OK, so I am so wrapped up in job and house hunting in my new abode of Toronto that I have completely neglected to provide you guys with a post. But never fear, butch eye candy is here! Here’s an awesome video courtesy of Time about a female model who models exclusively in men’s fashion. Although women modelling men’s clothes is not new, a woman signed exclusively to a modelling agency for men is. Without further ado, I present to you Thursday Butch Eye Candy!
(Disclaimer – this person may not actually identify as butch. But they’re hot, nonetheless.)
Happy Birthday to me! Happy Birthday to me! It’s been a whole year since I started this blog! I am so proud of myself for sticking with it. Yay me. And thank you so much all you lovely readers who share your thoughts and let me know when you like my posts 😀
I don’t know why I started this blog. I guess it was the overwhelming urge to get my writing out there, because I have stuff to say and I think people should listen GODDAMMIT! My most popular post, by far, has been ‘I Don’t Want To Have Sex’ and I have found that very encouraging. It seems that I am not the only one to feel the queer community still privileges one way of being sexual over another.
One year later and I am still – surprise! – really annoyed about this. So I decided to post this. Let’s call it the ‘I Don’t Want To Have Sex Anniversary Rant.’ In which I examine further the assumption that all queers are kinky, poly and into public sex. Read on:
Emailing an acquaintance recently to get the queer lowdown on the new city, I got a quick reply. “Are you kinky?” was the opening sentence. The message proceeded to list some sex and play parties that weekend, as well as some Halloween themed events. (Yay lesbian wiccans!). While I appreciate, so much, this stranger’s willingness to connect, this casual reply immediately got my (feminist) goat. It brought up so many questions for me: Why do we assume that all queers are kinky? Is this an appropriate question to ask another, queer, stranger? Why was I so annoyed? Am I just jealous because I’m not getting any? And, challengingly, am I just a prude?
I felt that answering ‘yes’ to this question would allow me to jump straight into the Montreal queer scene, no holds barred. Answering no would immediately exclude me from all the queer events I had just been invited to. As it is, I politely answered yes, I am kinky, but no, I’m not interested in the parties.
“Is this what being queer is all about?”
You could argue that, given the super sexual parameters of the queer community, this is an appropriate question to ask. In this case, it’s not so much the question itself I want to challenge, rather the assumption a certain shared sexual behaviour that makes the question socially acceptable in the first place. I am not sure what to call this assumption. Sexual privilege? I’m-a-better-queer-because-I-do-it-in-dungeons?
Kink seems to be an access-all-areas pass to the queer community. For me, the queer community’s emphasis on sex doesn’t only come from its history as a group united by our alternative sexualities. It also comes from a misinterpretation of sex positive feminism. At its core, sex positivity is about being OK with your own sexuality. It’s about behaving in sexual ways that feel healthy to you. Yes, sex positivity does recognise that consensual practices of BDSM and other marginalised sexual practices can be healthy. Yes, sex positivity knows that some porn is feminist and empowering. But sex positivity does not entail promoting one type of sexual behaviour over another. And this is exactly what I see happening in the queer community, to the detriment of the sexual health of its members.
Sex positivity is too often mistranslated as an assumption that all sex is good, and that traditionally marginalised sexual practices are better. This just isn’t true for everyone. Once again, in embracing the underdog we have pushed other people to the margins, simply for not having the ‘right’ sexual practices. Sex positivity has to recognise that sex and play parties are not safe spaces for all queers. That some queers don’t want to have kinky sex, or any sex at all. Some queers don’t want to hear about your fisting practices while they’re trying to eat their vegan potluck. As one commentator on my blog said, “there’s a difference between sex positive and sex dominant!” (thanks Nat R!).
As many of you know, while working out my own shit I have decided to not date for a while. I don’t want to go to play or sex parties and I am not interested in talking in detail about other people’s sex lives. Relationships, sexuality and sex remain fascinating to me. I just don’t want to talk about who you are going to fuck tonight or my own sexual adventures. For me, this is a profoundly healthy choice. It recognises that there are things in my life I need to examine and I need to take time out to do that. However, this choice is not recognised by the queer community. The fact that nearly all queer spaces are super sexed means that I feel uncomfortable in many of them. Sure, it’s great that we have DIY sex toy workshops and sex parties at our feminist festivals, but is this what being queer is all about?
