything in our power to avoid using the word fat.

The Reitmans ad verges on being confusing because the woman pictured is so very close to being a regular size. In fact, she very likely is a “regular” size. Barbara Brickner—one of the most famous plus size models in the industry—is a size 12. Whitney Thompson, winner of cycle 10 of America’s Next Top Model is considered a plus size model, and her size fluctuates between 8 and 10. I guess fair is fair—regular models are laughably unlike real women, so I guess the same goes for plus size models. My point is that the women used for plus size advertising are so normal looking if they’re not placed next to a “regular” model that it can actually be confusing. I wondered at first if the ad was just indicating that clothes at Reitmans also come in large or extra large. It took an extra second for me to make the connection that fabulous was a euphemism for plus.

As it is, fabulous is a word that has been squeezed of all its original meaning anyway. It seems to be the word people use when they want to describe a situation, item or person they actually find far from fabulous while still leaving everyone’s feelings intact. In fact, I’m sort of suspect of someone the minute they use the word. I start to immediately doubt their sincerity about everything that they say. And maybe that’s what I’m keying into in the ad. I don’t actually believe these advertisers think plus sized women are fabulous at all.

The Dove ads use the word in a different way. They clearly buy into all the bad connotations of the word fat because the woman pictured cannot apparently be fat and fabulous—she must be one or the other. Well frankly, given advertising beauty standards, she kind of has to be both. She’s a great looking woman who is quite well proportioned and bigger than average (at least for a model): fabulous and fat.

Both ads leave me with the impression of a sort of whitewash; a complete negation of fat people from advertising existence. We’ll either be acknowledged in euphemisms or not at all because apparently some of us can be too fabulous to even be fat. I’m pretty sure that I don’t fall into that category.

I’m not sure I’m ready for the word fat to be used in advertising. I think even I’m too painfully aware of all the baggage that word brings with it and I don’t know that I’d want to identify with an ad campaign that used the word. But it seems like fabulous doesn’t quite do the job either. Some clothing manufacturers have made an art form of referring to plus sizes and the advertising industry could probably get some pointers. I wouldn’t recommend all the things I’ve seen on clothing labels in my time—“Above Average” and “Encore” are some of the more amusing ones that come to mind—but there just has to be a better way. I mean, it would be nice if we could just say, “this clothing line comes in plus sizes” or “this woman is, incidentally, both fat and conventionally attractive (i.e. you don’t have a have a raging fat fetish to think she’s cute).” Clearly I’m not the person who should be writing this ad copy, but you get what I mean.

I’ve heard it said that advertising doesn’t set trends, it follows them and in these cases I think that rings true. As a culture we haven’t figured out a way to engage with fatness that isn’t mostly about dripping condescension, judgment or fetishism, and I think it might be a while before we do. It’d be nice though, if advertisers managed to get out ahead of the trend for once.

19 - Whatever Happened To...

I’ve been sick every day of the past two weeks save about three days, so this will be a short one. I know you’ll all weep tonight.

Those of you who are possessed of great memory may have a vague recollection of two Weight Watchers members who agreed to let me have a peek into their progress for a year. Well in my blogging hiatus the year mark came and went and I let the assignment lapse, much to my shame. When they both “unfriended” me on Facebook, my disgrace continued. When I got an “unsubscribe” request regarding the blog from one, I knew I’d really blown it.

I did manage to follow up with both of them around the four and a half month mark and both were gracious enough to at least let me know where they were at with the program now. So on those two things, I shall report. However I won’t attach names to experiences since they aren’t really on board at this point.

One of the participants had to leave the program by the four month mark because of a serious health issue. At this point, she continues to struggle with this issue and so far cannot go back to the program. She’s on a special diet presently, the goal of which is to control the illness that she’s dealing with, so Weight Watchers is just not an option. In our last contact, however, she did express the hope that at some point she would be able to meld her special medical diet with Weight Watchers because she had really enjoyed the supportive environment of the program.

