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Tag Archives: men

How many times a week do you shave? If you answer incorrectly, we may have to kill you.

I know! Don’t fret! Here I am! It’s been a busy few days. There was an overnight guest (MOM!) and delicious-dinner-eating and play-reviewing and play-review-writing and accidentally dropping the f-bomb in front of my very religious mom (long story, I get road rage) and Dumbcat-shenanigans (he was VERY LOUD AND NAUGHTY) and manicure-giving (which was actually totally a highlight, more detail to come) and nephew-birthday-attending. And do you know what there was not? Any crying or bathroom-weepery. I am quite proud at how the weekend turned out. The only downside was I didn’t get enough sleep, there was some non-family-related drama I could totally have done without, and I got a weird sunburn where I forgot to apply sunscreen. (Shoulders and the back of my neck. Although I did apply sunscreen there. Apparently, just not enough, or it was JUST SO DAMN HOT I sweated it all off. Who knows.)

We will have WEEKEND RECAP one of these days (it’s a big week full of theater reviews – three in one week, one with a relative I haven’t seen in a while, so THAT’S exciting! – so I’m going to try to squeeze blogging in amongst all my bon vivantery) but today, as promised…

DATING TIPS FROM 1949 for the FELLAS!

Howdy, 40s man, I am here to HELP!

Howdy, 40s man, I am here to HELP!

If you all recall back many moons ago (ok, I think it was Saturday) we discussed Esquire’s dating tips for the lay-deez in 1949. If you don’t remember, you can click here and catch up, or you can read the following recap: foursomes, restaurant rage, ninja-murder, don’t hold too much liquor, always talk to bores. And young Brando is hot. But, as one of my VERY INTELLIGENT COMMENTERS mentioned, I totally forgot a hottie from back in the day; I will rectify that now.

Young Paul Newman. I am SO SORRY for the oversight; he was a little too young for the movies in 1949, but we can look at him anyway. RAWR.

Young Paul Newman. I am SO SORRY for the oversight; he was a little too young for the movies in 1949, but we can look at him anyway. RAWR.

So! Our tips for the ladies were totally helpful; I’m sure I’m going to be getting invited to many tip-related weddings soon. I didn’t forget you, fellas! I know you’re all “OMG AMY HELP! I AM CLUELESS IN THE WAYS OF CATCHING A LADYPERSON!”

Well, tip one is, don’t say “catching” or “ladyperson,” but I digress.

Esquire was totally helpful for men of the 40s, too! 

So without further ado, let’s see what we’ve got for you! (That may or may not be a euphemism, depending on how well this goes.)

Do you use the continental approach, based on the belief that an immediate pass flatters a woman?

I can assure you THIS Continental would never bore anyone!

I can assure you THIS Continental would never bore anyone!

This is the average man’s greatest mistake. If a pass, on first acquaintance, doesn’t insult a girl it at least bores her.

OK. I’m already confused. What exactly is meant by “pass?” Like, a bad pickup line? Or, since it was the 40s, just talking to her? I’m going to assume it means bad pickup line. And if that’s the case, then, yes. It probably will insult her. (Or, more likely, make her roll her eyes, laugh, and walk away.) I don’t know if it would BORE her, though. I mean, watching paint dry is boring. Having a guy say “Are your legs tired? ‘Cause you been running through my dreams all night” is ANNOYING and CLICHÉD, but not BORING.

Do you show your real fondness for a girl by telling her about her bad points and advising her how to improve them?

This is again an error. If you must tell her you hate her perfume or how she does her hair, wrap it up in heavy sugar coating.

Hee! “A real fondness.” Yes. I find the people that criticize my bad points are my most closest friends, confidantes, and LOVAHS. Also, “if you must tell her you hate her perfume or how she does her hair…” YOU MUSTN’T DO THAT. I suppose if you don’t like the perfume scent she wears (I mean, we’ve all known someone who wears a scent we’re not keen on, even though they, as a person, rock), maybe give her a nice bottle of perfume you DO like, and say, “I smelled this and thought you’d smell amazing wearing it” and when she does wear it, compliment it a lot, I don’t know. I’ve never had anyone cuss me out for my perfume choices. (Because DAMN, I smell amazing. I’m good at perfume.) If you don’t like how she does her hair – SHUSH IT RIGHT UP. Seriously. Or go date someone else. Her hair is none of your business, just like your combover to hide what we all know is a damn bald spot isn’t ours. Stop being controlling.