“There’s a difference between being sex positive and sex dominant”
For me, a sex-positive environment would be one which recognises that the choice to not have sex can be healthy and feminist. For me, a sex positive environment would be one that doesn’t confuse queerness with kinkiness. It would be a space in which I feel safe and supported while I choose to be less sexual. This isn’t the environment I have experienced in queer spaces.
How can we say queer is an umbrella term, when so many of our allies and friends are left outside in the rain?
Personally, I am not at all interested in proscribing what ‘queer’ or feminist sexuality should look like. It disappoints me that queer is.
I don’t want a queer community that gets its superiority kicks from putting other people down. I don’t want a community that pitches poly against monogamy and marriage. I don’t want a community that says kinky people are breaking social taboos and adventuring into new sexual fields, while so-called ‘vanilla’ folk are blinded by tradition. I don’t want a queer community that says heterosexuality and anything that looks like it is sexist and that homos are here to save straights from the limits of their own imaginations. I want a community that has space for the expression and sexual (or not) behaviours of a plethora of people. I really want all the freaks.
This privileging of one way of having sex and assigning sex a leading role in the queer community strikes me as a bit stupid. It ignores the fact that there are asexual people in the community. It ignores the fact that nearly every sexual person goes through times in their lives when they are less sexual. How can we set ourselves up as the vanguard of sexual acceptance when we intentionally exclude people from our groups for their sexual expressions? How dare we say our history lies in the development of queer as an umbrella term, when so many of our allies and friends are left outside in the rain?
Sometimes I think that us queers are so concerned with making ourselves look good that we engage in I’m-cooler-than-you-so-there kink contests. Loud conversations about how much sex where going to have and how reek to me of playground posturing. It’s as if we’re a bunch of peacocks strutting around trying to attract a mate. Actually, I guess that’s EXACTLY what we’re doing! But, again, it’s not just about getting laid. It’s also about proving how cool we are. I am sick of it. When are we going to grow up?
When I published my first post that critiqued the hypersexuality of the queer community one year ago, I got some very defensive reactions. Some people seemed offended by my critique of queer as a hypersexual space and ran to defend the status quo by suggesting that, hey, that’s just the way queers are and implying that I am the odd-one-out for not being the same. But others, the majority in fact, thanked me for talking about a huge aspect of living in the queer community that goes largely unchallenged.
If we were all super sexual beings then this norm would be just fine. If we all enjoyed going to play parties and having public sex then there wouldn’t be a need for this article. But the fact is that queers are – shock horror! – different. In fact, the right to express and live one’s sexuality how one wants, in a way that is true to oneself, might be called the founding rock of the queer community. As my imaginary Queer Charter puts it, the freedom to express one’s sexuality is a fundamental human right.
I would appreciate knowing what the rest of you think about this. Do you agree there is a tendency to privilege poly and kinky sexual expressions in the queer community? How do you imagine different sexual expressions such as asexuality and BDSM can share queer spaces? What would your ideal queer community look like? I would also like to thank all the lovely commentators on my first article about this, one whole year ago. It’s nice to hear your voices and I have learnt a lot from you.
OK, so it’s not Thursday, it’s Friday. But you know what? It’s 5 hours behind Europe in Canada. And it’s been Daylight Savings Time, which is totally an excuse. Anyway, it’s my blog, so quit your complaining! Here’s another review, this time of a beautiful new ebook. Do read on:
Discordia is a direct challenge to the British media’s conservative coverage of anti-austerity protests in Greece. Political commentator Laurie Penny and illustrator Molly Crabapple take us to the streets of Athens and show how the Greek people are affected by the cuts largely condoned by Britain.
In Spring 2012, British commentator Laurie Penny and New York artist Molly Crabapple set off on a 6-day journey of journalistic discovery. Their mission: to discover what the hell is happening in Athens and to experience the anti-austerity activism first-hand. What came out of that adventure is Discordia, an ebook that mixes personal experience with astute political commentary. The stories of Athens’ locals emerge alongside Penny’s convincing characterisation of a depressed Britain. The crisis of one nation reveals the hidden attitudes of another. All of this is washed over with Crabapple’s gothic sketches depicting the harrowing and uplifting beauty of Greece in crisis. Discordia tells a distressing tale that is also an energizing call to action.