The other participant kept an online journal for some time, which made it nice and easy for me to follow her progress (and still I managed to suck at keeping on top of it). At the point when I checked back in with both participants in July of 2008, she had been on the program about 9 ½ months and had lost 7.8lbs (net). When I checked back with her recently she said she was no longer on the program, but I don’t actually know if she reached her goal in the end or not. Unfortunately, when someone is asking to be unsubscribed it seems indelicate to ask too many questions.

So my less than scientific sample in this case didn’t work out so well, but here’s to better-conducted experiments in the future. There’s a Jenny Craig centre just a door over from my apartment building. Perhaps I can recruit some people there!

18 - My Fat Friend

Recently I lost a friend. Not in the traditional sense, but a shift in her life has occurred that has precipitated a slight shift in our relationship. As a result she no longer fills a specific role in my life: that of the “fat friend.”

The woman in question happens to be my sister, my closest sibling and probably my closest friend. Now to clarify, because I managed to offend the hell out of her with my shorthand, I don’t mean that she’s the fat friend who makes you feel so awesome about how you look because she looks worse. What I mean by “fat friend” is the person who affirms your decision not to work on your weight by their decision not to work on theirs. I didn’t care if our reasons for not working at it were the same; misery loves company and I enjoyed her company down here in the overweight trenches a great deal.

Allow me a little history if you will. My sister moved to Toronto in 2000, just after a family reunion. And at that family reunion a photo was taken. In it, the whole family is standing except the two of us; we’re seated and (I blame the camera angle now) neither of us looked our best. I remember feeling absolutely mortified at that picture when I saw it later. In fact, I’m fairly certain that photo precipitated my first foray into Weight Watchers. Soon after my sister’s move, she started the Jenny Craig program, and since then we’ve kind of mirrored each other in our weight gain and loss.

Over the past nine years, we’ve both yo-yo’d around and taken stabs at getting the weight issue under control. We did Myrtle Beach together last year in our belle grande bathing suits (though admittedly she was wearing one of my old “skinny” ones—I’ll always be the “big” little sister). Later that year we went home to attend an anniversary party for our parents and while her dress was way better than mine, we were both carrying more weight than we wanted to be at the time.

But now, all of this is about to change because my sister has signed up for Weight Watchers. While I have no great faith in the efficacy of the program, I know there are exceptions to the rule and it’s entirely conceivable that my sister will be one of them. Even in the worst case scenario that she isn’t the exception, I’m sure she’ll lose a significant amount of weight to begin with. She’s down about 6lbs after three weeks which is right on spec for the program. Assuming she continues to lose at this rate with no major setbacks, in six weeks she’ll be down 18lbs. That’s the kind of difference you can see—especially at another family event.

You got it. In a scant six weeks, we’ll both fly home for our mom’s 70^th birthday. All of my tall, thin brothers will be there. And this time I’ll be the only fat sibling.

Being with my family is emotionally exhausting at the best of times, but when I’m already stressed out, it’s hell on earth. Around my family I revert back to some out-of-control eighth grader begging to be understood, respected and listened to and it usually culminates with me having just the temper tantrum to prove that I’m still an out-of-control eighth grader who doesn’t deserve to be understood, respected or listened to. So yeah, that, on top of being the only fatty—not looking forward.

With all this in mind, I’ve begun to wonder if I have the wherewithal to be fat alone, not only with my family but everywhere else as well. Will I be able to calmly stand up to the well-intentioned (I like to think) prodding of certain family members to shed the pounds? Will I manage to enjoy what little I can of my family without worrying about how I look the entire time? Can I manage to not make the entire trip about my weight?

