A Large Pink Tumblr

"Why is it accepted that some people who eat a ton of food can stay thin, but not accepted that some..."

Wed, 29 Feb 2012 12:06:05 -0500

“

Why is it accepted that some people who eat a ton of food can stay thin, but not accepted that some people who eat a small amount of food can be fat?

Since thin people get diabetes, heart disease and high blood pressure, why is becoming thin suggested as a cure?

Why bother using BMI as a substitute for metabolic health measures when we can easily test metabolic health measures?

Doctors treat thin people for joint pain with options other than weight loss, why don’t they give fat people those same treatments?

Why do we believe that doing unhealthy things (liquid diet, smoking, urine injections coupled with starvation, stomach amputation) will lead to a healthy body?

If the diet industry’s product actually “cured fatness”, wouldn’t their profits be going down instead of up as more and more people were permanently thin?

Isn’t it medically unethical to prescribe something without telling your patients that it works less than 5% of the time with a much greater chance at leaving you heavier and less healthy than when you started?

Why do people continue to think that shaming people will lead them to health?

Why do we accept wide variations in things like foot and hand size, nose and lip shape etc. but expect every body to fit into a very narrow proportion of height and weight?

If weight gain isn’t proven to cause diabetes, high blood pressure etc., why would weight loss be recommended as a cure?

Since weight loss ads have to carry a “results not typical” warning, shouldn’t doctors have to give patients a similar warning?

Why do people take the time to come to my blog and make death threats?

Does anyone really succeed at hating themselves healthy? If so is it worth it?

If we’ve been prescribing dieting since the 1800s and still can’t prove that it works, shouldn’t we be trying something else?

How is it possible that suggesting that healthy habits are the best chance for a healthy body is controversial?

”

- Some Things I Don’t Understand « Dances With Fat (via sixtyforty

)

red3blog: Ursula’s been practically taking over Fuck Yeah,...

Tue, 28 Feb 2012 12:06:05 -0500

red3blog:

Ursula’s been practically taking over Fuck Yeah, Snacker tonight.

winifredjay: Oh, this is so sweet.

Mon, 27 Feb 2012 12:06:05 -0500

winifredjay:

Oh, this is so sweet.

fuckyeahsnacker: I know the feeling, Sweetcakes. Disney doesn’t...

Sun, 26 Feb 2012 12:10:05 -0500

fuckyeahsnacker:

I know the feeling, Sweetcakes. Disney doesn’t know what to do with divine femmes like us.

FUCK YEAH URSULA.

"It reminds me of the “bike to work” movement. That is also portrayed as white, but in my city more..."

Thu, 23 Feb 2012 12:07:05 -0500

“

It reminds me of the “bike to work” movement. That is also portrayed as white, but in my city more than half of the people on bike are not white. I was once talking to a white activist who was photographing “bike commuters” and had only pictures of white people with the occasional “black professional” I asked her why she didn’t photograph the delivery people, construction workers etc. … ie. the black and Hispanic and Asian people… and she mumbled something about trying to “improve the image of biking” then admitted that she didn’t really see them as part of the “green movement” since they “probably have no choice” –

I was so mad I wanted to quit working on the project she and I were collaborating on.

So, in the same way when people in a poor neighborhood grow food in their yards … it’s just being poor– but when white people do it they are saving the earth or something.

”

- comment left on the Racialious blog post “Sustainable Food & Priviledge: Why is Green always White (and Male and Upper-Class)” (via ouiominy

)

Photo

Wed, 22 Feb 2012 12:06:06 -0500

Yellow sparkle nails on Flickr.Bright nails to lift the mood! ...

Tue, 21 Feb 2012 12:06:05 -0500

Yellow sparkle nails on Flickr.

Bright nails to lift the mood! OPI The “IT” Color with Rainbow Connection atop.

fatandtheivy: Oh facebook. I should be outraged, but I’m...

