Banter in the Garden
|Presenting the 51st… on Guest Post: Women’s Refu…|
|Fuck off, Bob Jones,… on Risky Business|
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|Emma on Risky Business|
|Deborah on A plea for your voice.|
Tea and Strumpets
Via Twitter: “This secret on the PostSecret App is the most hearted of the day”:
There’s a part of me that wants to salute that person in Ohio, to thank them for reminding us that we’re all lovable, and deserving of love. That being ‘bigger’ is no signifier of anything other than of itself. I’d like to thank all the people that “hearted” it, who innocently wanted to make fat women feel better. I want to just smile at this. I want to hug it to me and print it out and post it on my wall.
I’d like to be able to do that. But my feminist brain won’t let me. My feminist brain gets me in trouble all the time, fuck it.
My Feminist Brain wants to point out that “bigger women” are not always “curvy”. It wants to mention that for most people, “curvy” suggests Christina Hendricks and Sofia Vergara, not Beth Ditto or Melissa McCarthy. It wants me to note that while I had no trouble thinking of Hendricks and Vergara, I had to rack my brain to think of “bigger women” who aren’t all vavavoom curves and giant tits.
I’d like to be able to just see the intent of this, and not have “intent isn’t magic” screaming at the back of my head. The problem with that particular meme being that while no, intent isn’t magic, it is still important. The person who posted this meant well. They meant to make people like me feel good about myself.
And therein lies the biggest problem for my Feminist Brain. Random Person in Ohio doesn’t get that one postcard is never going to cancel out the thousands of other messages that fat is bad and unhealthy and unattractive, and of course no one could ever love someone like me. What RPiO doesn’t get is that it doesn’t matter that there are some people who find “bigger girls” attractive.
What matters is that women, no matter what our size, can never measure up. That calling someone curvy is just body-policing of a different kind. (Be fat, sure, but you better have great tits and a small waist and nice legs. And don’t be afraid to show off those breasts – they’re your only good feature. Oh, but not too much. No one really wants to see that much of you.) That we will always always be defined first by how we look, by our bodies.
Or, hey, maybe I’m just a contrary bitch who can’t take a compliment.