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I, like nearly every other woman on the planet, have been uber excited for the new Sex and the City movie. Last night, at 10:15PM, me and my three girlfriends arrived at the movie theater, pre-purchased tickets in hand, ready to wait in whatever line we had to in order to get the best seats in the theater for the premiere. We were extraordinarily early, and because of that, were the first women in line. Talk about uber-exciting.
There has been a lot of hype surrounding this movie. It was the movie all women would flock to, in their flocks of four or more, to see. I’ve heard a number of snide comments about it, including one particularly offensive radio announcement on my local radio station that was “3 Ways to Convince Your Man Take You to See Sex and the City.” Number One was:
Underneath all the shoes, fashion and girly yak yak, these women are SLUTS. So you’ll know there will be some boobies on display!
Sounds particularly immature with the use of “boobies.” And suffice it to say that I turned off the radio about a second later after shouting a loud curse word in my car in disbelief. Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t use that excuse to convince my man to come with me. First of all, I wouldn’t want to see it with current nonexistent boyfriend even if he did exist. My girlfriends are way more fun. Secondly, I would hope that my boyfriend would be as offended as I am with the thought that he would go see a movie to see tons of “sluts” and “boobies.” Erg. The media stabs through the heart of my hope for the men of my generation.
Now I realize I haven’t said anything about the movie yet. For me, this movie wasn’t about the movie itself, but more-so about the experience of seeing it. High heels and wacky fashions showed up for the premiere. Almost everyone I saw had on something beautiful. In the twoish hours we waited for the movie to start, sitting in the theater and watching everyone come in, I saw more beautiful women flock forward in big packs than I think I’ve ever seen in my life. At one point, the only other plus size woman in my group turned to me and said “Would you agree that there are a lot of really beautiful and confident plus size women here tonight?” And I just nodded. Beyond the clothes, beyond the shoes, these women were happy, and confident. Maybe it’s the way they are, or maybe it has to do with the society this movie has inspired. It was for women, to be watched with women. It was made for the night on the town with the girls. And that was FUN.
I’d say there were only a dozen or so men present in our auditorium. I cannot confirm whether they were “boyfriends or boyfriends” as my girlfriends put it. But it was nice to see them. Best of all, the whole experience felt like I was in a safe place, with like-minded people, there to share in an experience. I know that sounds like B.S., but that’s how it felt.
The movie was good, and interesting, sometimes disappointing. I laughed, cried, felt embarrassed, happy, angry. It was a full experience. It only had one semi-offensive comment about weight (against Samantha, of all people), which caused me and my friends to burst into laughter. We laughed even harder when a second later Carrie said something like “I mean, you’re beautiful at whatever size, but what happened?!” (We later said: “Yeah, whatever size whether it’s a 2 or a 4, right?”) I was happy to see the grace and beauty of the women onscreen, showing that beauty and age can go together. They were gorgeous in their 40s, which made me happy, despite all the cracks made by other characters about how “old” the women were. Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Miranda all looked fantastic to me! And of course the stunning Jennifer Hudson had one of my favorite roles. I love her so much.
But above all else, the movie was good purely because we were all seeing it together. After weeks or months of waiting, there we were, all excited, all happy, all with friends, sharing this experience. That is what made this movie good.
I know that’s not the review anyone was looking for but for me, that’s what is important. If you haven’t seen it yet, go with your girls, or your guy (especially if he’s similarly offended by the “sluts” comment above). And just have fun. That’s what it’s for.
After reading Meowser’s comment on last week’s JigglyTroll post, I decided to take a look into the affect of high altitude living on weight loss. While I was in Ecuador, I lost maybe 20lbs for no apparent reason. I ate tons of carbs, sugars, chips, cookies, etc. All the stuff the Medical world tells me is bad for me. Yes, I walked more. And I ate my biggest meal in the middle of the day. But I don’t think either of those things could’ve really affected my weight that much.