Mon, 20 Feb 2012 12:09:05 -0500

fatandtheivy:

Oh facebook. I should be outraged, but I’m actually surprised this wasn’t formalized earlier.

And of course there’s no “gained it all back +10% because diets don’t work” Life Event. But I’m tempted to add “Recovered from Illness: Body hatred” to my timeline …

Carly Harris wrap outfit on Flickr.Lookit! Amazing Carly Harris...

Sun, 19 Feb 2012 12:10:05 -0500

Carly Harris wrap outfit on Flickr.

Lookit! Amazing Carly Harris wrap dress of amazing. Flickr for full outfit details!

My body is none of your business.

Sat, 18 Feb 2012 12:09:05 -0500

My body is none of your business.:

fatfashion:

It’s not my job to please you in any way, especially visually. If you’re making judgements on my body, you probably mean nothing to me. If you are offended by my body, I am offended by your ignorance and I guess we cancel each other out.

I don’t understand how fault can be found with body acceptance. It’s about loving yourself. It’s about being positive with yourself and others. It’s about recognizing anyone can be healthy but if they aren’t….it’s none of your fucking business. It’s about bashing body hate. It’s about building people up, instead of knocking them down. It’s about getting rid of shame. It could make the world a better place and it already has for me. If you have a problem with any of that, I am going to assume you’re miserable and you secretly hate yourself. If you were secure, then you’d realize my body has nothing to do with you. If that’s the case, maybe I can point you toward some material on how to start loving yourself?

Everyone has one life to live (depending on what you believe.) Why are you spending yours worrying about how I’m living mine?

Fat.

Fri, 17 Feb 2012 12:08:06 -0500

red3blog:

iwasateenagezine:

possible TW: Shame/fat shame/diet talk.

In honour of all the fierceness, all the beauty I am drinking in during fatshion February. It goes without saying, this is a personal perspective from a white cis queer femme.

Every wayward gaze, every whispered remark.. I felt them cutting like knives into my very being. I would shrink into myself, try to avert my gaze while I turned red from embarrassment, that uncontrollable feeling of vulnerability rising in my throat. Sometimes I couldn’t even make out the insults but you can tell; you learn to read the haughty body language, the sneers, the smirks, the raised brows. You recognize the signs in others. The compulsive need to tear another person down.

Accepting my body, which felt traitorous for so much of my life, is not a simple journey. The tricks that try to minimize your very presence, your physical body, are still very real in the back of your mind. Wear black, wear slouchy clothes, curl up against windows on the bus so as not to take up any space.. pretend as if you don’t exist. Disappear.

It’s not as if the public shaming stops just because you love yourself.

People seem even more aggressive somehow. Maybe needing to take you down a peg, because you look happy. And now you eat in public. For years, eating outside of the home was verboten. Finding excuses not to eat on dates, suggesting walks instead or just declining with the lame excuse “I’ve already eaten”. Because how could they bear to be watch someone eating, EATING, for god’s sake. A fat person eating! A fat person who you had chosen to take out on a date, to kiss, the hold hands with.. but that point always escaped me, logic only scrambles your confused circuits which are so hardwired by shameful responses.

And so I am trained to feel self conscious when I eat in public still. Especially when it’s something rich and fatty— walking around eating cream puffs and cupcakes.. as if I should only be seen munching on leafy greens or things high in omega 3. Nothing enjoyable. Don’t enjoy the food you eat. If you have to eat, that is. Shouldn’t you be on a diet anyways?

I was standing in line with my love for crepes one autumn morning, leaning against him with my hair in my face. I was wearing a beautiful bright pink chiffon skirt and a white ruffled t-shirt. As I say something to him, I catch two women out of the corner of my eye. One was laughing and nodding in my directions, trying to point me out to her friend. Her friend slowly tries to catch a glimpse at me but I already can feel the heat of their mocking breath from across the room and my eyes are trained on her. We lock eyes. She glances away, as if she’s just looking around the room but they return, trying to gawk at whatever it was her friend found so offensive. My eyes have never left her and our gazes meet. It is not romantic and I appear implacable, standing in all my fatness with my pink skirt and my arms entwined around my love. She turns away finally, clearly and visibly uncomfortable— maybe a bit shaken. Because who would react like that? Who could have known that they were even whispering but someone trained from years of close and intimate knowledge of this brand of humiliation?