Apathy, that feeling of powerlessness; a feeling so pervasive in Britain it hangs over London like a fog. It keeps our eyes on station floors, brown bleeding between the tiles like stale urine in public toilets. It forces our brains shut on the tube and glazes our eyes in front of our computer screens. ‘Eurozone unemployment jumps to new high,’ ‘Greece sees suicide surge,’ ‘Greek society sees free fall.’ Information washes over our heads. We see only our feet trudging along the wet concrete as we walk to the bus. This is pretty much the definition of apathy. The feeling that what you learn is exactly the same as what you expected and it’s awful. So you don’t do anything about it. It won’t change anything, so what’s the point?
In a digital world in which the glut of information leaves us heavy with despair, Laurie Penny’s writing is a refreshing call to action. She wants you to care, to join in her fight. For her, journalism has a political role. She argues that, what she calls the ‘mainstream media,’ “are complicit in creating that special blend of anxiety and inertia that has calcified dissent across Europe and America since the first uprisings in 2011.” London, New York, Egypt, Greece. Wednesday’s anti-austerity strikes in Madrid, Lisbon and Rome.Rebellions against governmental economic mismanagement are happening all over the world. And, still, we feel powerless.
“The depression has left the British middle class with an identity crisis”
Discordia questions the role the rest of Europe and the US have to play in the Greek crisis.It tries to do what Penny argues mainstream media doesn’t and hold the powers-that-be “to account.” Released as an e-book on Amazon and Google Books, Penny and Crabapple’s tome is part of the new generation of publishing. Penny came to fame through her personal blog into the world of Twitter, Facebook and a million-and-one blogs like mine. The new media aren’t inherently left-wing or anti-authoritarian, but their potential for spreading diverse content quickly, cheaply and easily provides them with a lot of political potential. Now, I’m not going to go all utopian on your asses. I do question how much of a new audience this media reaches versus how much it preaches to the young, lefty choir. But the potential for different messages to be heard is encouraging. As Penny writes, “in the hands of anyone on the other side of a protest line, a camera phone is a weapon as powerful as any club.” New and social media can, sometimes, be used to emphasise social responsibility.
British reportage of Greece’s crisis speaks to a fear that we, the Brits, will have to pay for another’s mess. Discordia argues that the use of moralising rhetoric to depict Greece’s crisis places unfair blame on Europe’s poorer citizens; an ‘It’s Greece’s crisis and Greece has to pay’ mentality. As Penny writes, “Greece is the beggar of Europe, and these days, beggars have to be made examples of.” This moral rhetoric ignores that it’s not Greece’s mismanaging bigwigs who will pick up this debt. It’s the country’s working and middle class.
Penny links middle-class disappointment to British political apathy. Our feeling that the future’s gone to shit and there’s nothing we can do about it. “The crisis is affecting us, affecting people of the middle class, like me. It’s not only an economic crisis, it’s also a political crisis, a crisis in all parts of life.” The depression is, well, depressing and it’s left the British middle class with an identity crisis. Middle-class Brits in our twenties and early thirties, like me, were told we could have everything and we feel like we have ended up with nothing. Britain’s political conservatism can, in part, be attributed to the shock the recession has given our national self-confidence. Too depressed to extend a helping hand to others, it feels like the anti-cut activism of the past couple of years has died down into grudging acceptance of a bad lot.
The shock of being unemployed. The disappointment of a generation. As a middle-class, educated woman, unemployment is news to me. My artistic deviance from my destiny as a doctor or lawyer was supposed to be channelled into publishing or the media. I wasn’t supposed to be underemployed for 3 years, on anti-depressants and struggling to make my way in a world suddenly hostile to middle-class youth, with all our expectations. Between the time my friends graduated in 2004 and I finished my MA in 2009, the world had changed radically. Now, to have good prospects, you need a degree from Oxbridge or an influential contact. Anyone who’s not one of the lucky few is fucked. For working-class people, this harsh reality might not be news. Maybe it’s something they expected. But for people of my class and age, it is new. Because we were told we could have everything and that has turned out to be a lie.
It’s no wonder that we have come to expect disappointment. Instead of protesting the police brutality in Greece, we watch it unfold with a numb sense of inevitability. We frown, sigh and scroll down. Get off the tube and hurry home to watch the telly. “Now they don’t wait to go inside to hit you, because they have nothing to hide from the world outside Greece.” A Greek protestor describes police brutality.
