Last week (or was it the week before? I’m blurring on time with how busy I’ve been), I followed some of the Shapely Prose and resulting Fatosphere discussion on what apparently was an extremely controversial comic on xkcd (note: it is work-safe). Apparently SP has been aflame with posts and comments on the topic ever since, although I haven’t followed them as, well, I haven’t had time.
But I’m staying out of that discussion and, as ever, keeping my blog selfishly focused on ME! ME! Talking to a dear friend over the weekend, who is struggling through some issues related to relationships, sex, and the joys of divorce, I realized for the first time on a very deep, personal level, how protective a suit of armor my fat is. The scenario in that comic strip that SP was describing? The feeling of being uncomfortable around a man hitting on you? Doesn’t happen to me anymore. A 300-odd-pound protective layer blocks me from everyone but the mentally ill and some African men, fat being more attractive in parts of Africa than it is in Western society. Men don’t hit on me. In fact, they actively avoid me and I can almost see them praying that I don’t sit next to them on the bus. The only men who ever choose to sit next to me when I commute in to work on the days that my husband isn’t riding with me are middle-aged men, generally bearded and somewhat hippie-ish, who happily read their books and don’t give me a second glance.
Even in high school, I never got flirted with, at least that I ever noticed. That scenario where the cute waiter walks away and your best friend says, “Oh, he was TOTALLY into you?!” Never happened to me. No matter what, the person I was with was the one that the cute waiter was into. I was the fat chick with acne and glasses that nobody, not once, ever thought was the cute, quirky geeky girl worth noticing not because of her looks but because of her glowing inner beauty (inner beauty, ha!). I only dated one guy, and he only briefly (he was a sweetie but he talked and talked and talked, so I never got a word in edgewise!), because I was a reasonably unattractive fat girl and, while I pined after a boyfriend, was always too afraid to actually try to find one.
I have never once had someone hit on me on the bus, or in a public park, or anywhere else. I’m fat. I’m safe. Although I was very nearly molested as a teenager, and got the odd wolf-whistle as I walked to school, since I ballooned up over 200, men don’t approach me. When I first met my husband online, I sent him a picture of myself, wanting him to know right off the bat that I was fat, because men don’t want fat women (or so I thought). While I may sometimes be afraid while walking around, part of me trusts that, no matter what, I will be the fattest (and thereby least attractive) woman anywhere around…I am the last choice.
Typing that out feels so strange, and yet I realize how frequently it is a subtext in my life and in my feelings about my body. Part of me wishes that I could be sexy, gorgeous, and someone worth hitting on…but part of me loves that I am not, that the fat surrounding my body keeps it safe (or at least gives me the illusion of safety), because I will always be less appealing than just about every other woman on that bus. The thin college student in her cute clothes with her iPod? He is always going to sit next to her before he sits next to me. Always. That elderly woman tucked into her seat with a book? He is always going to sit next to her before he sits next to the “morbidly obese” fat woman looking at the scenery.
The male gaze takes in my edges and, disgusted, never looks deeper and barely ever touches my face (I have really pretty eyes, you know). I am a black hole, a nothing, a no one to the predatory looks (or perceived predatory looks) that women commenting on SP fear. Because I am “fat and ugly,” I escape notice. No “cute netbook” will make me a target of attention. No beautiful scarf, or great haircut, or even a friendly smile and passersby will make me more inviting. I am not a woman, I am not even a thing. No stranger would ever invite a one-night stand with me. My fat feels safe and I feel safe in it, because as long as I wear this coat, I can participate in the world or stand back from it as I desire. I can smile and engage people in an entirely platonic way, or I can ignore them and be ignored in turn. I do not invite the male gaze and even when I vaguely desire it, I am protected from it. I am not forced to face the consequences because no one wants me (I leave my husband out of this, by the way – my body issues get in the way of parts of our relationship but this is about the public gaze, not my marriage!).
I never realized, before this weekend, how safe and protected my size makes me feel. I am not entirely sure what to make of that. I am not sure how to resolve the conflicting desire for attention, to be seen as someone valuable, special, creative, and appealing, with what clearly must be a deeply buried terror of being noticed. Part of me is that xkcd generic girl, both turning away in pretended nonchalance and dislike, while desperately wishing that cute, geeky guy on the bus would notice her! Want her! Talk to her! Make her feel like she is attractive, interesting, and worthwhile.
So I guess I will weigh in on that SP post and say this…
Whatever you may say about the male gaze being predatory, and however much you may read that comic as typifying the notion of the “girl who says ‘no’ really wanting it after all”…the fact is, in the comic, she never said “No.” Her pose doesn’t make me think of someone turning away and not wanting attention so much as it suggests to me the kind of person I would be as a college-ish girl with a netbook, turning the screen away so that said cute, geeky guy wouldn’t notice that I was Tweeting about how much I wanted him to TALK TO ME instead of actually doing it. That’s how I read that comic – I saw myself in it, wearing my fat coat of armor while hoping that carrying a cute netbook might make geeky guy look at me long enough to see my pretty eyes and discover my clever brain and amusing sense of humor, instead of ignoring the fat nonentity in the corner.
I guess that makes me the girl who says “no” with my fat-suit but means “yes”…so what kind of awful traitor to feminism and to the Fatosphere does that make me?
I’m not sure what to say about that… but I wanted to thank you for writing it. Very poignant… heartfelt… moving.
I also want to say thank you for writing this.