I am always visible in these scenes, especially so. I am wearing my best outfits— the brightest colours, the most over the top cute things I can think to wear.

We are out for lunch at a sushi place near our house. I am wearing a floral chiffon blouse with a high waisted rose coloured skirt and 4” pale gold t-strap heels. We are ordering our food and talking with one another. There is only one other person in my line of sight over his shoulder; a standard teenager, possibly early 20s.

I see an iPhone creeping up from the edge of the table. Aimed directly at me. Me with my Bettie Page bangs and coral coloured lips. Fat me. I do the only thing I can think of on such short notice, as she tries to aim the camera. I stare straight at it, smile my big perfect toothed smile and raise my right hand, middle finger extended. She looks startled as she takes in the picture, realizes what develops in front of her. Embarrassed. Slides out of my line of view.

My boyfriend has not yet noticed the turn of events. I am running hot on adrenaline. Was it enough? I feel so invaded! Sitting here, having a quiet lunch date.

I excuse myself from the table and stand up. I head towards them, walking almost casually. I am 5’4 but in the heels, I am a full 5 feet 8 inches and I feel like a towering fat bitch.

“Excuse me,” I stare straight at her, “But did I see you taking a picture of me?”
“N-no! I was taking a picture of her,” squirming backwards away from my gaze. I do not break my gaze. I stare at her. Her friend says something to the same effect. Picture of her. The angle is all wrong. It was right at me. I know simple geometry. And why would you have to hide it?
She fumbles for her phone, “See, do you want to see my phone?” She offers it up for sacrifice “You can see, there aren’t any pictures of you. Just of her. I was taking pictures of her.” trying to slide the “unlock” key as she speaks hurriedly. Turns it towards me, unlocked now, with her photo gallery on the screen.
“No,” I respond evenly, “I just needed to make sure you weren’t taking a picture of me.”
I stand for another moment, another long hard look.
“N-no,” as I turn to her friend.
“She wasn’t.” Her friend is rigid.
“Alright. I just wanted to make sure.” And I turn my back to them.

As they leave the restaurant, they have to walk in front of our table and do not look back at me, keep their eyes trained ahead as they slink towards the door.

What did I hope to achieve? I am not sure. I had this all encompassing need to protect myself. Not necessarily to confront, I don’t think that they would learn anything from this but it wasn’t about educating them. It was about reclaiming something, about indicating I wasn’t on display for amusement.

Our culture frequently indulges in shame as a form of entertainment, as a way to make us feel better about our own lives and our own selves. Deriding others for self esteem; I get this. I was not above this, I have felt it. “I’m not THAT fat, right.” staring at another’s body, thinking “Well, at least I’m not THEM.” as if somehow I would feel better about myself. And I never did— because how could I? There was no self esteem to begin with inside of me, how could I expect that destruction and derision would build anything worthwhile? It’s certainly the easier path to take at times, because it surrounds us. A culture of shame, indeed; just look at the internet. Or television. I avoid things that feed into this; surround myself with great people— empathetic people. I laugh at the absurd, at no one’s expense. I build my self esteem with great care, looking at ME only. It’s so easy to laugh at others but so hard to look inward. The possibility we might see something we don’t like is real but how can you address it if you just ignore it? I stare my reflection straight in the eyes, just as I do my public aggressors. I

To combat shame with my internal fierceness is hard, a struggle against self-imposed morality. The need to be extra nice to make up for my fatness, as if anything ever could. I internalized this, a need to be selfless to help people forget my physical defects. If I could be nicer, then maybe no one would need to care that I was a size 18. Or 20. Or whatever it is nowadays, as if I could give two fucks.

