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.
- 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!
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.”