Last Sunday, somewhere between Mob Wives (featuring the terrifyingly awesome Big Ang) and the Giants game, I tuned into an episode of Oprah's (I think I can simply call her Oprah, don't you?) new show, called Oprah's Next Chapter.
In this particular episode, she was interviewing New Jersey Governor Chris Christie. Despite the fact that he's head of my neighboring state, up until I watched that show, I knew but three things about Governor Christie: He's often described as "a tough talking former prosecutor." He was widely encouraged to run as a Republican candidate for President. And, oh yeah, he's fat. And not, "Do these jeans make me look fat?" fat but clinically obese.
And sadly, it's his fatness that I know the most about, and not just because it's something that you can see: it's also the thing that is most talked about. Among many others, late night talk show hosts like Jon Stewart and David Letterman have had plenty to say about it, with Letterman even devoting an entire Top Ten list to Christie's weight.
All of this reminds me of a scene from the movie version of the great Jennifer Weiner's IN HER SHOES. Rose, the buttoned-up older sister, comes home to find her flighty younger sister Maggie having sex with Rose's boyfriend. Like anyone, she freaks out and loses her cool, cutting into Maggie with some pretty biting words about Maggie's intelligence, calling her "Pretty but real stupid." Maggie responds, "Shut up you fat pig," and Rose counters with, "Did you honestly just say 'fat pig'? You are my sister, and the best you can do is 'fat pig?'"
That's how I felt seeing all of this Christie coverage. Jon Stewart, David Letterman ... these guys are some of the sharpest minds out there, some of the smartest, funniest, politically-minded guys around on their own, but also backed by full staffs of Ivy-League educated writers ... and the best these guys can do is a crack about Christie getting caught in the Oval Office with Betty Crocker?
Seriously, guys?
I don't know much about Chris Christie, but if the thing that we can all rally around to make fun of him about is his suit size, then maybe he should run for President. And I'm as Liberal as they come.
As an overweight person pretty much most of my life, fat jokes bother me on a lot of levels, but mostly they offend me because, as someone who also likes to think I have a pretty good sense of humor, I don't see that they're all that clever.
I also think that it bothers me because everyone seems to think it's okay to make fat jokes. It's been said before, but it almost seems like an acceptable form of prejudice. Men, women, gay, straight, Republican, Democrat, black, white ... they all agree fat is funny.
I disagree. Fat is a lot of things, but it is certainly not funny.
Don't get me wrong, I have certainly made some fat jokes over the years, mostly at my own expense. I mean, I am the girl who dressed up with a skinny friend as Laurel and Hardy one year for Halloween. I'm semi-serious about launching Fat A$$ brand margarita, the antithesis to Skinnygirl. And I've also made comments about others; I'm no angel. But mostly I do it before someone else can, because they will, and the best defense is a good offense.
See, like my patron saint Oprah, I believe that very few people are overweight simply because they like to eat too much. Most people who are overweight eat for emotional reasons, to stuff down pain or discomfort, as way to avoid feeling painful things.
I started becoming overweight when I was about seven. Before that, and it's hard for me to believe now, I actually hated to eat, and so my mom devised these nutrient packed drinks including a raw egg and vanilla extract called "specials" so that I would keep weight on. Seems like even then I liked the allure of special, fancy things - a drink made especially for me, I love it!
Around age seven, there was a lot of turmoil in my family. My dad was a good man, a former NYC cop with lots of wonderful qualities. Unfortunately, he also had a terrible disease -- alcoholism -- which led him to act in unpredictable ways. He did some things that, when I look back on them, they seem a lot scarier now than they did then, thanks in large part to the amazing job my mother did -- things like cutting the phone lines to our house one day so we couldn't call for help when he showed up unexpectedly trying to get in, or trying to convince my teacher that it was okay for her to release me from school to him without my mom's knowledge when it really wasn't. I don't blame him for any of these things -- it was his disease, and we all have our crosses to bear.
Although I didn't make the connection until years later, I know that I started gaining weight then as a defense mechanism -- to soothe myself, to protect myself. I guess I thought that if I was fat, it would be harder for him to run away with me or maybe he wouldn't even want to take me because he'd be embarrassed.
Pretty hilarious stuff, right?