And that’s the crux of this.
I no longer give two fucks, as I did for so many years.
I will officially call everyone out forever, even if others can’t.
I will stare the long, hard stares.
I refuse to feel embarrassed.
I refuse to be motivated to be quiet because I don’t want to feel like I’m “causing a scene”.

You think it’s silly to see a fatty dressed like this?
Fuck you, I look amazing.

You think I’m ugly and you’d never want to fuck me?
Well great, we’re both fucking agreed, I don’t want to fuck you either.

You’re going to yell at me as you pass, from cars?
I will wiggle my hips a little harder, smile and wave like the queen that I fucking am.

You’re going to stare, gawk, scowl, shame?
I will stare straight back at you.

I will meet every gaze. Bad or good.

And for every fellow fatty, whose eyes widen in appreciation and who smiles a yearning smile, I will smile my biggest smile for you. I will overhear your whispers about my glasses or my dresses and I will internalize them until I radiate positivity, until you see yourself reflected back in me and take that and love yourself too.. because how could you not?

I will never punish myself for my perceived wrongs with invisibility again because I may offend someone I’ve never met. I am given but one body and I intend to enjoy it.

This is a promise to myself.

Reblogged in its entirety, because seriously FUCK YEAH.

Fat.

Fri, 17 Feb 2012 12:04:06 -0500

red3blog:

iwasateenagezine:

possible TW: Shame/fat shame/diet talk.

In honour of all the fierceness, all the beauty I am drinking in during fatshion February. It goes without saying, this is a personal perspective from a white cis queer femme.

Every wayward gaze, every whispered remark.. I felt them cutting like knives into my very being. I would shrink into myself, try to avert my gaze while I turned red from embarrassment, that uncontrollable feeling of vulnerability rising in my throat. Sometimes I couldn’t even make out the insults but you can tell; you learn to read the haughty body language, the sneers, the smirks, the raised brows. You recognize the signs in others. The compulsive need to tear another person down.

Accepting my body, which felt traitorous for so much of my life, is not a simple journey. The tricks that try to minimize your very presence, your physical body, are still very real in the back of your mind. Wear black, wear slouchy clothes, curl up against windows on the bus so as not to take up any space.. pretend as if you don’t exist. Disappear.

It’s not as if the public shaming stops just because you love yourself.

People seem even more aggressive somehow. Maybe needing to take you down a peg, because you look happy. And now you eat in public. For years, eating outside of the home was verboten. Finding excuses not to eat on dates, suggesting walks instead or just declining with the lame excuse “I’ve already eaten”. Because how could they bear to be watch someone eating, EATING, for god’s sake. A fat person eating! A fat person who you had chosen to take out on a date, to kiss, the hold hands with.. but that point always escaped me, logic only scrambles your confused circuits which are so hardwired by shameful responses.

And so I am trained to feel self conscious when I eat in public still. Especially when it’s something rich and fatty— walking around eating cream puffs and cupcakes.. as if I should only be seen munching on leafy greens or things high in omega 3. Nothing enjoyable. Don’t enjoy the food you eat. If you have to eat, that is. Shouldn’t you be on a diet anyways?

I was standing in line with my love for crepes one autumn morning, leaning against him with my hair in my face. I was wearing a beautiful bright pink chiffon skirt and a white ruffled t-shirt. As I say something to him, I catch two women out of the corner of my eye. One was laughing and nodding in my directions, trying to point me out to her friend. Her friend slowly tries to catch a glimpse at me but I already can feel the heat of their mocking breath from across the room and my eyes are trained on her. We lock eyes. She glances away, as if she’s just looking around the room but they return, trying to gawk at whatever it was her friend found so offensive. My eyes have never left her and our gazes meet. It is not romantic and I appear implacable, standing in all my fatness with my pink skirt and my arms entwined around my love. She turns away finally, clearly and visibly uncomfortable— maybe a bit shaken. Because who would react like that? Who could have known that they were even whispering but someone trained from years of close and intimate knowledge of this brand of humiliation?

