Nintendo has just introduced a game called Wii Fit. Wii Fit sounds pretty damn cool to me. You get a control board that you can stand on and, while you play any one of about 40 activities on the game, the board reads your movements and makes an avatar do what you are doing. You lean left while skiing, so your avatar leans left. Pretty cool. Nintendo's spokefolks have said that they don't really mean the game to replace other exercise. "It's not meant to replace a regimented workout schedule, but instead to compliment your existing exercise routine," a spokesman told journalist Chad Sapieha (http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20080516.WBwgtgameblog030120080516111238/WBStory/WBwgtgameblog0301).

So, here's the part where Wii Fit stops sounding so cool to me. You enter your height and weight and some other info, and the game tells you your BMI.

Now, most of my readers are big girls, and I haven't met a big girl yet who doesn't know more about body and diet stuff than most nutrition experts, so I bet most of you already know what BMI means. For those who don't, BMI (Body Mass Index) uses your height, weight, and gender to give you a "healthy" weight range. According to the Center for Disease Control, "BMI provides a reliable indicator of body fatness for most people and is used to screen for weight categories that may lead to health problems" (http://www.cdc.gov/nccdphp/dnpa/bmi/). Note the "most people." This is important. BMI is not always right, nor does it always indicate how fat you are (I won't even bother now to go into the research that says many of the health problems blamed on weight are actually truly about inactivity, and that fat people who move are healthier than thin people who don't regardless of BMI. That's a blog for another day...)

BMI is an improvement on the old insurance charts that used to be the basis for "ideal weight". Still, BMI is meant to be used as a guideline. All kinds of things can throw it off. For example, people like weight lifters and professional athletes are known to be off the chart at times because they have so much muscle that their weight has nothing to do with how fat they are. Another group highly likely to have a misleading BMI? Kids. Their bodies change too much, too fast for a chart to be a realistic measure of their health. As the CDC says, "For children, BMI is used to screen for overweight, at risk of overweight, or underweight. However, BMI is not a diagnostic tool. For example, a child may have a high BMI for age and sex, but to determine if excess fat is a problem, a health care provider would need to perform further assessments. These assessments might include skinfold thickness measurements, evaluations of diet, physical activity, family history, and other appropriate health screenings."

So, now you have this video game that's supposed to encourage health. Then you have kids going to play the game, entering their height and weight, and being told they are fat. And I don't mean the game tells you your BMI and then you figure out what that means. I mean the game literally calls you fat if your BMI is out of the range considered healthy. The game apparently has three body type categories: underweight, ideal, and fat.

I hope I don't even have to tell you why it's wrong for a game to use the word ideal to describe a body type. Ideal is not a universal standard of anything. It's a loaded word based on our own feelings and perspectives. And, of course, so is the word fat. At least words like underweight and overweight are based on the (flawed) medical standard of the BMI. Ideas like ideal and fat are based on cultural messages about what is desirable, what you should be trying to be, what is too much.  This could be problematic with anyone. It's especially problematic for kids.

 First, kids aren't ready yet to deal with the pressure of ideals. They're supposed to be loved for who they are. (Yes, we all are. But as adults we have more responsibility for who we are than kids do). Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know kids have to learn about the hard real world sooner or later. In the hard real world, people will call them fat. But, damn! If they're actually fat, trust me, they are getting enough of that from the real world. And if they're not, don't make them think they are!

But, second, even if you agree that kids today are too fat and need to be more active, surely we must at least consider that BMI is often just WRONG when it comes to kids. A representative from the National  Obesity Forum, one of the British organizations opposing Wii Fit's use of BMI, told Yahoo news that "BMI is far from perfect but with children it simply should not be used. A child's BMI can change every month and it is perfectly possible for a child to be stocky, yet still very fit." (To read the whole article, visit yahoo news:
http://us.i1.yimg.com/videogames.yahoo.com/feature/wii-fit-or-wii-fat-/1213585)

As one other blogger put it, "While we don't appreciate Wii Fit's attempt to make people look like mini-Skeletors, the message is clear: take this game with a grain of salt. Wii Fit isn't a doctor or nutritionist -- it's just a game. So don't let it launch you into a hunger strike, or turn you into an anorexic." (http://www.nintendowiifanboy.com/2008/05/07/wii-fit-has-a-broad-definition-of-fat/)  This is sound advice for adults, although I admit if a game called me fat, my level of annoyance or insult would likely be based  more on my mood for the day that anything else. On one day, I might be like, "F you, Wii! You're mama's fat!" On another day, I might see it as devastating evidence that I'm not so huge that even my gaming system finds it urgent to let me know. Grain of salt one day; salt in the wound another.