Are you getting the feeling I’m going to get angrier at the male advice than I did at the female advice? Me too.

Do you show your devotion to a woman by holding her hand or putting your arm around her when her friends are present?

Please don’t. Even a girl who is affectionate in private dislikes public mauling.

Is this a 40s thing? I don’t know that this is a big deal now. I don’t know that putting your arm around someone or holding their hand is a public “mauling.” Well, unless you’re a bear, or like Vincent from Beauty and the Beast. Are you Vincent from Beauty and the Beast? Then I can’t help you with dating advice, go hang out in the sewers.

He seems very mauly, right?

He seems very mauly, right?

Can you describe the dress or hat worn by the last two girls you took out?

If not, notice and comment on the next few. Women appreciate having men notice the efforts they make over their appearance.

I’m so glad we don’t have to wear hats in this day and age. I hate hats. They always make my head hot, and make my hair all squashed in the hat-area. Is this question a test? “QUICK! DESCRIBE CLOTHING ITEMS!” Yes. It’s nice to say nice things about what your date is wearing. I don’t take umbrage with this question. I do, however, take umbrage with hats.

One of these is not a hat. It's a cowl. You can't pull one over on me!

One of these is not a hat. It’s a cowl. You can’t pull one over on me! Get it? Cowl? Pull one over? HA!

Do you have a double code about drunkenness for men and women when they are together?

If a man has to get drunk, he’ll be more attractive if he restricts this behavior to stag company.

We gonna hang? Cool. But leave your Zimas at home, dude, they didn't even have those in the 40s.

We gonna hang? Cool. But leave your Zimas at home, dude, they didn’t even have those in the 40s.

Whoa. Where are you going to find all those male deer? Like, are you going to break into a zoo? You could get totally injured, not to mention, it’s not at all cool to get drunk around wild animals. They might impale you with their horns. That’s possible also a euphemism.

Oh, stag is an old-timey way to say “only penises need apply?” Great, good, sorry for the confusion. So this tip is telling you not to get drunk around women. Well, I guess. Whatever. That seems old-fashioned, but this is the 40s, what can I tell you.

Do you sometimes take a girl out on parties of four or more, as a change from twosomes?

A good idea. A girl may feel hurt if you never ask her to meet your other friends.

MORE TALK OF FOURSOMES! Or even MORE than foursomes! ORGIES, PEOPLE, THE FORTIES ARE HAVIN’ AN ORGY!

Yes, a girl might feel hurt if you never ask her to meet your other friends. She might think you’re keeping her as a dirty secret in the closet, only good for twosomes and not good enough for PUBLIC twosomes. OR ORGIES. Unless, again, you’re Vincent from Beauty and the Beast; then the girl might be all “Yeah, let’s stay in the sewer and play Risk again tonight, what do you say? I think I’m getting really good at it.”

This is the NEW Vincent. He's not as mauly. But his eyes turn yellow when he's pissed, or having sex. I mean, so I hear. I don't...um...watch this show or anything. Heh.

This is the NEW Vincent. He’s not as mauly. But his eyes turn yellow when he’s pissed, or having sex. I mean, so I hear. I don’t…um…watch this show or anything. Heh.

Do you make distinctions between the jokes you’d tell a man in the club and those you’d tell a girl in a park automobile?

Almost no women like bathroom jokes or jokes with dirty words.

What’s a park automobile? Like, a park ranger’s car? Oh, it’s a typo and it means PARKED automobile? Were there no copyeditors in 1949? Urgh. Probably they were all women and they were busy buying hats and having foursomes.

PARK CAR!

PARK CAR!

