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Ch-Ch-Ch-Chaka Chubby

May 5, 2010

When it's this sweet there's no saying no...

I once signed up for a dating site and despite stating I was chubby/fat/whole lotta woman I frequently received messages of the “well just exactly how fat are we talking?” variety.

Leaving aside the fact most of these assclowns had a lot of cheek demanding I clarify some shit that was spelled out when their own profiles often rocked euphemisms like freelancer. Have a job or learn a trade or write a novel – just don’t waste my time with some bullshit you think makes you sound like less of a fuck up. I don’t care what you do for work, as long as it doesn’t involve laying up on my couch all damn day, burning up my internets and making my light bill sky high – while graciously allowing me the privilege of financing your fuckery.

Motherfucker, do you have a jobby job or what? Just how broke are we talking?

I responded to these messages mostly because hey, it proved they actually READ my profile. There would be no “fatty surprises” given that I had spelled it out directly and without QUALIFIERS.

Normally, I would write the following:

Go to American Eagle/Gap/Macy’s and pick up a pair of size 14/16 (short) pants and hold them up to the light. If they look “too fat” then my delicious fat ass is TOO FAT FOR YOU. Good day to you, sir!

I think like twice someone who actually felt I was “too fucking fat for them” responded. Though mostly it was to concern troll me about my “health”.

I am fat. I am hourglassy. I got real big tits. I got a real small waist. I got some hips. I’m 5’0ish. My weight fluctuations have mirrored that of my personal hero Chaka Khan. Sometimes I’m Chaka Khan “I Feel For You” svelte. Ha. I dance like that (still). *point Cha-cha-cha pizza served head snap big finish* oh snap, I WANT THAT DRESS. Naturally, I have those boots, given that they’re hookery and all.

For like ten minutes in 2002 I was Sweet Thing chubby and I wore shit JUST LIKE THAT.

Mostly, I’m Chaka “Ain’t Nobody” fat1

Oddly enough I have that outfit and sometimes my hair looks like that, except dark brown. Damn, I wish I could SING LIKE THAT, though.

I used to hesitate calling myself fat, not because of any shame – cause I don’t have any – but with an earnest desire NOT to misappropriate the term, since really only when I won’t let a mofo “holla” at me, on the web or when I’m on certain meds, do I get called fat to my face. Chubby is the way I acknowledge that I understand that fat is relative and my experiences have often been relatively free from the kind of tormenting – though I’ve certainly had my share – faced by those bigger than I am.

Besides, you just aren’t going to hurt my feelings by pointing out the OBVIOUS.

Leaving aside the fact I am an acceptable kind of “fat” given the shape of my body and my height – my fat is “okay” not because I’m black. Not even cause I got real big tits, but mostly because as a black woman I’m just not supposed to be “sexy” anyway. Sexualized, yes. Sexy, not so much. So not being called “fat” does me NO real favors, but instead merely reminds me I don’t exist.

Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a hairbrush and a standing room only engagement of Through the Fire I need to attend to. Hopefully I can finish before the neighbors call to report hearing the sounds of small animals fighting in the dumpster.

And for the fat haters. I feel for you:

I gots everything society told me as a fat (black) woman I couldn’t have –

  • a real hot boyfriend.
  • bomb ass style.
  • friends
  • success in my career
  • joy and pleasure in my body.
  • recognition for my talents
  • a 36G defying 6:59 minute MILE. Oh my god I have been TRYING to get under 7 minutes for like seven months. (with acknowledgement to my ability status as it relates everything below the neck.)

All accomplished with a big fat ass, mutherfuckers. so boo on you!

Go here for a longer, more nuanced analysis of my fativism

1 and sometimes this version of Ain’t Nobody fat too And you better believe I strapped big ass into an outfit JUST LIKE THIS ONE in my goth days and you couldn’t tell me shit except, “Play on, playerette.”

17 Comments leave one →
  1. May 5, 2010 6:17 am

    Motherfucker, do you have a jobby job or what? Just how broke are we talking?

    That’s some funny shit. Wish I’d thought to respond that way in my brief foray into the online dating world.