As an adult, I know intellectually the root of my struggle with weight, and the emotional connection, but old habits die hard, and although I've lost a lot of weight the past few years, I still struggle. Food is comfort, food is company. Something to celebrate? Let's go out to dinner! Rough day? A cupcake will make it SO much better, unlike that poor salad over there. That won't do at all. And, like a lot of us, I really do like the taste of a lot of unhealthy foods. And I don't even blame Paula Deen for it; it's my choice. I know Dr. Oz's soaked walnuts are healthier than Paula's red velvet cake, but to me, it's not even a fair fight.
As I said, I've become much better in not using food to self-medicate. One because, as the child of an addict, I know an addiction is an addiction. Food is to me what alcohol was to my dad and countless others who struggle with addiction. I have to be really careful because I also think food is a gateway drug. I try to watch what I drink and even in the worst pain I won't take anything harder than Tylenol because I know it's a slippery slope.
I also admit I'm not one of those cheery fat people who doesn't mind being fat. I'm sure you've seen them. The media likes to depict them in a rosy-cheeked, aw shucks, sidekick kind of way. Some of them are full of it, but I believe some of them are truly comfortable in their own skin, and I say good for them. I'm actually a bit jealous. Not me. I hate every minute of it. It's not comfortable physically being fat, and I'm as shallow and vain as anyone else. I like to look good and it kills me that more often than not, I know the first word used to describe me, before any other physical or intellectual quality, is "fat," or other variations thereof -- heavyset, overweight, robust, chunky ... you get the picture.
And so do I. Which is why it makes me nuts (and not the healthy, water soaked kind Dr. Oz wants me to eat).
I am so many other things besides fat -- both good and bad. There are a lot of really awful things about me that are way worse than the fact that I'm overweight. I'd rather you call me a "b*tch" before "fat" but "fat b*tch" -- that really stings. But people also assume when people are overweight that it's some inherent flaw in their constitution or their personality. It somehow makes them lazy or uninspired. They just don't try hard enough to lose the weight. Let me tell you, there's not a fat person alive on this green earth (or any other planet) who doesn't know it's unhealthy to be overweight, and who doesn't know that ultimately, to lose weight you have to eat less and move more. So there has to be something else "up," so to speak. It may seem simple to a thin person, but believe me, if it were easy, obesity would not exist. (I won't even get into the socioeconomic, cultural reasons for obesity; that's another blog for another day.)
Now, I'll admit, I'm not in the best physical shape, but I can outlast many people in energy and physical stamina. I haven't achieved what I've achieved in life by being lazy and I resent the implication.
I also know that I'll never be really thin. I have the build that I have ... Broad shoulders of my Irish ancestors designed to carry sacks of potatoes, several children, or a passed out, drunken husband. No discernible a$$ no matter what size I am, instead my back somehow magically turns into my legs. And disproportionately, perhaps even freakishly, small hands.
But each day, I try to make healthier choices for myself -- physically and mentally. Like many things, it's not a straight line. I may do really well and then fall off the wagon for awhile, but I'm trying. And I can guarantee you: Chris Christie is too. And even if he's not, I don't think it's any of our business.
We all have our holes to fill. We all have our issues. Our soft spots, Achilles' heels. Those insecurities that we hope no one else will tune into.
But the trouble with being fat is that you wear it for the whole world to see -- and instead of being compassionate or even just nonjudgmental if we can't muster up compassion, it's somehow deemed okay to attack a person because of it. Fat is wrong, bad, unattractive, unhealthy, lazy ... I could go on and on.
When what do we really care? How is it hurting you if I am overweight and vice versa? What is it about fat people that gets under other people's skins so much?
I believe it was the wise philosopher Ronnie Ortiz-Magro (aka Ron from the Jersey Shore) who once said, "You just do you, and I'm-a do me."
Truer words were never spoken.
I was recently complaining to someone how I haven't been able to dye or cut my hair since my injury and that the amount of gray hair I have is awful. She said, "So you have gray hair. I do too. People need to just get over it."
It would be nice if we could accept ourselves and each other for who we are, as we are, fat or thin, gay or straight, black or white, Republican or Democrat, bottled red hair or naturally mousy brown-gray. I'm not there yet, but I'm trying really hard.
Until that day, thank God Ron is here to sell us some Xenadrine. Only I'm not buying it.
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