But I'm a grown-up. At 33, I have coping mechanisms for insults (intended or not) that a child playing this game is not likely to have.  At 8 or 12 or 14, if a video game had called me fat, that would've been evidence in support of my endless fear that I would grow up to die ugly and alone.  This game is like the electronic equivalent of my experience with junior high school P.E. As it was, just the idea that I was too fat to exercise without embarrassing myself kept me from exercising for years.  If my entertainment had actually told me I was fat, I probably ended up the result of an afterschool special about teen eating disorders.  I had enough real life people who didn't have the sense not to criticize my body all the time. I damn sure didn't need a game for help with that.  No kids do.

 
By the way, Nintendo has apparently apologized for its language use but hasn't admitted that using BMI on kids is wrong.  You can send them a note if you'd like to tell them what you think. http://www.nintendo.com/consumer/admform.jsp

 

For the last nine years, the arrival of April has meant one thing—the Listen Up Spoken Word Event at Mills College Upward Bound. I discovered Upward Bound when a classmate in my Creative Writing graduate program invited me to come meet these amazing teens who were doing a Saturday writing workshop in preparation for their poetry reading. If you don't know Upward Bound (NOT Outward Bound! That's the one where kids experience nature adventures to teach them their inner strength), it's a Department of Ed program that helps low-income teens become the first in their families to pursue four-year college degrees. My Upward Bound serves the troubled Oakland, California school district, and my first writing workshop with them eventually led to years as a college counselor/teacher/tech chick/jill-of-all-trades for the program.  

That first year, I joined the program as a workshop participant, and I joined the Upward Bound students for their annual reading. The next year, I took over the coordination of the workshops and the planning of the event. I've performed there every year since then. I often do poems about the fat girl experience, in part because it's a huge (no pun intended) part of who I am and in part because I know young women need positive role models in the form of adult females who will openly talk about body image.

The 10^th Anniversary of Listen Up was celebrated last week! (If you're interested in supporting youth poetry, check it out at http://www.myspace.com/millslistenup). I introduced my poem like this:

Every few years at Listen Up I do a fat girl poem, and every time I do, I ask myself, "Am I really going to do another fat girl poem?" and then I say, "Well, uh, I'm still a fat girl. So, YES!" Before I read my poem tonight, I'm gonna ask you to do something. I do a lot of fat activism and awareness raising, and one of the things that really inspires me is a quote I read in a magazine a few years ago. I don't remember who said it…I think it might have been Camryn Manheim or maybe this plus-size model, Emme…I don't know, one of those media friendly fat girls. Anyway, she said something like, "We're never gonna know what a sexy 250 pound woman looks like because no woman who weighs 250 pounds will ever admit it." Now, I'm right in that 250 pound ballmark…

At this point I stepped away from the podium and, accompanied by thunderous applause (if I do say so myself) spun in a circle so my entire 240-something pounds could be seen from all angles.

So you can determine for yourselves is you've seen a sexy 250-pound woman. Now, I want to invite all of you to do something with me, those of you who are brave enough. I'm going to count to three, and I want you to stand up and shout out your weight. Yes, I'm serious. Whoever is brave enough. Yes, I'm looking at some of your specifically. C'mon now…one…two…three!

And at least 1/3 of the people in the audience did it! Especially the fat girls! Yay!!!

And then I gave them a round of applause, because any woman (or man, for that matter) who will stand up in a room full of strangers (at least half of whom are high school students…not the most tolerant group on the planet) and shout out their weight DESERVES a round of applause! Blog readers, feel free to do the e-equivalent by including your weight, loud and proud, in any comments you happen to post! J

 

So, here's the poem. As I told the audience, it's still untitled but for now I'll just call it…

 
That Other Fat Girl Poem

 
Everybody knows a fat girl who sits at home
Feeling so sorry and wrong
But not everybody knows a fat girl who rocks it
So here is that fat girl's song

I've got rolls and rolls and rolls
And I don't give a damn
Cuz lots of folks wanna squeeze these rolls
And love me the way I am

If somebody don't like this big girl body
I don't have to waste my time
I know I outweigh all these video girls
There's more curves in a dollar than in a dime

No disrespect to thin girls, I love my skinny sistas
Because every woman's a prize
But I can be just as hot as that skinny girl is
I'm just hot in a bigger size

So all my curvy cuties just hold your head high
Don't let fat-hating fools cramp your style
Besides, you have fewer chins when you keep your head up
And we all look more cute when we smile

So what if you weigh what a ball player benches
Strut your stuff with your lumps and your rolls
Let your life be judged by successes and laughter and love
And not by the size of your clothes.

