I used to be very body-positive, even as a “fat chick” (215 lb) and even rather activist–green pixie cut hair, denim miniskirt. I took classes in feminist theory, thought I understood about “white privilege” and the voice of the subaltern and the relationship of the colonized to the colonizer. And then I joined the Peace Corps. And was told, in no uncertain terms, that it was part of my job to “represent my country” (read “represent your race”) and to offend no one in my host country with my appearance, comments, or politics, and that I would need to “overcome” ingrained stereotypes that television and other media had brought, and “deal with” an overwhelmingly macho culture, etc. Oh, and I would be the only white person in town. They really would all be staring at me.

And even then, I had it BETTER than PoC have it in this country–because while, where I was living, there were ingrained stereotypes (i.e. all American women are whores, and thus any sexual advance will be welcomed; women are only useful for making babies and absolutely are not capable of, say, engineering) my appearance/race were still valued as some sort of “ideal”–about which there is not nearly enough room to speak, certainly not by me, except to say that the evils of US cosmetics advertising are everywhere, and yes, that it is colonialism–and that the history of my country, people, and race are such that I know that I cannot make a meaningful comparison between this experience and any other, and I am not trying to compare the experiences so much as just speak about my own….anyway, even while “lucky” enough to be “pretty” by the cultural standard, I was still very much, and very obviously, the only person of my weight, height, and skin color in my community (there were 5 of us in the general 20km area–the other 4 were male). And thus I represented “white female culture.”

And I grew out my hair so it was unoffensive and politically unsurprising, and dressed in the baggiest “women’s” clothes I could find (big skirts and sweaters) in order to not upset cultural expectations, and not be subject to harassment for being too “sexy”–and became hideously aware of perceptions. I was still harassed, continually, daily, on the street–”hey baby” and kissy noises and “love you” etc. were pretty much the aural backdrop to my entire existence–I was still stared at, people would run and hide, or come up and touch me and rub my skin and ask if “things were different colors” out of my different colored eyes–and I became, in ways that I haven’t even begun to fully deal with and examine, a very different individual than the one that lived and rocked out for feminism in the states.

I shrank. Literally, figuratively, what have you. I was much bigger and taller than everyone in town–so I lost 60 pounds to try to “fit.” I didn’t go out unless it was completely unavoidable, as the advanced game of creating a mental barricade while still being “sociable” and inoffensive was too exhausting to bear. I (and others around me–all good educated white Peace Corps-joining liberals) began using terms and generalizations for the dominant culture that can only be characterized as racist–it wasn’t that one particular person did one particular thing that made me uncomfortable, no, instead it was “these f-ing people that think this f-ing way that makes it so hard for me”–broad strokes painting a culture instead of individuals or acts, because it wasn’t individuals I was angry with–I was angry with all of “them” and their stupid stereotypes that I had to overcome and their stupid assumptions and why the hell couldn’t I just be myself instead of playing this whole culture game, blah, blah…but I still kept quiet, and generally seething and loathing, while smiling and being inoffensive and playing the culture game…

Because I didn’t have the privilege. See, I didn’t even realize it until I wasn’t in the US, but being all big-bad-bitch and political and activist about appearance was attached to the unknown and unnoticed presumption that I was the cultural default. I could CHOOSE how to express myself, and that choice would be a valid comment, because it wouldn’t be attached to anything preexisting–I can control the perception you have of me, at least to some extent, because I am educated and white and therefore “normal”. Whereas, if I had tried to say or do something in that little town, it would have been “proof” that Americans are weird, that we are overbearing, that American women are castrating bitches and so women really ought to be kept in place to prevent that–see how fraught it gets? To get respect at all, I had to play the game that disrespects me.

And this is what’s so frustrating about all of this–because overcoming prejudices and assumptions are also core to the FA movement–we are not lazy and fat and sweaty and morally lax, etc–the perceptions we cannot control. But I don’t have to overcome, say, a “mammy” or earth-mother or whatever other ridiculous cultural memes are floating out there at the time. I can make a statement (verbal or otherwise) in the US without the additional assumption that I “speak for” or “represent” any particular value besides “Jen”. And that is, it seems, part of the very nature of privilege–that, as one who is privileged, gets to speak of the personal and the political as an INDIVIDUAL, instead of as a symbol or representative of a “culture” or “in order to overcome” stereotypes (“but your people are so much more accepting…”) that are implicit by my membership in a non-dominant society. It’s pretty f-ing nice. When I didn’t have my privilege, I missed it, desperately.