ALMOST no women like bathroom jokes or jokes with dirty words. Especially when you’re in a park automobile. Because nothing says “put your hand on my gear shift, little lady, let’s get this old-timey automobile up to 40 miles per hour” than “HA HA DID YOU HEAR THE ONE ABOUT THE HUGE TURD?”

But apparently, some women must like that. Because almost means SOME do. So keep looking, bub, and someday you’ll find your lady of flatulence.

Do you tell a woman she’s beautiful, even if she isn’t?

This habit hurts nobody and makes a lot of girls happier.

Well, it hurts the girl you’re lying to, who now thinks you think she’s beautiful when she apparently is a hosebeast. Stop lying. If she’s not beautiful, just don’t mention it. Is that so hard? Talk about something else, for the love of Pete. Also, why are you dating her if you don’t think she’s pretty? Were you blinded in a terrible acid experiment in science class or something?

Do you ask an attractive girl — who is probably busy most evenings — to call you up sometime when she’s free?

Don’t do this: you may always ask a popular girl far enough ahead of time to find a free evening.

Also, she probably has the clap, so ask out the dog-faced girl from the last question, you’ll be less apt to have your dick rot off.

Do you plan your evenings with a woman ahead of time or leave the choice of amusement up to her?

It’s much more flattering for a man to announce the evening’s program, showing he has given thought to her amusement.

“TONIGHT WE WILL BE AMUSING OURSELVES WITH GAMES OF CHANCE, AND ALSO EATING SHELLFISH.”

“But I’m allergic to shellf-“

“SHUSH. I MAKE THE PLANS, AS I HAVE A PENIS.”

Do you believe it necessary in the modern age to push in a girl’s chair for her and to light her cigarettes?

These small courtesies mean a lot to a girl.

“May I light your cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke.”

SMOKE IT, I SAID!

SMOKE IT, I SAID!

“YOU’LL SMOKE AND LIKE IT. ESQUIRE SAYS IT MEANS A LOT TO YOU. NOW STICK THIS UNFILTERED CANCER STICK IN YOUR MOUTHHOLE WHILE I POKE A MATCH NEAR YOUR FACE, BABYLOVE.”

Do you ever tell a girl you love her, under the spell of the moment, when you suspect that you won’t tomorrow?

This is a dirty trick and if you do, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Moreover, the word will soon get around to other women.

Is anyone else getting the feeling that “under the spell of the moment” means…um…in the midst of…unloading?

No? Just me? Great. Good. Grand.

Oh, maybe it means in the HEAT of the moment. You go, Asia. You go, you timeless bastards.

Oh, maybe it means in the HEAT of the moment. You go, Asia. You go, you timeless bastards.

Well, we learned up above that girls don’t like things that are dirty, except some do, so I guess keep looking for the filthy ones. And stop lying to women. You know we’re gossipmongers, and we’ll tell everyone you’re a lying liar who lies about being in the spell of moments.

How many times a week do you shave?

Once a day is minimum, if you care what women think of you.

Forty-two times a day is OCD, if you care what doctors think of you.

(Also, did 40s women hate beards? HEY! 40s WOMEN! I WILL TAKE YOUR BEARDY REJECTS AS I TOTALLY HAVE A BEARD-LOVE GOING ON ALL OVER HERE!)

Would you dine a girl expensively and not buy her flowers, or economize on the place and bring her at least a gardenia?

Most women would prefer having flowers and less to eat.

“I brought you effing ROSES, the least you could do is eat from the free BREAD BASKET and stop WHINING about being HUNGRY!”

(I’m also in tears of laughter about the “at LEAST a GARDENIA” thing. The poor sad gardenia! The least of the flowers! I mean, it could have been road-weeds. Count your blessings, I guess.)

Aw, they're totally pretty, too! What's with the gardenia-hatred?

Aw, they’re totally pretty, too! What’s with the gardenia-hatred?

If your hostess at a dance is obviously having a whirl, do you consider it necessary to dance with her?

You always should, as a matter of good manners.

“Having a whirl” is most definitely a euphemism, right?

Yeah, I thought so. Remember what I said earlier about the clap, boys.

Do you try to arouse a girl’s interest by boasting of your success with other women?