 

 

 

 

Today, I am thinking about Dr. King and his dream and what it has to do with me. I know exactly what it has to do with me as a woman of color. But today, as I sit home on the day off in his honor and watch Vh1 Soul play tribute videos to him over and over again, I was planning to spend part of the day blogging about body image issues. Body stuff is heavily on my mind (no pun intended, but hey, there it is). And I'm wondering where body stuff connects with the dream of equality that turned Dr. King's day of birth into a national holiday. 

I have mixed feelings about making a connection between the American Civil Rights Movement and the struggle of fat people to achieve self acceptance and societal acceptance. There is that frustrating need for some people to engage in that sick competition referred to as "the oppression Olympics" in which we all compete to see who has it worse. I hate that shit. Of course there are times when some people have it worse than others. Duh. Let's be real about when our group has it bad but someone else has it much rougher. But let's also remember that "worse"  is often a matter of context.  I happen to be one of those people who can check a whole bunch of boxes when it comes to being part of groups that are disenfranchised in American society. At some moments or places in my life, it is hardest to be a brown person. At others, it's being a woman that creates the challenge. Sometimes I stumble because my working class roots haven't prepared me for the situation in which I find myself. There are all these different ways and reasons that life is made harder because of one or another of the groups I belong to (there are, of course, also ways and reasons why being a part of those groups is my joy and pride. But that is an essay for another day).  

So, I don't want to make this a blog about whether fat people have it worse in this country or Black people have it worse in this country. What I know is that there's a lot of evidence that both groups face daily discrimination. I've often heard people say that fat hating is the last acceptable prejudice. It's certainly acceptable in this country to openly abuse fat folks. But I'm a mixed race woman of Black descent, and I live with and love and befriend and am a sister (literally and figuratively) to Black men; trust me when I say that Black-hating is still alive and well. In fact, it's thriving. So let's not get the idea here that Dr. King's dream is all fulfilled and finished for Black folks. Progress has been made; work still needs to be done. Lots and lots of work. Fat prejudice does not have the same historical legacy as Black oppression, nor is it applied in the same systematic ways. We don't see public schools segregated so that fat kids all go to the same rundown schools with raggedy books and overburdened teachers. We don't see fat people getting profiled by the police or serving disproportionately long prison sentences for the crimes they commit. There's no predominantly fat neighborhood where hazardous waste is dumped because no one cares if those fatties die of poisoned air and water.

Collectively, the conditions for Black people in this country are often horrible. Still, there are ways in which being fat is much harder in my daily life than being Black. Through education and blessing and luck, I have more resources than many brown people in this country so I escape some of the conditions that make Black life an American nightmare rather than the fulfillment of Dr. King's dream. Even in my professional life, where I am often the only Black woman in any given circumstance, being fat makes things harder more often than being a woman of color does.   The day to day experience of being a fat woman is wrought with reminders of my worthlessness. The tide is turning, and proud fat folks are becoming even more vocal about making statements that we refuse to be treated as second class citizens. But the messages—from friends and family, from strangers, and definitely from the media—is still a constant barrage of everything wrong with being big. It starts with the "helpful" friend who says you should never wear patterns. It continues with the teenager 1/3 your size complaining about how ugly she is because she's so fat. It ends with trying to watch your favorite tv show and realizing the thin beautiful people are happy and heroic while chunky girls are either the butts of jokes or nowhere to be seen.

Racism is often underground, but fat phobia is right out in the open. In the long run, underground racism sucks just as much as open racism. It's like the difference between Northern "polite" racism and Southern blatant racism. There's a reason people thought of the North as easier even though it was just as racist. Political correctness (for better or for worse) has created an environment in which "good" people will not say (at least publicly) hateful things about African-Americans. Good people say horrible things about fat people all the time and no one blinks an eye. For instance, I've never seen a "No Black Chicks" t-shirt or bumper sticker, but "No Fat Chicks" gets little objection from anyone but fat chicks. And it's not just the uncomfortable social and personal things like being insulted or having someone lean away from you on public transit because they seem to think fat is contagious. It's not just the guy who holds the door for the skinny woman in front of you and lets if swing back in your fat face. It's not just the comedian on the morning show telling fat girls to stop dancing to "Sexy Back" because no one finds it sexy. (Don't even let me get started right now on how wrong this jackass is and how many people find fat women very sexy).

Beyond the insults and the frustrations and the too-tight chairs and lack of fashion choices, there lies an even uglier side of fat hatred. Women in survey after survey say they'd rather experience horrible fates –lost limbs, terminal illnesses, loss of income, years taken off their lives—than gain weight. Research tells us that fat people earn less than their thin counterparts and are turned down for jobs more often than smaller people are. Fat activists know that anecdotes abound of fat people who would rather take their chances with serious health issues than subject themselves to the treatment they get by some doctors. The "obesity epidemic" has labeled fat folks as diseased and destroying the country.