  2. May 5, 2010 6:33 am

    Thank you for this wonderful post, which I’m sure will be appreciated by Chakaholics everywhere. And congrats on the 7 minute mile!

  3. May 5, 2010 6:56 am

    @Phyllis – there are NOTHING but cheeky bastards on dating sites. Exhibit A is right underneath you.

    @Redlami, when are you gonna tell folks I am indeed CHAKA FAT.

  4. May 5, 2010 9:06 am

    There’s nothing really “good” about an abusive relationship, obviously, but on the days I am looking on the bright side, I think, “Good lord, that was the better part of a decade without having to log on to OKCupid, anyway.”

    I have got the ass of, like, three white girls stapled on to my behind. Despite a never-ending pile of cute euphemisms to describe this to others (badonkadonk that reaches into space, how about a little trunk with that junk, I generate my own orbit of Ba-DAM, seriously my ass is HUGE okay), when people first meet me, they are all, “Oh, wow, I didn’t realize your ass was THAT big! I mean, that’s REALLY BIG.” Inevitably I find out that they were expecting, you know, an ass in the realm of acceptable-white-girl ass, which is apparently somewhere between flat and flatter, and they just assumed I must be somewhere on the outreaches of “flat with a suggestion.” But no, my ass is big enough that it moves beyond all appropriate white ladyness and I have, in fact, gotten comments like, “That ass gives you a sort of jungle look.” A what with the what now? No. Let’s back up. Let’s you back up.

    My ass is my favoritest. I look back on my life and see all the thousands of ways I was browbeaten into insecurity about my body, and it’s not like my ass was ever excluded from the litany of Things What Are Wrong With You, Now Obsess. I was willing to twist and turn in the mirror to witness the disgustingness of my boobs and oh my god there’s a FOLD right there and those arms are like HAMS. But when it came to my ass, I always knew I was on the Jedi side of things, no matter how many raised eyebrows of terror I got. That’s how thick my hide is; body horror just bounces right off.

  5. hsofia permalink
    May 5, 2010 10:41 am

    @HarrietJ – I am just sitting here shaking my head in awe right now at that comment.

    My mom (love her but this was a fail moment for her) used to make fun of my butt when I was a little kid, calling me “Rubber Butt.” This wasn’t helpful. Like the butts of many a black woman, it’s raised up high and round, like an orange. But my partner (who has a self-described pancake ass) thinks it’s great. Whenever I am losing or gaining weight I catch him eyeing it with some measure of anxiousness, as if it might lose whatever magical power it holds. It is a little bit amazing. It has gotten started to sag a few times, and I literally only have to do a dozen lunges for 2 or 3 days and it sproings right back up!

  6. May 5, 2010 10:59 am

    I always thought I had all the butt confidence I needed, but didn’t realize just what was missing until I got a partner who was all about it, instead of vaguely indifferent. My bear told me that in the three years of him crushing super hard but being too scared to talk to me, it was mostly because he didn’t trust himself enough not to start blathering about my ass and how it was like fifteen Christmases at once. Most of the time, he couldn’t even trust himself to walk after I’d wiggled by. It’s such a reliable and surprising confidence burst whenever I bend over in front of my partner of many years and he gasps “OH MY GOD” and has to, um, readjust like it’s the first time he’s seen that landscape.

  7. May 5, 2010 11:04 am

    my ass and how it was like fifteen Christmases at once


  8. hsofia permalink
    May 5, 2010 11:26 am

    @Harriet – LOL. I had this conversation with my guy some years ago:

    HS: (random whimpering about needing to shrink butt)
    SO: Noooo, don’t – I love your booty, it speaks to me.
    HS: Huh? What does it say?
    SO: It says, “KA-POW!”

  9. May 5, 2010 11:30 am

    HS: (random whimpering about needing to shrink butt)
    SO: Noooo, don’t – I love your booty, it speaks to me.
    HS: Huh? What does it say?
    SO: It says, “KA-POW!”

    I don’t have a shelf booty, but my tits have inspired similar conversations.

  10. May 5, 2010 11:46 am

    I’ve got my own range of white girl problems when it comes to buying clothes due to body shape. Big boobs, small waist (in length and width), nice wide hips, super long legs and a “back with a crack”.