And out here in the real world, can I fight the temptation to change for shitty reasons? I’ve taken a long hiatus from working on my weight and it hasn’t just been the result of sheer laziness. In fact, it’s been a concrete decision based on, what I believe, to be a valid reason. Tempting though it is to do something drastic, I refuse to start another weight loss regimen that I don’t think is healthy or that I don’t see myself maintaining for life; and that nixes a lot of conventional programs. I won’t eat packaged Jenny Craig or NutriSystem food forever; I won’t spend the rest of my life running off to Dr. Bernstein to get shots in my ass; I won’t cut out carbs for the rest of my life; I won’t even count points and go to meetings a la Weight Watchers for the rest of my life. And so far at least, Paul McKenna can’t make me thin. So knowing my failure rate with at least one of these methods and my aversion to the rest of them, there’s little point in starting them. I’m sure I could lose weight in any one of these programs but the likelihood that I would keep it off is so low that I’m not willing to participate. I’ve done enough of the lose/gain cycle and I refuse to subject my body to it. Until I know I’m ready to deal with all my emotional triggers around food, I’m just not going to make some half-assed attempt. But in the mean time, I remain overweight and not terribly happy about it. And now there’s no one along for the ride. My human pillar of affirmation has left the building.

I guess I should be thankful that I’m so tired of the weight gain/loss treadmill because I haven’t been strongly tempted at all to do anything. I’ve had crazy thoughts of just starving myself until July 18, being trim for a weekend and then piling it all back on. But those are thoughts that remain nothing more than fucked up fantasies. So fat I am now, and fat I shall be on July 18.

There have been three positives in this though. The first is that I have quickly realized that my relationship with my sister will survive her losing weight without me; frankly I wasn’t sure I’d be able to be normal about it for a while there. The second is that I think she’s happier with herself and I basically just want my sister to be happy. The last is that I’ve been forced into the realization that I was never okay with not working at my weight in the first place. But what follows is not what you might anticipate.

Even with a friend along for the ride, I have been bound up in mess of self-loathing around my body that’s been pretty substantial and I hadn’t really been aware of how deep it went. I’ve never been in a place of acceptance about my weight but instead this terrible limbo; just waiting for the day when the rest of my life calms down enough to work on it and never really settling into this body in the mean time. Like moving into a house and never unpacking anything because you don’t plan to stay. In lieu of self-acceptance, I struck a deal with myself: it’s okay to not work at the weight as long as you hate yourself sufficiently for being overweight. And I’ve done a fabulous job at the hatred. Messed up, I realize.

So I’ve begun to wonder, can I just sit still and try to be happy at my present size? Can I manage to just work at accepting myself in the here and now, without a plan for the there and then? Can I refrain from continuing to disavowing all connection to this body? Can I stop thinking of my body and thus myself as something in need of major renovation?

I have a hope that being alone in this will make it easier to work on accepting myself on some basic level. It’s funny, but walking alone might lead to greater happiness.

17 - Overblown

Wednesday, May 20^th was not a slow news day. That day, the missing person case of Victoria Stafford became a homicide investigation. But alas, newspaper editors had to find their stories the day prior, so on that day the front page of The Toronto Star led with the headline “The Incredible Shrinking Man.” [i] the story had actually been about an incredibly shrinking man, it might have warranted the great big font. But the story was only about Toronto mayor David Miller having dropped 50lbs and—shockingly—still being recognizable to 16 out of 20 people

Let me first just address this “still recognizable” thing. No one at a height of 6’3” becomes unrecognizable for dropping 50lbs. I’m 5’5” and I wouldn’t become unrecognizable if I dropped 50lbs. I’m pretty sure people that knew me 50lbs ago are still finding it pretty easy to pick me out in a crowd. I’m going to venture a guess that anyone who found it that difficult to identify the man after his weight loss probably didn’t vote in our last municipal election—for shame!

I’d also love to know who in the hell ran this survey. Who bothered to ask this question? Were there people running in the streets when Miller’s first “after” shot hit the internet asking “who is that and what has he done with my mayor?!” The whole idea of surveying people sounds a bit desperate. I’m all for the printed word, but if this is what journalists are coming up with, the death knell for newspapers just got a little louder.