Dr. King said, "I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.'"Part of the reason we're comfortable with treating fat people like crap is because we think of fatness as something people can be blamed for. People think that fatness is not the way God created you, it's something you did to yourself. Maybe people are born Black, but you and Ben and Jerry made your way into those size 24 jeans, chunky monkey. You made your bed so lie in it, goes the thinking. You deserve whatever you get. It's a matter of willpower and if you just weren't so lazy and greedy, you wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. The medical establishment and the diet industry (with it's self-serving "research" that creates "evidence" that fat is more dangerous than any other substance on the planet) tell us daily that fat discrimination is helpful because it gives people an incentive to get thin. We spend more time, energy, and money on diet products than we do on education for our children.   

Martin Luther King's dream of equality for all Americans had nothing to do with fat people. In all his work for civil rights over the course of his life, there were groups besides Black Americans for whom he did work, but I can't think of any moment where the Reverend was focused on the health, happiness, and well-being of obese Americans. Were there fat people at the March on Washington? No doubt. Were they the focus of the effort? C'mon. We all know the answer to that. But we also all know that MLK stood for compassion and fairness and treating each other as brothers and sisters. He stood for creating a better future for the young people who inherit the world from us. Fat hatred, whether from the greater society or from our own self-inflicted trauma, does nothing but waste energy that could be better spent on creating the dream Dr. King gave us on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in 1963.

In the end, I'm still considering all the ways that fat discrimination and racism do and do not have things in common. It's a subject that needs more thought, and one that I bet many of you have your own experiences and opinions about.  Even though MLK day is not a holiday meant to make a more fair world for full figured folks, those of us who believe that no one is free while another is oppressed know that any kind of discrimination is a step backward from everything Dr. King stood for.  Ultimately, I think Dr. King would be just fine with me contemplating the treatment of fat folks as the focus of my meditation on his holiday.

 

From 21 to 31, I had a common law husband, a settled down (i. e. boring) life, and absolutely no male attention. A Friday night was more likely to find me at IHOP using a coupon than in the club or out with the girls. If men  were looking at me, they were looking at me from afar. There was no waiter smiling at me in the restaurant, no wink across the parking lot, nothing. In fact, I was often the fat, funny sidekick, the one guys talk to when they're intimidated by the girl they really want to talk to.

Then… a change. Left my man, dropped a few pounds, started living the nightlife, and bought a bunch of high heel shoes. Now, this did not make me the belle of the ball. There are still plenty of nights when I'm stepped passed to get to someone else. I've got eye-catching cleavage, enviable hair (at least on a good day), and those heels really make a big difference in creating a more sexy vibe. Still, I've got a girl-next-door energy and my inner-nerd shines through in most of what I do, so the type of man who wants a girl gone wild walks by without noticing me. But what little attention I get is more than I've ever gotten before.

And, frankly, it's mostly pissing me off.

Now, I'm that nice girl who doesn't want to be rude, even to the ugly bugaboo dude who can't take a hint. But my niceness does not mean I want to tolerate the ridiculous bullshit that is coming my way.

Scene 1

My friend W and I have abandoned one almost-empty club and returned to the Downtown Oakland spot where we danced until we sweated the night before. The music is not as good, so we are mostly sitting and drinking. First, a man old enough to be my dad asks me to dance. He is polite, which I have learned is rare, but I've just ordered a drink. I tell him I'll dance with him later. I'm sincere. He doesn't believe it and gets and attitude.

W and I find a place to sit. Brutha from the Muthaland slides himself onto the bench next to me, puts an arm around me, and insists that I let him get to know me. Over and over he asks me to tell him something about myself. (My friend R will later say that he sounds like someone who read the back of a book that said women like to be asked questions. But just the back!) When I say, "I don't know what you want me to tell you," he asks if he can take me to the movies. I say no. His responds by leaning in closer, supposedly-seductively whispering in my ear: "Girl. You are like a twinkee. And I'm like the milk." I am too puzzled to even laugh at this point. He continues, pointing at W. "And your friend over there? She's like the straw."

I order a shot of vodka.

 
Scene 2

My friends and I have danced all night at the Pajama Jamie Jam at the local fat girl party. Last call has come and gone, and the last song is playing. We're moving toward the exit, still dancing, when I'm cornered by Cornrow Cassonova. I suggest that perhaps I am old enough to be his mother, but he assures me that he is 29 and I "can't be more than 35." My friend tugs my arm, time to go. He turns on her. "Why you blockin? Why you blockin?"

"Sweetheart,"  I say to him, "I've been here alllllll night. I don't know where you were."

His reply?

"Nigga, I'm wearing orange! You coulda seen me!"

This is stupid enough. But he is wearing a blue jacket.