“Greece is the beggar of Europe, and these days, beggars have to be made examples of.” – Laurie Penny
The fascist party, Golden Dawn, is gaining considerable power in Greece. It’s estimated that 50% of the Greek police force voted for the party. The daily murders of immigrants in Athens are continuing unchallenged by the police. At an anti-fascist rally Penny describes a young Pakistani man who has been bludgeoned by a group of Golden Dawn members. She films as he lies bleeding on the cobblestones, his friends pressing cloth to his head, trying to stop the flow of blood. Such examples of violence show what the ethnic minorities of Greece have to lose. What people fear, even in England, will happen to them at the hands of the police if they make a fuss. But the ethnic minorities of Greece don’t have a choice. Their quality of life has already been threatened. They have to protest the daily murders. We don’t. The lack of political energy in Britain smacks of the awful dead apathy of having given up.
Penny’s compelling words are brought to life by Molly Crabapple’s rich illustrations. Crabapple’s sketches bring out the beauty that is always present, even in the poorest, most desperate places. The intricate richness of her Victorian-inspired sketches make me think of Dickens’ London, covered in grime and fog. Grey and stinking and full of despair. She transports this Anglophile atmosphere to the streets of recession Athens and breathes life into Penny’s words. The effect of their combined art is, surprisingly, hopeful as well as dark.
You could, if you really wanted, dismiss this review and Discordia itself as the whingeing last cry of a disillusioned class as we fall off the perch of entitlement and land smack on our asses in the middle of a depression. But that would be too simple. It would ignore the fact that this apathy pervades all of British society, not just the middle-class. It would also ignore the fact that political apathy is deliberately cultivated by the powers-that-be to keep us uppity, left-wing intellectuals in our (silenced) place. Penny and Crabapple’s ebook depicts the disappointment and anger of Generation Y’s middle class and creates a compelling call to action. After all, who knows what would happen if we were all like Laurie Penny and Molly Crabapple?
Oh, look! A review! This is interesting. Read on: Cartoonist Alison Bechdel is back with her second graphic novel. I examine her own prejudices against the graphic novel and concludes that Are You My Mother? reads like a serious piece of literature, but illustrated with lots of pretty pictures.
Here’s the thing: I am a bit of a snob. I studied English lit at university and I learnt, long ago, that ‘serious works of literature’ don’t have pretty pictures. Illustrations are for children; text is for grown-ups. So I approached Alison Bechdel’s new graphic novel with a kind of, ‘this is going to be fun’ attitude. I was therefore surprised to find Are You My Mother? so, well, serious. With its psychoanalytic approach and quotations from Virginia Woolf, it’s as angst-ridden as a teenager with her first guitar. It’s kind of the lesbian folksinger of the comic genre.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I love lesbian folksingers. Melissa Etheridge? I’m totally down with her. Constant Craving? I’m right with you KD. But, even for a therapy-loving, romantic person like myself, Are You My Mother? was a bit much. Bechdel’s second memoir chronicles her relationship with her mother. It tells the story of her mother’s frustrated artistic ambition as she gives up writing poetry to bring up her three children. It feels like, having exorcised the ghost of her father through her previous memoir, Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic, it is now Bechdel’s turn to write about her mother.
Bechdel layers stories. She uses psychoanalysis and the work of Virginia Woolf to examine her relationship to her headstrong mother. She writes about mother and daughter through the lens of her therapy sessions and the process of writing Fun Home. The memoir is kind of a book about writing another book as well as this book and … you see? It’s just very hard to explain.
Bechdel is obsessed with twentieth-century psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott and Virginia Woolf. Heck, she even goes back in time to imagine the two passing each other in a London park. Bechdel copies chunks of Winnicott and Woolf’s writing into her cartoons. She frames them in her strip, even as their ideas inform and guide her work. It’s all very meta.
It may be in the nature of memoir itself, but Are You My Mother? seems to say a lot more about Bechdel than it does about her mother. Sure, we get the story of her mother’s difficult marriage and frustrated artistic career, but the focus is always on Bechdel’s therapeutic process. She is obviously haunted by her mother. At one point Bechdel moans to her therapist that she can’t write until she gets her Mum out of her head. Bechdel’s mother is portrayed as sympathetic, yet distant. It’s easy to understand how this no-nonsense character is unfathomable to our neurotic, loveable artist.