Don’t ever do this!

Listen, I take offense. You NEED to arouse women. It’s totally mandatory.

What? Oh, read the rest of the sentence?

Shit. Yeah, don’t talk about all the wick-dipping you’ve been doing all over town with the party hostesses, guys.

Jeez, I have like the worst reading comprehension ever today.

Do you consider it a young girl’s own business whether she gets tight and is indiscreet when she’s out with you?

Keep an inexperienced girl from getting tight, if you have to spank her, and don’t let any woman become indiscreet through liquor. Triumphs over drunken women don’t help any man.

I don’t…what can I even say about this one…um…there’s “tight” and there’s spanking and…

Well, other than SO MANY NAUGHTINESSES GOING ON, at least it’s not advocating date-rape. Way to go, 40s, way to go.

If a girl you’re fond of asks you to be nice to her cousin with adenoids and buck teeth do you cut her off your list?

Not pleasant, but if you rally around and give Cousin Belle a whirl, you’ll soon be known as the nicest man in town.

Or the biggest loser who does whatever anyone tells him. Or, if you follow the instructions above, you’re totally gonna get Cousin Belle preggers, and THEN you’re stuck, dude. Put a raincoat on that thing if you have to tell the ugly girl she’s beautiful, is all I’m saying, here.

Also, “not pleasant.” Well, I bet Cousin Belle doesn’t think it’s especially pleasant to have to hang with you, you douchekebob.

If you had a quarrel with a girl — in which she is clearly in the wrong — will you wait for her to apologize before calling her up or risk being a door mat and do it first?

Be a door mat — it’s easier for you to call a girl than for her to call you.

“In which she is clearly in the wrong.”

As they are. As they ALWAYS are.

It’s easier for you to call her? Why, is she chained up in the basement or something? Has someone cut off all her dialin’ fingers?

Oh. Because PRIDE. Because STUPIDLY MISPLACED LADY-PRIDE. Gotcha.

Well! What did we learn TODAY, men?

Um. Mostly, I don’t know about all of you, but I learned I have no interest in dating a 40s man, even if he’s a super-hot time traveler who looks like Newman or Brando. Because he’s going to set my hair on fire, not let me eat while shoving flowers in my face, take me out in park cars while restraining himself from making fart jokes, be all clean-shaven and obsessive about it, and insult both my hair and my perfume.

All of these? Total recipes for the hotness. Right? Right, ladies? Ladies? Where are you? You all ran off with young Newman, didn’t you. DAMMIT. Don’t come running back to me if he never lets you drink and expects you to wear all the hats.

These women don't look as upset as I would to have been decapitated and put in hatboxes. Also, one of them is wearing a Robin Hood hat, I think. Hmm. Perplexing.

These women don’t look as upset as I would to have been decapitated and put in hatboxes. Also, one of them is wearing a Robin Hood hat, I think. Hmm. Perplexing.

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You’re gonna carry that weight; carry that weight a long time

I was a skinny kid. Photos of me from back then are all pigtails and smeary glasses and I’m usually covered in mud. And I’m sometimes brandishing things like frogs or buckets of mucky water, for whatever reason. I probably had a plan for those buckets. Maybe I was going to put the frog in them. I don’t know.

Then puberty hit. You can’t fight science, people. I come from hearty peasant stock on both sides of my family. Dad’s side are all, in his words, “built like tops – big on the top, skinny on the bottom.” (I attempted to explain to him that’s not exactly how tops work, and also we don’t spin very well, but he was all “WE ARE LIKE TOPS!” so who am I to argue with him?) and my mom’s side are all built like the Goddess of Willendorf. Curvy doesn’t even begin to explain it. Genetics decided I needed a little of both, apparently.

Now, Dad had been heavy growing up, and teased about it mercilessly. He lost quite a bit of weight when he married my mother (who was, and remains, thin; she’s the only one in her family that is.) Dad saw that I was starting to gain weight and immediately feared that I was going to be teased about it at school.