So what conclusion did I draw? High altitude affects weight loss. In my research, I discovered that no one has really determined how yet. I found only a couple of articles about it. First, there was this one in the American College of Sports Medicine. Basically, it says that altitude can encourage weight loss, even if you’re only sleeping in an artificial high altitude:
…For at least some overweight or obese individuals, sleeping in simulated altitude tents may act to jump-start a weight-loss program.
Hmmm….interesting, right? Well, the best part is that now these altitude tents have become the future of the weight loss market. Jump to this article called “Selling weight loss without effort” (which has since been taken down for public reading without registration), and we can observe the madness.
But Kutt spent most of his 20 minutes in front of the venture capitalists explaining CAT’s place in the multibillion-dollar weight-loss market–explaining that you can lose up to two pounds a week by spending eight hours a day at a simulated altitude of 12,000 feet, even if you’re just sleeping.
“There’s over 50 studies that document this,” he said. “All people really need to do is sleep at altitude, and their body goes into altitude climatization mode, and that will trigger the weight loss.” He then rattled off some compelling facts: 51 million Americans are clinically obese, and there are no accepted therapies for weight loss–only drugs approved by the FDA.
Oh yes, let us look at those compelling facts. Dear dear, how scary!
I’m not sure I would literally buy into this theory. I mean, yes, I lost weight while in a high altitude (Quito is at 10,000 ft). But considering I could only find a few pages that actually spoke about it in all the internets, I’m not sure if it’s completely valid.
But oh joy, we have another weight loss program to be disgusted by! I can’t wait until the “$18,000 ‘Colorado Mountain Room’” becomes all the fashion. We’ll all be walking around like madmen/women trying to spend as much time as possible in our fake high altitude. Oh please! it’s no fun without the culture, let me tell you. And they fail to mention anything at all about altitude sickness. Think you won’t experience any of that just because it’s fake? I doubt it.
I’m genuinely interested in how this all turns out, now.
My poetry professor read us a poem she wrote a few weeks back that started something like:
If there’s pee on the seat, it’s my pee. If there’s poo on floor, it’s my poo.
I can’t remember the rest of the poem, but we’ve spent every class since talking about “owning your poo.” Last night when I sat down to write some new poems for my collection, I had a small epiphany: all of this, everything I’ve been thinking about, writing about, etc. is about ownership, or as my professor has put it, “owning your poo.”
What happened this year wasn’t that my body changed, or even that my perception of my body changed that much. What happened was that I decided to OWN my body. Before, it was always something not mine. I wanted to lose weight because I wanted other people to think I was pretty. I was, in this market society, trying to sell an image of myself for the sake of other people. My body wasn’t my own, it was for other people’s enjoyment. It was a matter of other people’s concern.
But I realized today that I now own my body. It is MY body. What matters isn’t how I look to you. What matters is that this body is mine, and only mine. I don’t expect you to like my body. I don’t even expect you to care. Gosh, I don’t even expect MYSELF to care. This is my body. It doesn’t need excuses for your narrow-mindedness. This is MY body. Not yours. It’s not for you to criticize.
I realize now that my poetry professor had this epiphany long before I did. She is also a woman who “walks this world larger than life” (her words, not mine), and for her, it’s in how she carries herself. She has commented to me on numerous occasions, “Chrissy, your attitude about your body has changed. I don’t know about weight, nor do I care, but how you hold yourself, how you view yourself is different. And it’s beautiful.”
She gets it. I’m owning it. My body. MY body.
So, lets all own our poo. I think it’s some of the best advice I’ve every gotten.
Memorial Day is a day to remember. A day to honor those who have died for our liberty, freedoms, our secure and happy future. For me, this day has been riddled the last few years with thoughts of a new war, new soldiers dying on foreign soil, different so-called “liberties” being fought for. I’ll make it no secret that I disagree with President Bush and his politics, and that I have openly protested the Iraq war since the beginning. However, today is not a day for anger or frustration. It is a day for remembering. And so I’ll remember.