    0 butt for me.

    When I was highschool/university I had men in their 50s following me around making kissing noises. Guys my own age? Ha, good luck. My friends say I had the body of a hot and fertile wife but was clearly in my early 20s…That makes old Dads CRAZY.

    When I first started dating my husband I put on about 5 pounds and started complaining immediately. He said “I’m totally fine with you putting on more. You look like an Anime character right now.”

  11. SaraKate permalink
    May 5, 2010 3:04 pm

    a 36G defying 6:59 minute MILE.

    First, WOOHOO! That is completely awesome. I am impressed.

    Second, since you mention the boob-defying nature of running with speed, I wanted to mention the Enell sports bra. Have you tried it? I’m a 32F myself, and my boob tissue is decidedly non-firm, so jiggliness is a major issue for me. I’ve had other sports bras that I deemed adequate, and felt they controlled the boobs enough that I wasn’t uncomfortable and didn’t feel like I was doing damage, but they didn’t live up to the “boobs won’t move” promises in the catalogs. This, however, is the only bra I have ever tried that actually makes me feel like the size of my boobs is not even an issue I have to consider when deciding on an activity. I mean, I can jump rope, and my boobs move mayyyyybe an inch up and down, no more, and less than that with running, even bouncy slow I-am-waiting-for-the-light-to-change jogging basically in place. I have plenty of excuses for why I don’t run nearly as fast as you do, but “my boobs bounce too much” is totally not one of them. Sooo worth the price.

    I don’t get any kickbacks or have any affiliation; I’m just such a happy customer that I turn into a walking PSA whenever this is at all topical.

  12. hsofia permalink
    May 5, 2010 5:07 pm

    @kate – Few things disgust me more than older men hitting on young women in such vile ways. Women should not have to endure this crap!

  13. May 5, 2010 8:37 pm

    Chaka Khan’s good looking and talented and all… but she doesn’t hold a candle to the cupcake who posted this.

  14. aliciamaud permalink
    May 7, 2010 9:57 pm

    I stood about three feet from Chaka once backstage at a concert, and everyone else melted from view. Still feeling that glow.

    I was contacted on a dating site once by a “freelancer” who was looking for “a lady in the museum and a tiger in the bedroom…” Curiously, he listed that requirement under “religious affiliation.”

  15. lemonadeandlemoncake permalink
    May 8, 2010 3:40 am

    yeah as far as men demanding to know JUST HOW FAT I AM i’ve given up on dating sites .and having to say ‘is it okay if i’m fat’? seriously? should i really be interested in dating someone who’s not okay with my fat? NOPE.

    They’re gonna have to get used to my neck fat and bellyrolls, because I AM ME. And holy effing crap. Under seven minutes? mine is about 22. good job!

    i always thought you had to be thin to run, but i’m reconsidering this, and thinking, well, if i keep telling myself ‘i’ll run daily when i’m thin’ that can’t be too healthy so i’ve started to do those ‘i would do if i was perfectly healthy’ habits now. like, maybe, running. >.> although i have enough body fat on me to where i don’t have the endurance, but i suppose runwalking is acceptable ,right?

  16. aliciamaud permalink
    May 8, 2010 8:13 am

    Oh, I forgot one of my “too fat for me?” online stories. I contacted someone I knew was a mutual friend, and got a reluctant response, with the explanation that “it’s hard to tell from a picture if someone’s the right one for me” (Yeah, no shit, Sherlock) and emphasizing that he was looking for someone “VERY FIT” (with no regard for the biking, yoga, dance, hiking mentioned in my profile). But he oh-so-kindly invited me to attend an art opening where he was the featured artist. He wouldn’t have time to meet or talk to me, of course, but he could scope me out and see if I was worthy of continued correspondence. (That’s not a quote, but was the implication.) I’ll never know if I am too fat for him, but I’m clearly too awesome, by measure of about 8 fucktons.

  17. May 8, 2010 7:27 pm

    Runwalking was one of my favourite pasttimes until I decided to do it for an hour a day, twice a day for a month. It’s now two months later and I’m still limpy on my right ankle.

    So even though it’s exciting and you’re seeing results, don’t go too crazy right out the gates.

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