His solution? Constantly watch everything I put in my mouth, tell me how disgusting being fat was, tell me I needed to be working out and/or being active every single minute of every single day, tell me I was never going to find anyone to love me if I was fat, and call me things like “elephant.” If I got upset about this, he was genuinely confused. “I just want you to be happy,” he’d say. “I just want you to be pretty and thin.”

Now, I don’t know what size you’re imagining me in high school, but if I remember correctly, I was about a size twelve. A twelve. I was probably around…oh, I don’t know. 140 pounds, maybe? 150? Just about the thinnest I’ve ever been in my adulthood, anyway. I certainly wasn’t fat. And I’m fairly tall. 5’8.

I WAS COMPLETELY NORMAL.

However, years and years of being told, by the person you love and admire most in the whole world, that you are ugly, fat and worthless, take their toll. My self-esteem, never overly good to begin with, wasn’t getting much better.

Senior year, I was tired of being so ugly and fat (although I was neither – I look at photos of myself from that time and think “GOOD GRIEF, WHY DIDN”T YOU REALIZE HOW GORGEOUS YOU WERE?!?!”) and went on a crash diet. This diet was basically a bowl of cereal at breakfast and a can of Chinese vegetables at dinner. Sometimes some chicken. No lunch. This was what I ate every day for about 8 months. I worked out for hours at a time daily. I lost about fifty pounds. I could see my hipbones and my ribs and my cheekbones. My collarbones were so prominent I would sometimes accidentally bump them and leave bruises.

It was the first time my father ever told me I was beautiful. He followed it with “See? All you had to do was lose weight. I knew you were beautiful underneath that.”

I was starving. I had headaches constantly. I was tired all the time. But I was THIN. Boys were paying attention to me. One of my teachers told me, “Don’t you dare ever gain weight again. Don’t you DARE” which at the time I was all “Aw, nice!” and now, looking back, I’m all, “Um. CREEPSTER!”

I think you can see where this is going. Can anyone maintain that kind of diet and exercise regimen in the long-term? And not get scurvy? And not go CRAZY? I mean, I couldn’t eat ANYTHING. I was counting the calories in CORNSTARCH. I’m not even kidding you about this. This is not a way to live a life.

I gained the weight back over about a year. I felt terrible shame. I’d let everyone down. I was disgusting. I was ugly and fat again. I had no self-esteem; I didn’t like to go out in public, I didn’t like to go out with my friends, I didn’t date because who would have me? I drank a lot, though. Liquid courage, right? Mmm-hmm. Works every time, except when you start needing it for everything, ever. Like getting out of bed in the morning, or to get to sleep at night. Or for everything in between.

I’ve fluctuated in weight ever since. Sometimes I’m heavier; sometimes I’m lighter. And here’s the thing; as I age, it matters less to me. I still don’t love what I see in the mirror every day; I still see photos of myself and think, “Good grief, that’s an unflattering photo.” I still have residual shame. I still think “If only I was thinner, life would be easier, in a million different ways.” But it’s not a daily thing. It’s not even all that often anymore.

And before you start to hate him, Dad understands, and has repeatedly apologized, for what he did when I was younger. I often think most of parenting is a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants affair. He really, truly thought he was doing the right thing. He thought he was stopping me from the ridicule he’d experienced as a teen. He didn’t realize – and did anyone, back then? – the long-standing effect that kind of treatment would have on my psyche. I’ve forgiven him. He doesn’t say a word now. And he’s said, without prompting, many times since, that I’m beautiful – no matter what size I am. He loves his daughter.

We live in a culture where it is not allowed (well, it still happens, but it’s not appropriate) to make racial jokes, or jokes about someone’s sexuality, or mental illness. But we’re still allowed to make fat jokes. Because fat jokes are funny. Fat PEOPLE are funny, right? Because, well, we CHOSE this. We chose this because we eat ALL the Twinkies and chips and cake and pie and sit around all day doing nothing. We chose this, and because we are fat, we are lazy and we also smell. Of course we do! And sometimes we fall. Ha ha! How funny!