 
Scene 3

The other fat girl party is hosting costumes the week before Halloween. I am debuting costume number one for the holiday season-- the Sexy Witch. My roommate tells me this is not really a costume. "You just look like you got dressed for the club and put a witches hat on." He is not entirely wrong. But I tell him to shut up anyway.

At the club, Sexy Witch is among the most boob-erific outfits. This is not easy to be on Halloween at the big girl club, where ample breasts (and ample everything else) are even more on display than any other time of year. I am noticed. This is fine. Expected. Anticipated. Appreciated. Until…walking from the bathroom, a creepy dude in a long black cloak and glasses that might have been worn by Edward James Olmos in "Stand and Deliver" leans right into my cleavage and practically slobbers on me as I walk by.

"Nice tits," he leers.

 
Oh, there's more…

 
I cannot even imagine how many tales I would have to tell if I'd been dating through my 20's. As it is, in the past year, I've been pursued by a guy who kept forgetting which of his fake names he gave me the last time. Another guy told me he was flirting really hard because he was "craving dark meat". On the flipside, I got a random email from a 23-year old that said nothing but "wassup liteskin?" I'll spare you the full version of the story of the online date who sent me a pic of someone four shades lighter and six inches taller than he was and then tried to convince me when we met in person that it really had been him in the picture and he'd just "had a really tough year."  He also asked if he could borrow $300. Yes, he did.

 
Are all the men I've met jackasses? No. I've met a few really great guys who prove that this retardation is not testosterone poisoning at its most severe. But damn. There are some trends, and this is getting ridiculous. So, guys, please take the following into account. Every lady has her own specific list, but here's mine.

First, stop trying to play "guess the ethnicity" in the first five seconds of talking to me.  No, I'm not from Palau, Samoa, Hawaii or Figi. Every big brown girl with curls didn't just sail in from the Pacific. Let that island fantasy go. 

Second, don't tell me you are here for the first time and then let me see your mug grinning all over the club's photo archives when I get home. I know that's you! You don't have a twin (and if you do, both of y'all need to help).

Third, don't tell me you "looooooooove full-figured women" until I won't give them my phone number, at which I become "a fatass bitch who nobody wants to fuck anyway."  You weren't too good for my fat ass a minute ago, so don't act like a fool now.

Finally, do not buy me a drink and then tell me that you bought it because you lied to some other wildebeest you were trying to escape by claiming to be on a date with me. Yes, you've seen similar tactics work in the movies. But you are not Hitch, ok? Leave it alone.

Guys. I'm sorry. I have sympathy for you, ok?  I know a lot of women do not respond to the old school courtesy of, "Good evening, my name is such and such, would you care to dance?" So I understand why you've adjusted your approach. But damn. Adjust that shit back a bit! Twinkee, nigga, and tits are not your best options for impressing a woman. Trust me on this. There is a happy medium between corny-ass come-on lines and calling me a hostess snack. (What the F does that even mean? I'm sweet? I'm yellow? I can look like I can survive nuclear winter?)

 
For real. Grown men, men with REAL conversation skills, are sexy. (Note: real conversation skills go beyond saying "tell me something about yourself" and then repeating that five times. Also, you are neither Snoop Dogg nor E-40, my nizzle. A little grammar goes a long way!) Learn the ebb and flow of really talking to someone.  Stop trying to holler at a bitch or get at a bitch or spit at a bitch and try talking to a lady. Yeah, we know when you say "you are a really beautiful woman" that you might just be thinking "nice tits" in your head. Keep it in your head, though! No one wants to hear that from you.

Most of all, remember that finesse isn't just a shampoo from the 80's. It's the way to not be a "don't act like this" cautionary tale on someone's blog! Get some get-right or just get back. 

 

___________________________________________________________

Three skinny girls are sitting in front of the local chicken wing joint, eating out of paper wrappers and licking sauce off their fingers. They are the kind of girls who are sexy but trying too hard--knee high boots on a day that is so warm I wished I'd worn a tank top to work, too much makeup and too much jewelry for 7:30 at the Wing Stop on a Monday night. They are talking loudly, and as I come out of the restaurant with my bag of food, I hear one of them say, "Yeah, but what would you do if you got fat?"

I don't hear the answer, but I immediately suspect that my size 20 gut squeezed into the pants I bought when I was a size 16 must be the inspiration for this line of discussion. (Yeah, I know it was probably the speed at which homegirl was gobbling down a 10-piece wing order that inspired the discussion, but hey, I'm paranoid in my insecurity sometimes). I keep walking. I don't want to hear any bullshit from some skinny girl who is about to say she'd kill herself if she started getting fat. (Seriously, have you read about these polls where women say things like they'd rather lose an arm than gain 50 pounds? What the hell!)

"No, really," the girl insists. "What if you got, like, really obese?"