Something I’ve always associated with Iraq is my paternal grandmother. I never had the chance to meet her, as she died before I was born. But she has represented to me, through most of my youth and teen years, an abstraction of a heritage lost. My Grandmother was Chaldean. Her parents came over from Iraq to Dearborn, MI in the early 1900s. She was born here, and raised here. Her family owned a small grocery store. She met and married my Grandfather, and had five children with him (my father, the oldest). Then, in her forties she suddenly died of a brain aneurysm. My father was only 19.
It took me a long time, when I was a child, to get up the courage to ask my father about her. We never spoke of her. And so, I was left with my own imaginings of who she was, how she spoke, acted, how she looked. In my mind’s eye, she was a sweet, kind, beautiful woman. Larger than life. She had a smile that radiated. And she filled a part of me I didn’t know was empty. She was a part of me. I inherited that smile, those eyes. My family says I look like her. She became, to me, a part of my spirit. She was my strength when I was down. She was who I prayed to. She was my guardian angel. I do not have her here with me in body, but in spirit…she is always with me.
We had one other thing from her: my dad’s box of recipes written in her handwriting. The only thing that was left from my grandmother was the food. We’d make it, occasionally, for big events. Yuppra (stuffed cabbage), Meat Bread, and other delicious dishes. I started to request these dishes, eventually. My father taught me how to make them for my high school graduation party. This is all I had left of her, physically: this food.
And to me, that was important. We’d eat this food as a celebration of her, as a celebration of our ancestors, our past. We’d eat this food to remember. To feel the love. It was a reminder of who we are and where we came from. And it was a reminder of her. I can image her, in the kitchen, cooking. Her hands in a large bowl of meat, spices, onions, kneading them together, like dough to create the filling for Yuppra. I can image her smiling, I can imagine her hair falling into her face. And I can image her tossing her head back. I imagine she took joy from this food, her parent’s food. Her grandparent’s food. I imagine she enjoyed sharing it with her children. I imagine for her it was a celebration, too. It was a part of who she was. It was a part of her life.
And so I sit here, thinking about the meaning of this day, and I remember her. She taught me to love food, celebrate with it, and enjoy it. She gave me courage and confidence. She means so much to me. I’d like to ask her, somehow, what she thinks of our war. But I can see her, in heaven, welcoming those souls as she was welcomed. Arms held out, the smell of spices on her hands. And maybe she can ease their passing. From Iraq, the cradle of life, we all have roots. Mine are in her smile, her food, her open arms. I honor those fighting there. I recognize their suffering. I recognize their sacrifice.
But I can only hope that this war will end soon, that our men and women will come home, and this day will not be about memories that are as fresh as aching wounds, but rather memories long past, like that of my grandmother. Memories of a past that created our future. Memories like a phantom embrace from an angel. Memories to hold dear. Memories to celebrate with feasts in their name. Memories sweet like spices on the wind.
To all those who have died under our flag, may you rest in honor. To all those suffering such a loss, may your tears be dried by the hope of the future for which they fought.
There seem to be an abnormally large bout of posts on the Fatosphere lately about the media, so let me add mine. Contrary to some, mine’s focused on a more positive experience…
You see, I spent the whole afternoon a few days ago watching “How to Look Good Naked” (or what my friends and I call, “The Totally Naked Show”) online. I was looking for something frivolous, mindless and fun, something to use as a means of procrastination. This totally fit the bill.
I hadn’t actually watched any of it until that day because I had been in Ecuador when it first aired. But let me say this, I LOVED IT. The first episode was just…fantastic. From the first few seconds, when Carson was walking down the street with the models, I knew I was going to love it; as soon as that woman in the gold dress showed up, I just wanted to jump up and down. And then when those women were his models for the “compare your perception to reality” part of the show, I almost died. They are REAL WOMEN! And they’re MODELS. Who wanted to jump up and down? Me.
Aside from the models, the message is mostly right. It’s not about losing weight, it’s about loving yourself. You can lose the negativity towards your body, your perceived ugliness, in how you see yourself, in how you present yourself, in your confidence and grace. That made me happy. I ended up watching them all in marathon. I’ve always loved Carson Kressley, and in this he is so fun and helpful, and I feel like he genuinely wants to help. I can’t wait to see more. It makes me completely and utterly gleeful to see that message out on TV. Especially when it includes something like, “Zero is not a size. It’s a warning sign.” Oh Carson. You make me swoon.