I am always visible in these scenes, especially so. I am wearing my best outfits— the brightest colours, the most over the top cute things I can think to wear.

We are out for lunch at a sushi place near our house. I am wearing a floral chiffon blouse with a high waisted rose coloured skirt and 4” pale gold t-strap heels. We are ordering our food and talking with one another. There is only one other person in my line of sight over his shoulder; a standard teenager, possibly early 20s.

I see an iPhone creeping up from the edge of the table. Aimed directly at me. Me with my Bettie Page bangs and coral coloured lips. Fat me. I do the only thing I can think of on such short notice, as she tries to aim the camera. I stare straight at it, smile my big perfect toothed smile and raise my right hand, middle finger extended. She looks startled as she takes in the picture, realizes what develops in front of her. Embarrassed. Slides out of my line of view.

My boyfriend has not yet noticed the turn of events. I am running hot on adrenaline. Was it enough? I feel so invaded! Sitting here, having a quiet lunch date.

I excuse myself from the table and stand up. I head towards them, walking almost casually. I am 5’4 but in the heels, I am a full 5 feet 8 inches and I feel like a towering fat bitch.

“Excuse me,” I stare straight at her, “But did I see you taking a picture of me?”
“N-no! I was taking a picture of her,” squirming backwards away from my gaze. I do not break my gaze. I stare at her. Her friend says something to the same effect. Picture of her. The angle is all wrong. It was right at me. I know simple geometry. And why would you have to hide it?
She fumbles for her phone, “See, do you want to see my phone?” She offers it up for sacrifice “You can see, there aren’t any pictures of you. Just of her. I was taking pictures of her.” trying to slide the “unlock” key as she speaks hurriedly. Turns it towards me, unlocked now, with her photo gallery on the screen.
“No,” I respond evenly, “I just needed to make sure you weren’t taking a picture of me.”
I stand for another moment, another long hard look.
“N-no,” as I turn to her friend.
“She wasn’t.” Her friend is rigid.
“Alright. I just wanted to make sure.” And I turn my back to them.

As they leave the restaurant, they have to walk in front of our table and do not look back at me, keep their eyes trained ahead as they slink towards the door.

What did I hope to achieve? I am not sure. I had this all encompassing need to protect myself. Not necessarily to confront, I don’t think that they would learn anything from this but it wasn’t about educating them. It was about reclaiming something, about indicating I wasn’t on display for amusement.

Our culture frequently indulges in shame as a form of entertainment, as a way to make us feel better about our own lives and our own selves. Deriding others for self esteem; I get this. I was not above this, I have felt it. “I’m not THAT fat, right.” staring at another’s body, thinking “Well, at least I’m not THEM.” as if somehow I would feel better about myself. And I never did— because how could I? There was no self esteem to begin with inside of me, how could I expect that destruction and derision would build anything worthwhile? It’s certainly the easier path to take at times, because it surrounds us. A culture of shame, indeed; just look at the internet. Or television. I avoid things that feed into this; surround myself with great people— empathetic people. I laugh at the absurd, at no one’s expense. I build my self esteem with great care, looking at ME only. It’s so easy to laugh at others but so hard to look inward. The possibility we might see something we don’t like is real but how can you address it if you just ignore it? I stare my reflection straight in the eyes, just as I do my public aggressors. I

To combat shame with my internal fierceness is hard, a struggle against self-imposed morality. The need to be extra nice to make up for my fatness, as if anything ever could. I internalized this, a need to be selfless to help people forget my physical defects. If I could be nicer, then maybe no one would need to care that I was a size 18. Or 20. Or whatever it is nowadays, as if I could give two fucks.