I cringe, but when I hear the response, I'm glad I haven't made it all the way to my car. I'm glad I am still on the sidewalk, close enough to hear the other girl say, "You know what I would do if I got fat? I'd just find me a fat man and just be happy."

That simple.

And I love it.  I have spent so much time around women of whatever sizes who waste way too much energy thinking about how their life (especially their love life) would be better if they lost weight. Half the time, the skinny girls are worse than the actual fat girls are, because they are so afraid of the unknown of what might come to be if they put on some weight, their fear outweighs all evidence that it's possible to have a happy life as a chunky chick.

But here, randomly, on a sidewalk in front of the Wing Stop at the Bayfair Mall, was a skinny chick refusing to cave in to the feat. Here was a skinny chick who wasn't afraid to turn into me. Here was a skinny chick presenting my eavesdropping self with a moment of clarity: we make it harder than it has to be. We think we have to jump through all these hoops (and, no, jumping through hoops doesn't burn calories) and "fix" our bodies in order to be happy. But really it's not about what our bodies look like. It's about believing that happiness is available to us, no matter what our size.

I know it's not really that simple. It's easier said than done. Still, let us join hands and pledge to have the faith of the girl outside the Wing Stop. Find you a fat man to love and just be happy. Or a skinny man. Or a fat or skinny woman. Or yourself! Whatever it takes, whatever you need, just be happy.

(Footnote: part of me wanted to school this young sista on the reality that fat girls don't only date fat men...but I didn't want anyone to misinterpret that sentiment and think I was hating on the big boys, cuz they need luv, too, y'all!)

I got this from a friend last night. Now I'm just mad.

Now, first let me say for the record that I don't think anyone should be sending MeMe Roth death threats. If we're gonna send death threats to every dumbass who says something stupid about weight and health, I'm sure we can start with the NY Times Bestseller list and work our way through several more prominent diet doctors before we bother with this woman. But, really, Ms. Roth doesn't deserve to die. A smack upside the head, maybe, but death is a little extreme. If you're pissed off and want to send a message that'll actually do something, find a magazine that's featured Jordin Sparks and send the editor a note to let her/him know how refreshing it is to see such a glowing, healthy young woman grace the cover for a change. Not only is she a vision of health, she is a vision of pure beauty. Tell the powers that be that you want to see her and more like her more often.

Jordin is one of the most beautiful young women I've ever seen on TV. Don't believe me? Check http://www.idolonfox.com and take a look at her pics. She is not a vision of unhealth (and for the record, there is no such word as unhealth. If one were being formal and correct, one would use the phrase "lack of health" to make that point). I have visions for you. Lindsey Lohan. Paris Hilton. The Olsen Twins. Britney Spears. They are half-drunk (or all-drunk!), drug addicted, starving and CRAZY. While America's favorite young (white) girls are losing their m-fing minds, American Idol's Jordin Sparks is smiling, laughing, and wowing us with--dare I say it-- actual talent. Jordin is tall and curvy, and she looks strong and healthy. She has a positive attitude and she positively glows. It makes me sick to my stomach to think of someone criticizing her as too big.

What's most upsetting about this is JORDIN IS NOT EVEN FUCKING FAT! Hello! Even Simon never called that girl fat, and you know he would have if she were. Have you ever seen this girl standing next to Seacrest? She's some kind of giantess, I think. She's like 8 inches taller than he is and her head is stunningly beautiful but huge compared to his. And I say that not to criticize her for being big but to emphasize that she is clearly a young woman with a naturally large frame. I know people say some stupid bull about being "big boned" in order to avoid being called fat. But the truth is, there are different skeleton sizes and that does contribute to the difference between looking like Jordin and looking like Halle Berry. Jordin is an Amazon, maybe, but she's not fat. I bet her BMI is actually in a healthy range, and if its not, I bet it's closer than most Americans (and closer than most of Hollywood, just erring on the over side instead of the under). Plus, of course, there's the whole idea that her BMI is her personal business, not the business of the National Action Against Obesity organization.

But, of course, everyone knows that the way to encourage teenage girls to eat veggies instead of junk food and to drink water instead of soda and to get some fresh air and exercise instead of being stuck to their computers and televisions is to find a big one and publicly criticize her into shame about her body, right? Singling out the fat girl and telling her she is a walking advertisement for heart disease will surely make the rest of the children more healthy, right? It won't reinforce dangerous body obsession or glorify too-thin bodies over too-fat ones, right?

If you want to encourage young people to be more healthy, encourage them to be like Jordin. Tell them to find their passion, work hard, and try to make their dreams come true. Don't tell them, and the rest of American, how fat they are. Teens who are confident find their way to health a lot better than kids who have been encouraged to concentrate on the superficial so much that they think their new ipod or the right $300 purse measures their worth. If you want teens to make healthy choices, give them fewer reasons to concentrate on what's "wrong" with their bodies and help them find reasons to feel good about who they are. Damn.