The comments on the article were an interesting mix. Most of the posters simply voiced frustration with Miller as a mayor. Some of his detractors found ways to use the weight loss as a mildly funny means to get their point across about the job he’s doing (i.e. “maybe he’ll shrink into nothing and The City of Toronto will have shed 230 pounds of distruction [sic];” “must be all that hot air he expels”). And then there were the (sadly) expected digs at fat people in general because the issue of weight has been brought up at all. One poster suggested that there must be a lot of fat people posting since people were actually angry about the article. Another poster urged the rest of us “tubbies” to follow Miller’s lead.

When I finished raging over the “fat attacks,” there were two comments that stuck out for me. One echoed the first question that popped into my head when I saw the article—“slow news day?” The other rounded out what I was thinking by calling this “Paris Hilton journalism.” Well said.

I think it’s abhorrent that the weight of every celebrity is continuously monitored by the media. Unless one’s profession is an athletic one, no one’s weight should be worthy of mention. But I still expect, and frankly accept, that I’m going to see this sort of thing on the covers of People, US and any other magazine meant for mass consumption by, primarily, women. I wouldn’t even really be surprised if I saw something like this on the cover of a more tabloid-like daily like The Toronto Sun. But I always thought of The Toronto Star as a somewhat respectable paper. Perhaps not the most committed to hard journalism but still a reasonable read. And then they pull a front page like this.

I’m pretty sure there were still people dying in Darfur on May 19 before the paper went to print. There was probably something pertinent to say about the conflicts in Afghanistan or Iraq on May 19. Now some people feel that the future of newspaper is in keeping it local. Fine, let’s keep it local. Weren’t there still some pretty important talks going on between GM and the CAW on the evening of on May 19? Well, I have to admit, that story did make the news, but obviously it wasn’t front page worthy. But David Miller’s shrinking waist line and continued familiarity to the masses (sort of) apparently was.

In 2008, The Toronto Star was still the most read paper in the CMA (census metropolitan area) of Toronto with a total weekly readership of 49%[ii]. While I’m not in agreement with all of the comment posters, it does represent a segment of people actually questioning the relevance of the news they’re reading. I wonder though, how big is that segment? If even half of that 49% don’t question the fact that someone’s weight loss is front page news in a city like Toronto, that’s troubling to me. It’s troubling to me that there is conceivably this great number of people who think that David Miller’s morning runs, bagged lunches, Quarter Pounder with cheese boycott and subsequent weight loss is actually news.

Maybe I’m being censorial about this. Maybe all news is created equal, but I can’t say I believe that. I just don’t agree with semi-respectable newspapers implying that someone’s last weigh-in should be given the same space as wars, elections and economic melt-downs. I’m not okay with the implication that we should be monitoring David Miller’s weight loss as an electorate, rather than his policies. And I’m not okay with the increasing number of editors who feed the misconception that weight loss is something to congratulate people about, like they’ve just done something to secure world peace. Ultimately, I’m not okay with the idea that we should be worried about anyone’s weight except our own.

The “after” shot of David Miller was taken at a cities environment summit in Korea and while news of what was actually discussed at the summit did make into The Toronto Star the next day, I fail to understand why they felt the need to lead the day prior with a “wow, the mayor looks great” article. And if they just had to do the “wow, the mayor looks great” article could they not have buried it on page E4?

I’d love to hear what you think. Is weight loss news? Should it be news? Am I too sensitive to this because of my weight? While I love your e-mails, you can comment anonymously on the blog and then everyone can have the benefit of your thoughts which, I think, you’d all enjoy. So, over to you.

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[i]The online version of the story was entitled “The Skinny on Mayor Miller’s weight loss.”

[ii]2008 NADbank Readership Study – check it out at http://www.cna-acj.ca/en/system/files/Press%20Release%200708%20NADbank%20Study.pdf

16 - BMI Begone!

