No laughing matter

Are fat girls funnier than their size-2 counterparts?

We’ve all heard the old adage that fat people tend to be nicer, funnier, smarter, (insert non-superficial quality here). You know, because our looks aren’t on par with society’s standards, we need to be insanely funny or charming to prove our worth. (I’m kidding, obvs. I’m not really that jaded…I think.)

Sad as it is, the reality is that people perceive you differently when you’re overweight.


Even the movie and television industries play on the fat-girl angle. There are several ways writers spin fat characters, the first of which is actually pretty common: a) they make the character extremely funny/witty or super raunchy in an attempt to be funny or b) they resort to uber-lame jokes like having the character break a chair or get stuck in a waterslide (legitimately a big fear of mine).

News flash: Not every fat girl is as quick as a whip when it comes to humour (and not everyone thinks a fat girl breaking a chair is funny). Though I laugh at my own corny jokes, I don’t actually think I’m funny. I have a really dry, snarky sense of humour (shocking, I know) and have zero comedic timing in real life. I’m a really bad storyteller, let alone joke-teller.

Lots of fat people use humour as a shield. Lord knows I try to. I’d rather own my ghetto boo-tay and make fun of it myself than have someone else point it out to me. But you know what my main motivation is when attempting to crack a joke? I want to deflect attention from my body and be known as someone other than “the fat chick.”

Superficial? You better believe it. Sad? Yes, ma’am. But it’s a defense mechanism, one that I hope to break as I regain my confidence.

And that, folks, is no laughing matter.


Oompa Loompa, doopa dee do

Most of the time, I don’t care that I’m paler than Edward Cullen (yes, I just made a Twilight joke — deal with it). I mean, I could apply self-tanner if I really wanted to, but ain’t nobody got time for that.

So, a few months ago, I bought an online deal for an airbrush spray tan, which I finally redeemed this week. I didn’t think I was that orange until my boyfriend started singing, “Oompa Loompa, doopa dee do…” when I walked through the door. Of course, I laughed, but inside, I felt kind of shitty.

Earlier this week, I was feelin’ great. The scale was my friend. My confidence was renewed. Hell, I even spouted some motivational words in my last few posts, something I rarely do. But the last few days have been tough on me emotionally, and it’s wreaked havoc on my healthy eating.

I’ve been super down all week, which scares me because I don’t know if it’s just a blue day or if the depression that plagued me for so many years is creeping back. (I like to think it’s just a blue day and this weekend will bring sunshine, lollipops and rainbows.)

I’ve barely been home all week, too, which means I’ve been eating out. A lot. I’ve been trying to eat as clean as possible, but sometimes it’s hard to find a healthy alternative in restaurants, let alone a clean-eating one. That, coupled with stress, anxiety and my stupid toe bothering me, has left me feeling, well, defeated.

I know I’ve made great progress so far (hurrah!), but I have had several consecutive fat days this week. Yes, I’m 16 pounds lighter and more toned, but let’s be realistic here: I am still a fat girl. I still need to shop in the plus-size section. I still have back rolls. My thighs still chafe from rubbing together. Sigh.

I’m not going to let this defeatist attitude stop me, don’t get me wrong.┬áMy confidence has just been shaky at best this week, and the Oompa Loompa joke did not help. (I know shit like this is why guys think women are crazy. In this case, I don’t disagree with them.)

Even though I bear a striking resemblance to a carrot as of late, I am going to try and re-gain my confidence. How do y’all manage when you’ve been having a string of all-too-familiar fat days?

“But you have such a pretty face…”

I’ve always been the chunkiest girl in my circle of friends — the fat one, if you will. My friends are amazingly beautiful, inside and out, and I know that they’ve never thought of me as their fat friend, but that’s how I felt for a long time (and, to an extent, still feel). It doesn’t help that I’m fairly tall (over 5’9″) while most of my friends are a petite 5’2″ or 5’3″. My fellow Amazonian women, you know how it is.

When I was single, I would always try to blend into the background, no matter where I was. I mean, no guy would possibly hit on the fat one, right? (If my self-esteem issues have not yet become apparent, then you really need to re-read my blog posts.) Happily, I discovered that many men actually looked past my weight (shocker!) and got to know me as an actual person. That, and they liked my ghetto boo-tay.

While I am still insecure about my weight, I don’t let it bother me as much. I am now confident enough to recognize my own skills and strengths (self-control not being one of them, natch) and realize that my weight doesn’t measure my worth as a person. You know, love thyself and all that jazz.

Despite that, I still absolutely loathe the statement: “But you have such a pretty face…” when someone tries to comfort me when I’m having an all-too-familiar fat day. To me, that statement comes across as: “What a waste. Any semblance of attractiveness is completely overpowered by the fatty rolls on your back and your inability to stop porking out on chips.” I may be reading too much into that, and I’m sure a lot of people have said it with good intentions, but, as a fat girl, I feel like poop every time I hear it. It’s taken me long enough to reach this level of self-acceptance as it is!

Maybe that sounds harsh, and like I said, I’m sure that most people don’t mean it as a backhanded compliment. But the statement still stings, a glaring reminder of my (formerly) always-increasing weight. At the risk of sounding incredibly superficial, I hope that one day, my weight isn’t the focal point of my appearance. What do you think?