 

I have a love-hate relationship with ass.

First, the love. Booties are just great! The right butt on a man or a woman can make your heart speed up.  Add the right pair of jeans, the denim hugging those cheeks just so, and lawd have mercy, it's a sight to behold.

As men's pants get baggier and baggier (especially in the Bay Area, where I live—thanks, hyphy movement), it's much harder to spot a hot masculine booty unless you like strippers (hmm), pro football players (mmmmm), metrosexuals (not for me, thanks) or the WWE (yes and no—but that's a blog for another day). But, ahhh, when it comes to fine women's booties, this is your time. From the rise of J.Lo a few years ago to the debut of Apple Bottoms jeans, big booty is on display more than ever before.

This is not to say that there was never ass-love afoot in American society before the 2000's. The ripe, full curve of juicy hindquarters has always had its connoisseurs. But remember when "Baby Got Back" was either a controversy or a revolution, depending on your point of view? I was in high school in a conservative smallish-town in Arizona when Sir Mix-a-Lot's booty call hit the charts. I remember sitting outside of a restaurant with two friends and having a carload of boys shout "baby got back" out the window at us as they drove by. My friend and I started to argue about who it has been directed at. "Hey," she said. "If you wanna claim that, you go right ahead." Now, I thought we were arguing for the comment, not against it. Hell, yeah, I wanted to claim it! I'm Black. Big booty is a compliment to me. I once heard a comedian say if you want to flatter a White woman you tell her she's got the smallest butt in the world and if you want to flatter a Black woman, you tell her she's got a big ol' butt. Made sense to me based on what I'd seen growing up in a Black neighborhood while being educated in a predominantly  white school. That voiceover at the beginning of "Baby Got Back" ("Oh.My.God. Becky, look at her butt…she's just so, sooo BLACK!") sounded like something one of my classmates might say.

On a good day I can say I have a kinda cute ass. The right cute panties, the right photo angle, and I can pass it off as more juicy than it actually is. My roommate sometimes says, "Those pants make you look like you got a lil bit of booty!" Once he even went so far as to say that my booty was bangin' in my new jeans. He asked me later if men at the club I went to thought the booty was poppin'. They didn't. They rarely do. I don't have a pancake-flat ass. But compared to what a lot of sistas are packing, I have always come up short and I always will. My assets are all up front. Ask me to show you what I'm working with and I'm gonna have to show you cleavage.

And so, the hate. Or rather, the hateration, as the kids say. It's not true hate in the old-fashioned sense of the word where I actually despise anyone. It's hate in the modern connotation, i.e. envy. I do not hate my big-bootied sisters of any size or color. I like watching y'all make your tootsies roll. I just wish I had one to roll out myself! I am so incredibly jealous of women with amazing asses. I'm obsessed with it. Part of me seriously believes my life would magically be better if I had a juicy behind.  A big butt is a kind of currency, especially in Oakland. I want to be able to cash in, too!

My friend N. says it's all in the engineering. She reminds me if I wear the right pants and the right heels, my butt will look great. She's right to some extent. But she's built like she was meant to model thong underwear. If I had an ass like hers, I'd burn most of my calories per day rubbing my own buns. For real. She's naturally blessed with what I am supposed to be aiming to construct through exercise and the right panties and $80  from Macy's instead of the $13 paid I'd like to get at Ross. She does not have to create the façade. So I have to take her good-booty advice with a grain of salt.

My friend H. reminded me, "You don't have to have a big booty to have a good booty." Ok. I suppose. But I want a big booty anyway! Big booties are in demand these days, and as with so may other things, I want what I do not have.  There are two female body areas in American culture that are allowed to be huge. One is breasts, the other is butt. One I've got, the other I don't. I've got a big belly but that counts for nothing unless you're with child or you're Buddha.  Someone once told me if I could move what I have in front around to the back, I'd be perfect. Since I've never heard of a belly-to-butt transplant, I guess that type of perfection is out of my grasp.

As a big girl, it's even worse in some ways. Thin girls with flat butts get to claim "skinny" and meet the beauty standard that way. In the big girl world, there are a lot of people who say they love curves, but they only love certain curvy parts. Again, boobs and booty count for a lot. Dangerous curves are supposed to include a drool-inducing derrière. I ain't got it. My friend once asked me if I thought that flat-chested women felt the same way about me as I feel about cuties with the booties. Maybe they do. DDD inspires awe in a lot of folks. "You can't have everything," R. tells me. "You've got a cute face, you've got the boobs, you've got the brains, you're funny. What more do you want?" I want a big booty! I'm reminded of it every time some catchy new butt song gets stuck in my head.  The music industry is in love with ass right now. And the music industry is killing me.