Notice, however, that I say the message is mostly right. I feel like the show is trying to deal with the issue of negative body image, but really just skirting it. In having women stand in front of the mirror, and look at themselves, they aren’t saying “you look beautiful because these things society tells you to hate don’t matter.” but instead saying, “you aren’t as fat as you think. Compare yourselves to these women here. See, you’re not as ugly. And look at what you have to work with!” I mean, maybe that’s a skewed view of it, but that’s what I’m getting. That’s not productive in a universal message. Yes, it’s great for the women involved. But for the women watching? The message could get a little distorted. Distorted in the way of “I don’t have the things that he admires in her, therefore I’m ugly.” Yes, I might be reading into it a little more than necessary, but it’s important to consider, at least.
So overall, I like the show. I don’t think the media will ever be able to hit the issue on the head (because they’re working inside the medium that needs to change the most), but this is as close as they’re going to get. And for the individual on the show, I think it’s actually helpful. Finally, an uplifting message. Finally, real women on TV. And finally, more fun with Carson Kressley.
Thank you, mainstream media advertisements. For failing to do anything but perpetuate stereotypes, that is.
I just saw a commercial for Kellogg’s new “Special K20 Protein Water”. I tried to find a video of it, but YouTube didn’t have it, yet.
Anyway, I’ll try to describe it. This lady stumbles under an awning to get out of the rain. When she looks up there’s a waterfall of shiny, pretty candies falling in front of her eyes – the awning belongs to a candy shop. She looks longingly at the candies (generic hard candies in multicolored transparent wrappers). There’s some voiceover-y stuff, and then she reaches into her purse and pulls out the Protein Water and sips it. The water has, according to the announcer, 5 grams of protein and some other stuff, to help sate your appetite without resorting to candy so you can “take the edge off your hunger while still losing weight” – protein is one of the ingredients in food that helps make you feel full. The lady walks away from the candy store with a happy smile and the sun breaks through the rain clouds.
Bleh. Okay. I dunno about you, but when I’m out for snack food, I’m so totally into potato chips, not candy. Sometimes ramen. ^_^ I can’t remember the last time I really craved candy. So, wev, there.
We’ve got the happy-joy stereotype of fatties chowing down on candy/sugar/naughty food. Stuff those faces! The idea that this lady, who is, of course, pretty and slim, will suddenly balloon up if she has a couple pieces of candy is absurd. I’m not even sure I’m being analytical enough about this because it’s so annoying. I think what bothers me most is how subtle it felt. There’s a commercial for “Lipozene” where they say, straight up, “Body fat is unattractive.” At least they’re not hiding what they think, you know? But this “Special Water” commercial feels so insidious. They couldn’t even admit to their viewers that the woman in the commercial only needs to “maintain.” No, she needs to feel full while still losing weight. Because you can never be skinny enough.
Also, she’s a woman. Only women need to eat Kellogg’s health food, need to worry about losing weight, only women need to lose weight, because remember, your value is directly correlated with how well you get gussied up for teh menz.
Put all your time and effort into controlling your naughty body, your naughty appetite. Put all your effort into making yourself acceptable to men and to the media. Oh, and don’t forget, once you meet your goal, we’ll give you a new carrot to chase. You’ll never be done. You’ll never be beautiful enough, thin enough, sexy-but-pure enough. Devote all your time to placating the voices, so that you can’t get any real work done. We can’t have you changing the world for the better, nope!
Fuckers.
One of my friends was in the hospital two nights ago having an emergency appendectomy. She’s okay now, but on Monday night I ended up staying up all night at the hospital, waiting for the surgery to finish so me and my friends could be there when she came out. We sat with her mother and father, awkwardly making conversation. Her mother, who hasn’t seen me since I got back from Ecuador (where I lost maybe 20 pounds by sheer accident), turned to me halfway through the conversation and said. “Chrissy, you look like you’ve lost a ton of weight. You just look fantastic.”
