I’m 36 and a few months ago I was sitting in front of a cafe and a sweet but misguided (on a number of levels) woman tried to set me up with her 18 year old son. I still get carded for booze and smokes. Botox Schmotox. I mean, f*ck ageism and all, but stick that in your syringe and inject it, Hollywood!
4) You get your own seat on public transit!
Let’s face it – given the choice between the fatty or the drunken hipster with a personal vendetta against antiperspirant, most folks will sit with the hipster. I used to take this personally. I would tuck in as much of my flab as possible and will myself smaller — light as a feather/stiff as a board-style — in hopes of receiving the pointless validation of having a total stranger choose to sit with me. In retrospect — why the hell would I ever DO THAT? Truth is, having your own seat on a smelly bus or an overheated subway is just plain awesome. A little passive rejection for a little extra leg room is a fair trade to me!
3) You are your own pool noodle!
I fly a lot and I have to admit to a slight amount of smug self-satisfaction each time they talk about flotation devices and the unlikely event of a water landing. There are approximately eleventy-bajillion things that would suck about a water landing but having to tread water until I’m too exhausted to continue is probably not one of them. Knock on wood and all that but I’d last a helluva lot longer than Kate Moss.
2) Built-in drunken frat boy protection!
House party. 2am. Jake, Steve and Brody are sloppy drunk and sloshing their misogyny (and their beer) all over bored and irritated co-eds in hopes that one of them is blitzed or approval-seeking enough to fall for it. You, on the other hand, are probably either making out with your sexy, intelligent and not-an-asshole date, dancing it out with your friends, or having an only partially-slurred conversation with someone who hasn’t been completely lobotomized by a beer bong. Not to say you won’t still get hit on, because it’s a party and you’re hot. But until the “norm” shifts to include the rest of us, you have a small layer of protection against robotic, shallow, vapid, selfish meatheads . Enjoy it while it lasts!
Ok, so the whole world is “community” for the folks in the aesthetic norm, but there is something deliciously warm about the shared experience of subculture. Bonding about Chub Rub? Hilarious. FatGirl clothing exchanges? Amazing. Big Butt Bike Rides? Chunky Dunks? Body-positive dance parties? Places where everyone in the room isn’t neurotically obsessed with counting every single calorie, obsessing over stretch marks or methodically listing off every single real or perceived flaw with their body? Priceless.
(Disclaimer: you don’t have to be fat to take part in the above, and being fat certainly doesn’t automatically release you from body neurosis — but loving yourself does!)
What do you think is awesome about being fat? Comment and we’ll create a joint Top 10!