So the best thing to do is make fun of us. To shame us. Because, as this VERY scientific study proves, it’s the only way to make us get off our lazy asses and get thin. Thin and therefore healthy. Oh, because, I don’t know if you’re aware – if you’re fat, you’re immediately unhealthy. There’s no such thing as a healthy fat person. We’re all one HoHo away from our first (or second, or third, or last) coronary. So the thing to do is shame us. According to this “prominent bioethicist” (I don’t see “ethics” coming into this at all) what you should say to any fat people you know, I mean, if you care about them at all, is “If you are overweight or obese, are you pleased with the way that you look?” Because of COURSE they’re not! And they just didn’t realize it until you shamed them! Oh, what a favor you are doing for them. They will thank you on the finish line of their first triathalon! They will shout your name from the top of Kilimanjaro!

Or they might tell you to shut your nosy piehole. Because I’m going to tell you something right now, and if you take anything away from this, I want it to be this.

My body, his body, her body, their bodies – anyone’s body but your own – ARE NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS.

I don’t care if you’re fat-shaming them, thin-shaming them (yes, it exists, please read sj’s amazing post about it, and the comments, and I know from personal experience, as I have a dear loved one who has constantly been picked on about being too thin, which she can help JUST about as much as I can help my body shape, so it’s real) or ANYTHING shaming-them, or if you say you’re doing it because you’re worried about their health, or what, exactly, your impetus for putting your nose in someone else’s business is. You have no right. None. You have no right to tell them they should lose weight (unless you are their doctor, and even then, sometimes, it gets worrisome, because there are some doctors who prescribe weightloss as an easy out for everything from asthma to a sprained toe because they don’t treat the patient, they just see a fat person and think, “I KNOW WHAT’S WRONG IT IS FATNESS!”); you have no right to say things about their lifestyle choices, their clothing choices, who they’re dating, what they’re eating, how loud they’re talking, or anything whatsoever. Keep your eyes on your own test, buckaroo. I’m sure you have something you’re not proud of. Would you like someone walking up to you and saying, “Man, that’s a huge nose you have there. You should get that surgically reduced. You know, for health reasons.” Or, “I noticed you have a very small penis, Man I’m About to Have Sex With. Have you thought about getting that surgically enhanced? You know, for health reasons?” IT WOULD BE THE SAME THING.

Here’s some Fun With Fat-Shaming. Don’t even think I didn’t research the hell out of this.

First, we have Kate Upton. Who is, I think we can all agree, STUNNINGLY GORGEOUS.

She also really likes bikini shots, so it was hard to find a photo of her clothed. Hell, good for her. She is smoking hot.

She also really likes bikini shots, so it was hard to find a photo of her clothed. Hell, good for her. She is smoking hot.

Well! Were you also aware she is “well-marbled,” “thick,” “vulgar,” and – this one’s my favorite – a “little piggie?” Or – well, how about a whole paragraph of hate? Sure!

Huge thighs, NO waist, big fat floppy boobs, terrible body definition – she looks like a squishy brick. Is this what American women are “striving” for now? The lazy, lardy look? Have we really gotten so fat in this country that Kate is the best we can aim for? Sorry, but: eww!

YES! She has been called out as too fat to model by a VERY reputable blog site called Skinny Gossip. Two things I loathe! People who judge others’ bodies and gossip! (Also, she tagged the post with “fatties” and “thunder thighs,” because, well, why not?)

Guess why she’s not model-material? BECAUSE SHE’S NORMAL-HUMAN SIZED. Well, no. She’s actually quite a bit less than normal human sized, as normal humans are, what, a size 12 now? 14? Something like that? I don’t think she’s that size. But she’s not waif-thin, and apparently, Skinny Gossip thinks that’s what size you have to be to model clothing.

Psst, Skinny Gossip, MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS. She’s stunning. And it can’t possibly make you feel any better about yourself to call people pigs, can it? Really? Do you sleep well at night knowing you put something like that out there in the world? That kind of hate?

Next: employees at CVS will now be forced to take a BMI test and a blood-glucose screen to remain on their healthcare plan, or risk a fine. Why?

The company’s rationale? Coercing employees to submit to health testing will provide incentive for workers to get—and stay—in shape.