Now, I knew this was meant as a compliment, so I accepted it as such, “Well thank you,” I said. At that moment I realized it was the first time since I fully came to accept myself that I had been told that I looked fantastic because I’d lost a ton of weight. And it made me realized that the compliment didn’t feel satisfying. It was empty, felt superficial, and didn’t flatter me at all. In that moment all I could think about was how little this woman knew of me, and how I didn’t know what to say to her.
In comparison, I’ve received a number of compliments in the past few days that have reaped some satisfaction. Yesterday, for instance, I was trying something new with my hair and five (!!) of my friends commented that my hair looked great. Then today I got a comment on my Fat Documentary from Joy Nash herself, which made me squeee with happiness. Almost immediately after getting that, a girl I only sort of know from one of my classes came up to me in the cafeteria and asked if she could watch my Fat Documentary because she had heard it was really well done. I sent her to my YouTube page and jumped up and down in my head with glee.
Overall, what I’ve realized is that I feel satisfaction in compliments when people are acknowledging my successes. Getting my hair to look good was, for me, a triumph. My documentary is definitely an accomplishment. And people rewarding me for my hard work makes me feel good because they’re reinforcing my feelings of success. I think this shows a step forward for me because I’ve begun to disassociate my fat from failure.
All my life, I’ve overcompensated for what I saw as my biggest failure, my fat. I’ve gotten good grades. I’ve been nice to people, been a good support for everyone (except myself). I’ve worked hard to achieve everything in my life, hoping that my good intentions would cover for my fat. Hoping that no one would care about my fat if I were successful, and seemingly happy. Little did I know that I only ever failed when I criticized myself. My weight is not a failure, it’s a part of me. It is not a failure, nor is the loosing of weight a success. It all just is.
My friend’s mom considered my weight loss to be a success. And considering how little she knows of me, I’ll take it for what it was–an allusion that I am a successful individual. It was superficial because she knows me only superficially. But I hope that when people see who I really am, they’ll see a confident, happy person whose accomplishments are many and whose body shape or size doesn’t matter. For the first time in my life, I’m happy. And that’s what really matters.
As you all can see, the FAT Documentary and my Fat Poetry Project have been moved into their own pages. For anyone just joining Jiggly Bits, let me explain these projects.
The Fat Documentary was a personal essay film done as a project for my Advanced Documentary Film Production course. I am a student filmmaker (oh gosh, you have no idea how much I love it), and that project was probably one of my best (and favorites). The assignment was to do a personal essay, a film about a topic personal to each filmmaker that would challenge us both in the strictly personal aspects involved, and in the creation of the film, which was supposed to be more experimental. I chose to do mine on my fat, and that was the final product.
It was an extremely hard film for me to make. Emotionally, it pushed me to my limits. My fat has been the only thing I’ve had to struggle against, and it has been something that, until very recently when I found the FA movement, was my emotional crux. It was the only thing that I couldn’t talk about, that would make me angry, that I would cry about. It was the root of all evil to me. This film was therapy. It challenged me to actually think and talk about how I felt before, and how I got to where I am today. I hope everyone that watches it enjoys it.
The Poetry Project is another class project, this time for my Advanced Poetry Workshop. I am trying to write about, again, the issue that is toughest for me. There’s still a lot there, underneath everything, that I struggle with. My days are still riddled with doubts, and sometimes depression caused by my struggle with my weight throughout my entire life. This poetry is coming from that place.
The project itself is to write a collection, all centered upon the same theme. It’s a challenge that requires the writer to stick with a topic even when it’s hard, and to really consider it and squeeze it dry. I have mostly only posted the more positive poems, and the poems that I think I’ve actually finished right now. I’ve written twelve(ish) poems, and most of them need serious work. The course continues for another few weeks, so there’s more to come!