For some time now, I’ve wanted to talk about the Body Mass Index (BMI), and last week a little nugget fell into my lap. I stumbled across an article in MacLean’s about a new measure being proposed by some obesity experts. Enter the Edmonton Obesity Staging System. What this measure does (that the BMI cannot) is take into account that not every obese person is at equal risk for weight-related diseases, even at the same BMI. In fact, it even allows for the novel idea that an obese person might be relatively healthy.

In the article, the following example is used to demonstrate how the same BMI means different things for different people: “Two people…One is a young woman, aged 24, who seems relatively healthy and plays soccer on weekends. The other is a large 32-year old man who suffers from hypertension and sleep apnea. The woman is five foot five, about 190lbs; the man is six feet tall, 265lb…both are ‘obese’ with a Body Mass Index of 30 or more.”

As the article goes on to explain, it doesn’t take much to ascertain that the only thing that these two people share is a BMI. Any potential medical intervention is going to look very different in each case and using the same approach for two people with such different lifestyles and symptoms would be silly. However, many practitioners are without a sensible guide and have only the BMI and its attendant diagnoses at their disposal when dealing with obese patients.

It seems like a measure as unrelated to specific information as the BMI leaves much to be desired. Yet, in a Frontline diet documentary mentioned in my third post, a nutritionist, going on host Stephen Talbot’s BMI alone, lists off (with a straight face) an array of horrible health risk factors: heart disease, stroke, osteo-arthritis, high cholesterol, adult onset diabetes and some types of cancer. The good doctor planned to check Talbot’s cholesterol and to do a blood glucose test to ensure that he wasn’t “already diabetic,” but all of her declarations were based on just his BMI. At 5’11’ and 210lbs, Talbot had a BMI of 29, which put him in the overweight category, edging dangerously close to obesity. Ironically, he hadn’t considered himself overweight at all prior to that day.

I’d like to believe that most nutritionists would run a few more tests before declaring that you were about to contract any number of terrifying diseases. It’s telling, though, that this nutritionist talked about using the BMI “a lot more” these days and seemed content to be seen on television making a lot of conclusions based on that information alone. I’m left wondering, if Talbot had been a naturally thinner man, with deceptively high metabolism and a normal range BMI, would the good doctor have bothered to ensure that he wasn’t “already diabetic?”

I have a great family doctor who doesn’t treat me like my size is the only thing that defines me. Knowing my 30+ BMI full well, she refers to me as “not that overweight.” Not every overweight person is blessed with a doctor like mine though; a system like this is a great way to begin and facilitate conversation between patients and doctors, so that interventions are tailored to the individual in question. Clearly the one-size-fits-all-BMI approach hasn’t worked thus far—this new kind of thinking is long overdue. My favorite quote in the article, from Dr. Arya of the Canadian Obesity Network, highlights something that I think we all know, but that most people don’t like to admit: “Size is health in many people’s minds, but it shouldn’t be.”

I’ll second that emotion.

To read the full MacLean’s article, click here. For more information on the Edmonton Obesity Staging System, check out Dr. Sharma’s blog.

15 - Freedom of Space

I ride public transit everywhere. I didn’t even learn how to drive until the age of 30, making me one of those terrible overly cautious (and thus somewhat dangerous) drivers. But I’ve always been vaguely offended by the cost of owning a car anyway. Also, without public transit I’d probably regress into illiteracy; most everything I’ve read in the past 15 years has been read while traveling on a bus or subway. I actually find it hard to read at home at all.

Having sung the praises of the service, however, I’m not always a fan of transit. Waiting for buses in the winter sucks and it’s not uncommon for transit vehicles to smell bad in the summer time. In addition, I can assure you that no one with a major psychological issue in this city owns a car. And there’s a reason that the 300 Blue Night is called the Vomit Comet. But my last beef is the issue of space.