As a fellow fat girl, I understand where you are coming from. I am not noticed, by guys or girls. I am the extra person, the friend. I have had ONE man randomly hit on me in public, so much so that he followed me through the mall. It was a strange experience because I really wanted to turn and say to him, “I’m fat! Didn’t you notice?”
So thanks for reassuring me that I am not alone. I frequently feel left out of the FA movement, as my experience has been drastically different. I was never made fun of for being fat. I was just ignored.
Yes, this! I *have* caught flak for being fat but mostly from family. I’ve had a few comments from random passersby but very few, in comparison with what other people get. I’m just ignored. People just don’t look at me.
Actually, on the SP discussion, the person who’s been most hostile to me recently (this spring) was a mentally ill woman who said that a fat person like me didn’t deserve to have a child (my toddler was with me at the time). I don’t even register on most people’s radar, especially not male radar.
Wow.
This is an amazing, heartbreakingly honest post. I’m going to have to think about it a bit longer before I can write anything sensible about it. But I wanted you to know right NOW that I’ve read this and been touched by it.
You are a fearless writer!!!
Beth – I dunno, the line between “fearless” and “too dumb to shut up” is a fine one!
Like Beth, I need to think for a bit before actually posting. But I will say this: I love you. Very much.
I was thinking about it as we were chatting, actually, and you were mentioning how Joe kept mentioning what a great body you had…and I was sad (not for you, because that’s great!) but because I’ve never, ever had that experience. I know G finds me sexy…but you know, I’ve never worn a bikini. I don’t know what that feels like. Part of me doesn’t want to and part of me does…and the part that does knows that I almost certainly never will.
Very interesting – your perspective made me think. I agreed with the majority on SP that the cartoon was problematic, but can totally relate to what you’re saying about the protective shield.
I don’t register on most men’s radar either, and never did, except for the one year I spent in Europe in college. That year I got hit on all the time, I think due to cultural differences and also just because I was out walking around and taking the bus/train everywhere. It was exciting at first but after a while I just felt vulnerable. It was hard to tell what guys’ intentions were so self-defense took over and the flattery quickly wore thin, especially after I was followed home one night. I’ve come to appreciate being semi-invisible now that I’m fatter, older and happily married.
To me, the context of the come-on is the problem. There’s nothing anti-feminist about wanting to be desired or for someone to be intrigued by you, IMO. That’s just human. It’s just more problematic to get hit on at random in public by someone who only knows what you look like. There’s a much better chance that their intentions aren’t good and the whole interaction is fraught with well-founded suspicion.
Tuffy – It’s a difficult issue. I know that flirting can turn into harassment (or close to it) very quickly but at the same time, I honestly didn’t read that cartoon as being problematic, not because the issue of unwanted male attention isn’t a real one but because he never actually approached her, and therefore the unwanted attention simply wasn’t even present. It felt like the discussion on SP turned into the thought-police.
But yes, it was a strange realization that I do feel so protected by my size and like that invisibility while also having so much self-loathing surrounding it. What was surprising to me was how few people commented on it even existing over on any of the SP posts (namely, this fat-invisibility).
Yes! This is so true. I grew up fat and invisible (when I wasn’t being harassed) and longed to be noticed, to have guys hit on me. Then 12 years ago I lost much of the weight, but was still so caught up in my body issues I occasionally appreciated, but generally disbelieved the male attention.
Then I lived in Central America for the last 1.5 years, where street harassment is orders of magnitude worse than anywhere I’ve lived in the States, even though my weight had started creeping back up. I finally (after repeated gropings, marriage proposals from drunk old men on buses, and other squicky situations) realized what women were complaining about for so long. It’s really not a compliment – it’s creepy.
That, combined with a rather traumatic divorce earlier this year, and next thing I know I started putting on weight. Although I didn’t do this consciously, I believe – at some level – I was doing this to rebuild my armor and protect myself. I’m still not ready to be noticed, let alone be in a relationship again. That extra weight (and the fakie ring I’m still wearing, and – I’m sure – my attitude) are doing a pretty good job of keeping the men away, for better or for worse, and I’m just fine with that right now.
That’s just it – on the one hand there’s a desire to be noticed but on the other much of that attention is unwelcome.
Thank you for your honest and raw post. I can totally relate and yet, I have so many men in my life that are respectful and loving. However, I’ve always been the fat girl that every man wants as his best friend..his “sister” figure. We can laugh together (I’m nothing if not witty) and hang out and have a great time. We can tell each other our secrets, hopes and dreams, but at the end of the day, I’ve always felt like “one of the guys” in that they tell me about the girls they like and finding”the one”, never really seeing me as that person. Weight? Perhaps. It’s what I’ve always blamed for that. If I looked like Scarlett Johanssen, perhaps I’d not be every man’s best friend. Perhaps they’d want more? I don’t know because that’s not my experience. And I long after them and lust after them…like a normal woman..and I am a normal woman. Larger than some, smaller than some. But not a cute little thing and that’s where so many men seem to go. Now, I’ve been approached on the street and it is creepy. But I also know that I am distrustful enough that i would never even take seriously a man who approached me for more. At this point, it’s so ingrained that I am one thing to men, and that does not include girlfriend, wife, lover, etc. My experiences have been varied and some of them quite lovely. I have men in my life that I love completely and that I know love me..yet, when do I get to go home and not wake up alone? Your honest was fresh and wonderful. Thank you.
i did not even realize how much i truly feel this way about myself until reading this post. my close friends and husband had said this about me, and i never realized it, not to the extent i do now.
thank you for this.
it is shocking how INVISIBLE a fat woman can be to so much of the world.