And while I can’t change what color I am, I can at least make an effort to be aware that, for someone who is not white, the idea that white is the default, non-color, “flesh,” as opposed to a color and a culture with a fairly brutal history, well, I ought to probably try to keep that in mind when talking about the acceptance or non-acceptance of personal standards of appearance.

Anyway, I’m glad that I found y’all–this is a brilliant place with some wonderful people, and very important work. No more bonding over shared self-hate–that would be inspirational indeed.

Also, I didn’t read Maydarling as invalidating or even arguing with what coyote said, but using her comment as a springboard to say “here’s how it is with me” – as we all do. And I, for one. am interested in how it is with Maydarling. Well, nuff said. Going back to bed now.

What you say here is pretty much just what Julia says, and you both say it well and I think it should be required reading (we are working on a required reading list, and it will involve a “read this stuff on race before you bother opening your mouth” section, and Julia’s post will be there). But I really do think it’s worthwhile examining where this misconception comes from and why it’s apparently so deeply rooted psychologically, and I think that’s what coyote was trying to address. We can let go of the idea easier if we know why we’re clinging to it.

Nope. Not so. From my perspective the one-two punch of being a black, fat woman has effectively done the following things:

1. Completely desexualized me to the point where I can, and do (sometimes), feel invisible.

2. Reinforced the notion that I will never live up to the dominant image of beauty in Westernized society.

3. Imposed the belief that if I show any nurturing behaviors, that will automatically put me into the “mammy” category (and, contrary to what people see when they look at me, I am nobody’s mammy)

4. Sensitized me to the fact that I have to take care not to lose my temper too badly in the everyday world (have a hissy, be seen as giving “attitude”) because then I end up being the Fat Black Bitch

It’s a narrow tightrope that has been my daily experience because of factors which are unchangeable:

1. I am black. I have always been and will always be.
2. I am female. I have always been and will always be.
3. I am fat. I have always been and most likely (thank you genetics) will always be.

What non-POC women see as self-acceptance and defiance, ie. dressing well, keeping oneself well-groomed, etc, most likely is a self-protection response finely honed and created to glean acceptance from the “community” at large. No pun intended.

I know there’s a little bit of “oh, wow! Maybe it *is* ok to be fat because these people say it is.”

And how much weight (aside from the usual appropriation stuff) does my voice (as your ordinary, run of the mill, educated, black, fat, young, woman) carry in the grand scheme of the world?

Not much. Especially when you find that people in your own peer group are insisting that yes, it’s quite ok for us to think ABC, even when you (and others) are emphatically saying, no, no, it’s XYZ.

The black (and other POC) communities are not monolithic. Not everyone is in lock-step with the whole “only a dog wants a bone” mentality. I can’t say with all certainty that all of the white community is fatphobic, when the Fatosphere, amongst other spaces, show that this is totally not the case.

That’s a privilege I wasn’t born with.

dreamy, thank you for this last sentence. This gelled everything else you and Julia had said in my head into one kind of sharp, reminding smack with a clue-by-four.

A stereotype only requires *one* occurrence in real life to be created, and the strength of propaganda, accompanied by active ignorance of any evidence to the contrary, does the rest. Whether there are any additional, legitimate occurrences is unimportant because the new idea has replaced the reality.

“Yes, I have tried diet and exercise.
Yes, I have tried [insert drug here].
Yes, I have tried acupuncture.
Yes, I have tried massage.
Yes, I have tried herbs.
Yes, I have tried vitamins.
Yes, I have tried meditation.
Yes, I have tried therapy.
Yes, I have tried water aerobics.
Yes, I have tried yoga.
Yes, I have tried tea.
Yes, I have tried bed rest.
Yes, I have tried the pain clinic.
Yes, I have tried surgery.

None of these things have cured me because I have an incurable condition. I know that hearing I have been in pain my entire life and will be in pain for the entire rest of my life is difficult, nigh impossible, for you to fathom.

I, meanwhile, have accepted that, although I have to be in pain, I do not have to suffer. Listening to you attempt to diagnose/treat/cure my condition by offering suggestions I have already tried merely increases my suffering. Please stop.”

*hand up* as a white girl who also carried this assumption. But in my case, it wasn’t about telling a black woman about how her ethnic group feels about her, as this:

“maybe there’s hope. maybe fat girls aren’t universally hated. maybe one group of fat woman has one part of their lives a little bit easier.”

not that validation from men is the pinnacle of life’s goals, but just on a day to day basis to get along, every little thing helps.