Seats on public transit vehicles are really not made for people my size. I don’t tend to ride in rush hour so this is (thankfully) not an everyday issue for me. I’m often able to get what I consider prime seating on my bus to work—one of the four single seats on the left hand wall. And if the subway isn’t too busy, most (sane) people will observe appropriate spacing—meaning, in a row of three seats the middle one will be left open and you only sit in the open spot of a two-seater if there are no other reasonable options. This allows people like me to have a portion of their ass taking up part of the next seat. Regular sized folks put bags, dogs, children and other sundries there from what I’ve observed.

But when it’s busy, it’s a whole different story. If I’m stuck on the outside of a two-seater, about a quarter of my body will likely be hanging out into the aisle. If I’m on the inside seat, I’m folded up like a contortionist trying to avoid inappropriately touching my neighbor. As for a three-seater, if there are already two occupants, only enormously extenuating circumstances will make me sit (i.e. spontaneous conception or my leg suddenly breaking all on its own). Which brings me to a story.

The other day I was on a rush-ish hour bus that was required to take on the disgorged passengers of an out-of-service vehicle. This newly, exceptionally crowded bus was going to be nuisance enough, but then this dude gets on—and he’s huge. Not just overweight, but just an impossibly large man. I look at him in dread because I know the seat next to me is the best one left. I hold my breath a bit, anticipating being squished into the wall, his thigh melding with my own, as the two of us compete for too little space.

And then it happens. He manages to not only sit next to me, but to pass the entire remainder of the ride, without ever touching me. At all. If it wouldn’t have remanded me to the ranks of the insane, I would have thanked him—thanked him for understanding that we all want space, no matter how big we are and how the small the space is. I wanted to thank him for respecting my space even in rush hour. I wanted to thank him for understanding the hierarchy of seat comfort based on first arrival.

This strange happening got me thinking about personal space in the public realm and one’s right to it. In North American culture there is a bubble of personal space that we all strive to maintain. Only in very specific contexts do we give that space up, like crowded vehicles or schools or Black Friday sales. It’s why, when a dude sits in the seat next to you on an empty bus, you move the hell away toute suite. But the bigger you are, the bigger your bubble and I wondered to myself, did I forfeit the right to my personal space bubble when I got a little too big for one seat? And if that’s the case, is that fair or right?

Ironically, as a fat gal, I tend to walk around trying consciously not to take up too much space for the simple reason that I don’t want to be reminded of how much actual space I take up. There are days when I don’t even want to be seen, let alone felt to be encroaching on someone else’s space based on my size. It makes me wonder, did the man on that rush hour bus keep from touching me out of consideration, or was he just trying not to take up too much space that day? Maybe he just didn’t want to be seen or felt either.

I used to love air travel as a kid. As an adult who’s watched too many episodes of Seconds from Disaster and Mayday, I know too much to enjoy it much anymore. Also, my hips are becoming too wide for the standard airplane seat. Before every flight that I take, I send up a small prayer that the seat next to me will be either empty or occupied by someone insanely thin so that my time of terror in the skies will, at least, be comfortable.

So of course, after all this thinking about how much I attempt not to take up any space, I couldn’t help but think about people who want to take up more space than anyone should need. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen some large folks who have zero qualms about taking up all kinds of space, but, in my experience, I see this propensity for being downright weird about the issue displayed most often by thin people. Maybe it’s just because, despite the “epidemic of obesity,” there are more average size people than any other kind. Whatever the reason, this seems to be the state of things. Some examples that come to mind: people who cross their legs (in any variety of ways) on public transit, as if the aisle was some sort of lounge area rather than a through way; the dudes (it’s always dudes) who sit with their legs two feet apart; the huge purse girls and the backpack boys; and the dreaded “SUV-baby-carriage” people*. These people appear to function with the idea that they are not only entitled to the space that they need, but to as much space as they might possibly want. I go about with the feeling like I should be grateful that I’m allowed to take up as much space as I do, and maybe, in light of these people, I’m being overly grateful. On the other hand, if everyone were as grateful as I am, public transit would be a lot more pleasant for all of us.

*Credit to the editor for that one.