Finally, let me get to the other Unfat things. I would like to recommend to everyone some videos on YouTube for general video-watching fun. My brother showed me PowerThirst 1 and 2, which are just plain funny. My mom also got me watching Planet Earth videos, which I have found to be extremely positive and pleasant, lifting me up when I need it.
Also, I’d like to apologize. I’m so sorry we’ve had so much time between postings. Jamie has been traveling about in the past week, and I have been all over the place in my scattered crazy life. I promise, in three weeks the blog will be MUCH more interesting! (I’ll be done with school, then!)
LATEST POEM I LIKE FROM MY COLLECTION! Lots going on about an overweight nude painting that might make record sales for a living artist, but more to come on that another day. I’m to exhausted (don’t ask) to do it today.
Geography of Stomach
I.
A mountain-sized peak rises and falls
into the valley of my belly-button.
Carved by rivers, my stretch marks
gleam and glisten, wetly, textured smooth,
their ever-flowing expanse rippling
with the tide of my breathing.
II.
It is the moon, up close, craters—
dimples illuminated from a distance,
reflective in their pale sheen, (my skin)
translucent, dust-soft, and infinite—
fighting gravity, its every circular ellipse
shrouds it in empty space, it hides,
the far side no man will ever see.
III.
All my bits that jiggle are choreographed
when I laugh, a graceful earthquake,
epicenter belly-bent, the bulbous blissful moan
of laughter, sensual in the way its sinews dip,
a belly dance, colored silks alighting my
skin’s pinkish sheen, and freckles, like stars,
bare stomach’s only accoutrement. The cymbals
ching and all flesh accumulates, ripples,
and my folds exhume the earthquake’s aching core,
the laughter tatters from my mouth
and devastates, reverberating so deep
that lives are torn apart in its beauty.
First JigglyTroll
May 22, 2008 in Blog, rant | Tags: comments, Culture, ecuador, fat, haters | by CJWidmayer | 21 comments
Most of my readers know that my blog is extremely young. Just got it up and running in March. So imagine my perverted glee in getting my first anti-fat comment. Finally someone to shout at. “Tara” posted a comment reading:
I particularly like the line I bolded. It really cracks me up. I think it shall make an appearance in my next poem, it’s that good.
I’m actually really really interested in where this came from. I mean, I did say that I accidentally lost 20 pounds in Ecuador, but I don’t think I have EVER spoken about set points, nor do I think I’ve ever excused my fat as a “set point” issue. I had actually written in my first draft of that post a little explanation of how I think I lost that weight. Short version: lifestyle change. To expand: high altitude (Quito is around 10,000 feet) + more walking + eating my biggest meal in the middle of the day + perpetually fresh veggies and fruits = accidental weight loss. It was complete accident because I ate TONS of bread, drank TONS of pop, and even indulged in cookies and chips on a much more regular basis than I do at home. It still eludes me as to how I lost so much, but I really don’t care enough anymore.
So, I’d like to say to Tara, stop hating. You’re playing a silly game. You came all the way here, read my entire post, just to say “Ahhh, teh fatties are ugly.” And obviously, you don’t get the point of our community. We’re here to support each other. We want to come together and throw off the societal chains you hold us under, (and trust me, someday we WILL change your mind). Maybe one day you’ll have the guts to do something like that, but for now, let me wag my plus-sized gut around as a flag for my revolution. Your insults don’t hurt, and I won’t give you the satisfaction of a post all about you in the future, because you aren’t that special. Just know my stand: your pettiness is noted and rejected. Please continue living your life as a minion of society, but I won’t let you drag me down with you.
I got the grace and the body to carry the weight of your insults and throw them where they belong, in the garbage. You obviously have too thin a frame to handle them, and so you dump in the wrong places. Take your loathing elsewhere. I’m too happy to care.
Everyone else, please feel free to continue posting. And, if you so choose, feel free to tear into our troll friend. It’s fresh meat for your tigers. (Someone has to jump on her typos and grammar, pleeeeease.) Just please, as Kate Harding suggests, be good natured and delightful. Wittiness and sass are always appreciated with me.