In many ways it’s tempting to read Are You My Mother? as a sequel to Fun Home. Bechdel’s critically acclaimed first novel chronicles her relationship with her closeted father, who died in a probable suicide attempt when she was 19. Like her latest book, it provides an introspective story of her childhood. Fun Home jumps about in time, drawing comparisons between the frustrated life of her father and Bechdel’s own life as an out lesbian. She seems to be searching for her roots, somehow healing the pain of her father’s death by writing her own, queer, narrative.
In Are You My Mother? Bechdel explores the nature of the relationship between mothers and daughters. It’s a cliché that sons are Mummy’s boys and daughters are Daddy’s girls. So what about mothers and daughters? Freud said that the two are in sexual competition with each other. Our fairy tales portray mothers as scary, unreliable beings who often betray their offspring. Don’t trust your mother, she’ll probably unintentionally sell you to a witch or try to eat your heart. Charlize Theron’s deranged stepmother in Snow White and the Huntsman is a recent portrayal of an older woman who will do anything to destroy her stepdaughter. The murderous aliens of this year’s Prometheus turned our anxieties about our origins into big screen horror. Are You My Mother? sets out to heal the rift between mother and daughter and in doing so navigates one of our most fraught relationships.
Although I felt that Are You My Mother? needed to be edited with a heavier hand, Bechdel’s approach to memoir is compelling. I mean, I love introspection (see above note about being romantic). I’m totally down with the therapy. I am even aiming to read, sometime in the near future, the complete works of Sigmund Freud (I don’t know if this makes me annoying or ambitious. Probably both.). So Bechdel’s exploration of psychoanalysis and the difference between fiction and memoir appeals to me. Maybe if I were less of a geek, I wouldn’t have enjoyed the book so much.
For me, a twenty-something lesbian, it feels like Bechdel has been around for, like, ever. Her comic strip Dykes to Watch Out For came out in 1983 (I was only just born, yo) and ran for 25 years. I associate Bechdel with that other lesbian cartoonist, Diane DiMassa. I read DiMassa’s Hothead Paisan: Homicidal Lesbian Terrorist (obviously it’s hilarious) at about the same time as Bechdel’s Dykes To Watch Out For and now the two authors are tangled up in my head in a kind of feminist-lesbian free association. Perhaps, approaching this memoir, what I really wanted was a bit of light-hearted fun. I didn’t get it.
To sum up, I have to admit that I would read pretty much anything Bechdel writes. Her late-night poetry or scribbles on a piece of toilet paper would, for me, be a treat. Are You My Mother? is harder going than you’d expect, but it is quite fun if you want to be encouraged to run out and read some psychoanalysis or works of modern literature. Its references to other authors gave me plenty of opportunity to geek out and I got to do so while reading a comic.
(You have to say the above in the gravelly voice of a movie trailer voiceover man.)
Yesterday I got a very long comment on my ‘Too Fat for Fashion” post from last week. It pretty much showcases the kind of fat-hating ideas that are accepted by most and I wondered whether to publish it or not. Does a calm but very sexist and very wrong comment have a place on my blog? Although I would usually say ‘NO!’ and instantly delete personal or aggressive comments, I didn’t delete this one. I disagree with its content but I didn’t want to give any ammunition to people who might accuse me of silencing different viewpoints. Some of my lovely friends suggested that this is an opportunity for me to bash some of the myths that women, fat and thin, face, every day. So this is what I decided to do. I approved the comment so it now shows below that post and, I have taken what I see as the main myths about fat from this comment and write my own response to them. Please be aware that this post really needs to be a book, and I’ll let you know when that’s done. In about a decade.
Fat Myth #1: “Fat people are not sexy”
This is silly. In fact, it’s the easiest for me to refute. Fat people are sexy. I think fat people are sexy and I know lots of people, both men and women, who are both fat and sexy. I am hot and other people find me hot. I considered posting gratuitous pictures of me and friends on this blog, but decided you have already seen enough of me in the buff. And stealing pics of my hot friends off Facebook and posting them here probably wouldn’t be consensual (darn that consent!). I therefore kindly link you tothis post, drawn to my attention by my friend Pearl. Although Kate could only be considered ‘fat’ in the crazy fashion industry, the rest of the women are fat (and hot, duh!).
Fat Myth #2: “Fat is unhealthy”
This is a hard one to refute. After all, all health authorities tell us that fat is unhealthy and we will die earlier if we are obese. So, I am just going to go with my gut on this one.