At the moment, an ass song is like a good love song—every man in R&B or hip-hop has got to have one in his repertoire. In the 90's, Hammer (yes, even M.C. Hammer!) wanted pumps and a bump. Now, T-Payne is shaking and sticking and moving trying to get to you and that booty.  The more things change the more they stay the same. There are 400 ass anthems on the radio, including one urging a girl not to turn around yet because her pretty round thing in the back is such an inspiration that the singer is not ready to see the beauty of her face yet.  Really. Good thing I like rock, too, cuz I need a booty break sometimes and I can't get it any genre dominated by Black (or wannabe "black-like") male musicians. I know Queen honored fat bottom girls, but they're not playing that on my local rock station so I don't have to be reminded about booty if I slide on down to that part of the dial.

Still, you really can't get away from booty. Even the country boys have a booty anthem now. When I first heard "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" I just laughed. I won't elaborate on what was so funny because it seems fairly self-explanatory to me. Honky tonk badonkadonk. Do I really need to say more? But then the more I thought about it, the more I thought DAMN! Is there anywhere left where I can avoid being reminded that no one is singing a song to my ass? Do I have to start listening to opera now or what?

So, I'm totally jealous of every woman whose bum can be compared to some super-round fruit (first it was the apple bottoms, now there are a lot of guavas and mangoes popping up). Hey, I've got fruit, too! Check out these grapefruits! But, nooooooo. Booty is the body part of the hour. Where have all the breast men gone? Where are all the people who like a great rack as much as lots of back? Well, Bubba Sparks went looking for Miss New Booty because he "once was a breast man but now it seems…your chest is just whatever" in comparison to a glorious caboose. Maybe the rest of the chest-lovers went with him. Booby anthems are not the songs de re jour. There hasn't been a good breast song since Zapp's "More Bounce to the Ounce," has there? (Please don't message me and say anything about Mix-a-Lot's "Put 'em on the Glass" because we all know it sucked and it pales in comparison to "Back". So I don't even want to hear that s*@t!). Hey, I've got great legs, too. But unless ZZ Top makes a comeback, no one will be singing about those, either.

So in the absence of a true ode to chi-chis or a chorus about curvy calves, I am forced to endure the constant reminder that what I lack inspires song and what I have is not worth singing about these days. I torture myself with this knowledge daily. Which, frankly, is absolutely ridiculous.

Booty obsession (the singers' and rappers' and mine) is a delicate balance between appreciation and objectification. If I'm truly appreciative of booty, I can admire it without having it for myself, the same way I admire the Alvin Ailey Dance Company even though I can't dance. If I'm just objectifying butt-heavy girls (or even more frighteningly ridiculous, if I'm mad because I'm not being objectified in that same way), I really need to find something better to do with my time and energy. If someone else is backing hers up, I'm gonna watch her put it in reverse and be happy for what she's got instead of being mad at what I don't. Admiration without hateration is my new motto.

There is so much more to me than my ass (or lack thereof). I don't have to reduce my worth to the shape or size of one body part. I'm declaring as of now that my butt is just fine the way it is. If it gets fatter or flatter through eating and exercise, I'm gonna let it do what it does and fight like hell to be happy with it the way it is.

And anybody who doesn't think I'm bootylicious enough can kiss my flat ass.

The thing is, I am big boned.
Really.

But I won't lie.
I got a lot of fat on top of my big bones.
And it's alright.

I said,
I'm FAT.
And it's alright.

Now, before you flinch at the meanness of the word
FAT
think about this:
is the word mean?
or is it just that our world is mean?

Elsewhere on our planet,
FAT
is a compliment.
In lands where meat is hard to come by
and hunger is more familiar
than the sound of a mother's voice,
FAT
is a way of saying
   "how lucky you are"
   "how rich you must be"
   "how blessed you have been
        to have escaped lean times."

In America,
FAT is paired with ugly words
fat slob
fat pig
big fat loser
fat bitch!
We don't say big fat beautiful girl.
We say
    "she has such a pretty face but..."
    "daaaaaaaaamn, he blew up!"
    "somebody call Jenny Craig!"

Maybe the word FAT is mean
because we mean it to be mean.
But it doesn't have to be that way.

You could notice I'm fat
(and I know you noticed!)
just like you notice the freckles sprinkled across my skin
just like you notice my halo of curls
just like you notice any other physical feature
of me

And you could call me
that FAT girl
and it wouldn't have to mean
anything mean.

Know what I mean?

(c) 2003 (This was performed as a spoken word piece in Oakland, CA in the spring of 2003).