January 13, 1999.

I just wrote the following article for one of the campus newspapers, and I'm too lazy to write any mo'. So, here goes, kids:

During The Full Monty, the male cast is critiquing body type until one of the men reprovingly hisses, 'Fat is a feminist issue!' Blank looks are exchanged among our blue-collar heroes. 'What does that mean?' 'I don't know,' the hisser replies, 'but it is.'

I found that moment the most amusing in the entire movie, mostly because I get confused about the same sorts of things. But let's say, let's just say while you & I are all cuddled up like this that fat is a feminist issue. Does that mean that it's the feminists' proper role to be fat? Consider Callista Flockheart, professional ballerinas, Kate Moss and FT (tm). Nobody'll look at me twice if I spend the rest of the article griping about those stick insects. It's considered 'okay' in some, if not most feminist circles to trash skinny minny women because...

Well, why? Because they get colder in winter without doubling up on stylish parkas? Because they'll have a difficult time bearing big-boned children? Because they look stupid in halter tops? Because they look like men? But girls who look like guys and vice versa are still pretty fine by me. Who could see Ewan MacGreggor in a dress in Shallow Grave and not admit that androgyny is fucking hot? Should lines be drawn? I like men. I like to look at women. I'd classify myself as bi-curious, if I hadn't been been reliably informed by a dyke that if relatively straight girls label themselves 'bi-curious,' it tends to be translated by the listener into 'my boyfriend wants to watch.' But anyway...

This brings me to my central problem: I like skinny gaunt goth boys, the kind who seem to survive on clove cigarettes and black coffee. My own boyfriend bruises me with his hip bones if he gets too close...and close is easy to get with me, because I myself am as plush as a five and a half foot tall beanie baby. I have hips of my own, honey. I have a round, cherubic face that can get me in for the children's rate sometimes. My stomach is round and soft, and yes, it does shake like a bowl full of jelly, damn it. I have a broad back that dieting or exercise or even plastic surgery will never touch. Perhaps this has led me to my quandary, for I may like Sandman-esque males, but as for women I go to the other side in more ways than one. To whit: I have to admit that I like a voluptuous shape on a girl. I'm a 'brick shit house' sort of admirer.

I think that it's self-defense in many ways. To the fashion wold, I'm enormously overweight. To my friends, I'm just right. To my boy, I'm a hottie. I can't help but notice that my body type closely matches the standard of beauty exhibited in painting & sculpture of the last, oh, thousand fucking years. And still I feel guilty for eating sunflower seeds. My roommate & I consult each other on every pound lost, although our attitudes on other matters (i.e. cleaning the bathroom sink) can be described as ranging from 'easy going' to 'slack ass.'

Fat is a feminist issue, all right. Is that why so many of us feminists are obsessed with getting rid of it? Perhaps the overthrow of the patriarchy will finally allow us to accept those unsightly pounds and inches. Or perhaps the patriarchy is the political manifestation of those very same warm, nourishing, beautiful layers of body fat - and that when it's gone, our society will be ready to wear that slinky black dress.