And that’s the crux of this.
I no longer give two fucks, as I did for so many years.
I will officially call everyone out forever, even if others can’t.
I will stare the long, hard stares.
I refuse to feel embarrassed.
I refuse to be motivated to be quiet because I don’t want to feel like I’m “causing a scene”.

You think it’s silly to see a fatty dressed like this?
Fuck you, I look amazing.

You think I’m ugly and you’d never want to fuck me?
Well great, we’re both fucking agreed, I don’t want to fuck you either.

You’re going to yell at me as you pass, from cars?
I will wiggle my hips a little harder, smile and wave like the queen that I fucking am.

You’re going to stare, gawk, scowl, shame?
I will stare straight back at you.

I will meet every gaze. Bad or good.

And for every fellow fatty, whose eyes widen in appreciation and who smiles a yearning smile, I will smile my biggest smile for you. I will overhear your whispers about my glasses or my dresses and I will internalize them until I radiate positivity, until you see yourself reflected back in me and take that and love yourself too.. because how could you not?

I will never punish myself for my perceived wrongs with invisibility again because I may offend someone I’ve never met. I am given but one body and I intend to enjoy it.

This is a promise to myself.

Reblogged in its entirety, because seriously FUCK YEAH.

Photo

Thu, 16 Feb 2012 12:06:05 -0500

15/2 blackout on Flickr.Felt a bit monochrome, threw some pink...

Wed, 15 Feb 2012 12:04:06 -0500

15/2 blackout on Flickr.

Felt a bit monochrome, threw some pink necklaces of my own design over the top to save me from complete fashion-depression.
See Flickr for the full details!

Showing it like it is: a library to fight fatist images in the media

Tue, 14 Feb 2012 12:06:05 -0500

Showing it like it is: a library to fight fatist images in the media:

definatalie:

The first two comments illustrate so perfectly why this project is necessary. Fat people can’t even have photos taken of them with their heads intact without people concern trolling regarding what fat people put in their mouths. WHY IS THIS EVEN RELEVANT? Maybe because people are so used to defaulting back to the constructed concept of a fat person, the person who has been robbed of that fucking humanity in the first place!

PS this is the project Nick and I are part of.

What I find fascinating is how the very first comment talks about obese people needing “to regain their self esteem” (via weightloss, obvs). Because you know, that whole article the commenter apparently didn’t read, about happy fatties being happy and doing “normal” things and having heads was obviously just lies, or something.

grasstomyknees: and they’re delicious.

Mon, 13 Feb 2012 12:06:05 -0500

grasstomyknees:

and they’re delicious.

"[S]hame is not a catalyst for change; it is a paralytic. Anyone who has ever carried extreme..."

Sun, 12 Feb 2012 12:08:05 -0500

“[S]hame is not a catalyst for change; it is a paralytic. Anyone who has ever carried extreme personal shame knows this. Shame doesn’t make you stronger, nor does it help you to grow, or to be healthy, or to be sane. It keeps you in one place, very, very still.”

- What’s Wrong With Fat-Shaming? | xoJane (via machinery)

fatbodypolitics: Don’t worry butter and sugar, I will be your...

Sat, 11 Feb 2012 12:06:05 -0500

fatbodypolitics:

Don’t worry butter and sugar, I will be your friend!

SO FNCKING CUTE.

"Slut” is how we vilify a woman for exercising her right to say “yes”. “Friendzone” is how we vilify..."

Fri, 10 Feb 2012 12:04:05 -0500

““Slut” is how we vilify a woman for exercising her right to say “yes”. “Friendzone” is how we vilify a woman for exercising her right to say “no”.”

- angels-and-angles

this is an amazing quote

(via livelaughawesome)

Tweeness! on Flickr.A twee little number for work. Cardi - City...

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 12:04:06 -0500

Tweeness! on Flickr.

A twee little number for work. Cardi - City Chic, dress - Jacqui E, shoes - Molly N