It is possible to be fat and healthy. I was very unhealthy when I was skinny – I was depressed and mad and hungry all the time. Even though I looked conventionally beautiful I was miserable. Barely sleeping, barely eating, my intellectual capacities greatly dimmed, I know I was unhealthy.
Physical and mental health are connected. I think exercise is a good thing – I love endorphins – and I feel good in my body and mind when I exercise. I also know that exercise doesn’t make me lose much weight. In fact, I enjoy food more when I exercise and tend to eat more. I feel sexier because my body feels more fluid. I am more healthy.
My experiences with health authorities have led me to greatly distrust them. I have been lauded my doctors for being healthy when I felt really unfit. I have been told I was too fat by nurses who asked me nothing about my diet or exercise habits, at a time when I was cycling up to 14 miles a day and felt healthier than before. I have been given wrong information about both my sexual and general health owing to assumptions about my queerness and fatness and I know the health system is flawed. Of course there are great health professionals out there, but who gives them their information? How can they better assess my health in a 10-minute session when I live in my body every day? I trust some doctors to help me when I need them, and I grant that they know more about a lot of health issues than me. But I also use my own judgement when listening to their information and take some of it with a pinch of salt. I have already linked it, but in case you missed it, here is a great video about fatness and health from a health professional.
Lastly and, perhaps, most importantly, I don’t believe that society’s aversion to fat people is really about our health. If society really cared about fat people, it wouldn’t laugh at us and characterize us as lazy, stupid and greedy. It’s very easy to laugh and point a finger. I think our collective hatred of fat people reflects our own insecurities. Most people are so miserable, we put other people down to make ourselves feel better. Maybe we’re just all so hungry from those superfood salads that we are secretly jealous of the food that fat people get to eat?!?!
Fat Myth #3: “Fat people are greedy”
From a feminist perspective, the idea of wanting too much fascinates me. For women, it totally makes sense to me that we want more than society tells us we are allowed. We want to be successful, to love and be loved, to have babies, a career, to travel, to be artists… In short, to fulfil our individual potential. We are constantly sidetracked from embracing our desires, of all kinds, by the pressure to fit sexist beauty ideals. We spend so much energy, time and money trying to fit this ideal, we forget our own paths. Unhappy and tired because we are undernourished, we try to achieve an ideal of thinness that by definition slips further and further away.
Some fat activists see the desire to eat and take up space with our fat as fat women’s refusal to be shrunk into the tiny box that society allows us. Told that we should disappear, we do the opposite. We want and so we take.
In terms of overeating as a disorder, which it is, it can also be seen as an expression of thwarted desire. I know I eat sugar when I get the anxiety in my stomach that means I actually want to write. Sugar come downs and the sleepiness of being too full combine with TV to dull my senses, lead me away from my creativity. I eat to dull my desires and in this way deliberately obscure my talents. I want to I hide from the world and live in my dreams rather than my reality. The big bad world is scary. Being miserable is seductive; it seems easier than being happy.
It would be easy for me to say being fat is a wholly positive thing. That I have a great relationship with food and that my fat is 100% good. But it’s not. I know that my fat is both a natural body shape and a symptom of my thwarted creativity. Nothing less than starving myself would make me thin, but there is a level of fatness at which I feel too fat. I know this might seem to undermine some of my fat-positive beliefs, but, like all realities, fat is complicated. Only you can know when you have a positive relationship with food, fat and your body. Only you know when you feel good in your body; when you are healthy. Everyone is different, and it is this individuality that both the cult of thinness and, in some cases, overeating, strives to obliterate.
My most personal response to the characterization of fat people as greedy, as wanting too much, as “incapable of restraint” is why should we restrain ourselves? Why should we downsize our dreams to fit into the tiny, awful mould that society allows us? If overeating is the desire for more, more than we are allowed as women and as human beings, then it is a truly rational response to the life of emotional and artistic subsistence that our capitalist and consumerist society allows.
All my childhood and early adult life I was told I was wrong: too fat, too clever, too different. I wanted too much. Now, I am trying to stop railing against myself. I think the world is a better place if I am who I am meant to be. I receive and give more love the happier I am, I put stuff out there into the world that is a force for good. Who is going to say the unsayable if not me? Who is going to be the crazy artist, if not me? We need our different and crazy people. The truth is, taking up space and acting out our desires, our personal truths, makes us happier and better people.
There you go! All done! Feel free to comment with your own responses to these common fat myths so we can build a fattie army of resistance. Hurrah!