Pretty sure this thing struck just in time to stop me from being able to make prompt comments on the “your 90s dude-crush as food” post, so BOOOOOO
WHY is this sort of who/I overate/lost weight and now I’m better always the narrative for fat women? Seriously given the number of fat women who write a lot about things beyond the narrative of being a small/slightly fat fatty in a way that isn’t laden with guilt, misery and the LOSE WEIGHT koolaid, why is this ALWAYS the narrative?
From the end:
Look, I don’t smoke anymore. I don’t do drugs anymore. I don’t date men who are terrible for me. I still like to drink, but I prefer to get up in the morning with a clear head and write my books, so I’m less likely to drink all night long. What I have left is food; that is my vice. And I will always want to eat a pizza when I am feeling rejected. And thus, my history of being fat is my past, present, and future. In the back of my mind, there is always a possibility of return. Fat-adjacency. But I like being responsible to myself. I like taking care of me, as much as I love food. So here I am. Alive.
Won’t be reading the Hairpin either.
Uh. The framing of fat as a negative force in one’s life is getting old. Stories like this always remind me how so many people are willing to blame themselves for all of the horrible things that happen in our lives on our bodies and not society.
BTW the author’s book that this piece is promoting looks like fat phobic garbage so I’m not really surprised at the negative framing in her narrative.
This is a major part of what put a bee in my bonnet yesterday. In fairness, a decent number of the commenters are calling this bullshit out for what it is. On the other hand, several of the Hairpinners I most respected have shown their asses on this by defending the idea that the narrative of ~fat until fixed~ still deserves to be celebrated.
I just literally can’t even begin with it.
I finally finally finally got my period, two weeks late to the day. My cycle jumped forward by a week recently so I figure that I’m starting to go through what commenters on The Hairpin defined as period puberty, ie a time in your middle to late twenties where your period goes haywire for awhile that nobody ever warns you about…So I’m preparing myself for irregularity but if six week cycles mean three weeks of level 10 PMS I just don’t know if I can hang.
Last night I did some crying and watched Paris Is Burning on Vimeo before bed. When I woke up this morning I knew my period had finally come and I felt a sense of relief and release. Then I went to Student Health for an eye exam and got them to adjust my sunglasses so they actually sit on my face and I got a new lens prescription so I can buy frames from coastal.com like all the cool kids (“sit on my face” lol). Now I’m waiting at the pharmacy for anti-anxiety meds for when I fly to DC in a couple of weeks and my eyes are blurry from the dilation and at least two people here have strep throat and there isn’t enough hand sanitizer in the world right now.
I was thinking of going to go to the gym and chasing an endorphin high before cramps set in but I think I’ll just do one other quick errand on campus and then grab some Mexican takeout and head home. I didn’t realize how fucked up my eyes were gonna be. Shit’s bright as fuck.
Ever go to a meetup in Los Angeles for cool girls that read a cool website and put your foot in your mouth so everyone rolls their eyes and someone says “See, that’s why I hate L.A.”?
It sucks. The worst part is that apparently it sounded like I was body snarking, when really I was just trying to make a funny about how before HD you never realized that actresses have peach fuzzy shoulders. I think it’s cute, actually!
Augh. Social awkwardness rears its ugly head. It was still fun to go to the meetup and should be proud of myself for pushing myself outside my comfort zone. And I started my first cross-stitch!