Huh. “Coercing.” Forcing, really, because the fine is $600 and they don’t pay much above minimum to work at CVS. And what happens once you take the test? Do you have to see a counselor about your totally fat fatness? Are you told if you don’t lose weight, you’ll be let go? Are your test results posted in the breakroom next to a photo of a bag of Cheetos with a red circle and a line through it? WHO KNOWS.

Or, how about, let’s fat-shame our children with this new ad campaign? Because there’s nothing that kids need more than to be shamed. I mean, it’s worked out so well for me, right?

Please read the article that accompanies this photo. It’s kickass. It has excellent examples of fat-shaming. HEARTBREAKING examples. And, sadly, TRUE examples. People think it is ok to walk up to perfect strangers in the grocery store and QUESTION THEIR FOOD CHOICES.

(True story: I had a woman come up to me in the grocery store and tell me she worked for Herbalife and they had an excellent line of diet pills I might like to try. First thought: shame. Second thought: WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE. Second thought won out over first thought; I told her I was not at all interested in a pyramid scheme for products that don’t work in the first place, and I was sorry she felt the need to walk up to strangers and judge their body type, and walked away. She was offering them to the next woman that walked past as I checked out. So apparently my words meant nothing.)

So, anyway. Yes, that’s an ad campaign for (well, against, I guess) childhood obesity, targeting overweight children. Because they probably aren’t aware they’re fat. So let’s do a whole ad campaign for it. That’s a good way to help kids with positive self-esteem. Way to go, guys.

Of course, there’s also good old Southwest Airlines, who expect their fat passengers to spring for two seats. And even their not-so-fat passengers. Whoever THEY deem as a little too fat. They SAY it’s if the passenger can’t put the armrests down, but as Kevin Smith found out a few years ago, that’s not it at all – it’s racial profiling, only with your weight. It’s fat-profiling. He was able to put his armrests down; the passengers on either side of him told the flight attendant they had plenty of room. They still kicked him off the plane. And when he got back on a later flight that they hurriedly put him on once they realized who he was and that he was tweeting millions of people about this practice, they fat-profiled another person, then put her in his row, so she’d tell him about it, and he’d know it wasn’t just him, and feel better.

DEFINITELY taking up way too much room. He should have purchased the WHOLE DAMN PLANE. *eyeroll*

DEFINITELY taking up way too much room. He should have purchased the WHOLE DAMN PLANE. *eyeroll*

Yes! Because nothing makes us feel better than to be shamed in front of a crowd of people than to do it to someone else. NOTHING. (I read his book Tough Shit recently which went in detail into the incident, and my heart just broke for him. Because no matter what you think of Kevin Smith – you all know I think he’s fantastic, but you can hate him if you want, just don’t tell me about it, ok? – when that happened, he was just an average guy, being fat-shamed in front of a full airplane of people. Worse, he was a FAMOUS guy being fat-shamed in front of a crowd of people, and if it was an average guy, it might be a laugh or two, but with a famous person, it’s news, you know? He took control of the news and labeled it “too fat to fly” himself – he’s very good at self-deprecating – but it hurt. Of course it did. Because no matter who you are, where you are in the world, being shamed for your body size is not something you can laugh off. It just isn’t. The shame should be on Southwest Airlines, not the people they’re profiling.)

Then there’s this. I can’t embed a Facebook thread, so sadly, you will have to click. Here’s a screenshot, though, because pretty pictures, right?

Now, you have to click to see the comments. The comments are really what makes this. Because this STARTS OUT as normal, then this person shows up who hates fat people. HATES THEM. Only, no no! She doesn’t HATE them. She has MANY FAT FRIENDS! (Does this sound at all like someone who makes a lot of racist comments, then says, “What? I’m not a racist! I have MANY MANY BLACK FRIENDS!” Yeah, to me, too.) So she starts writing things like “no, it’s a known fact that all fat people are unhealthy and many doctors refuse to operate on them because, well, they’ll just die on the table. Because, well, fat, you know?”

Don’t worry. There are some kickass commenters on there. They give her the smackdown. She doesn’t ever shut up, but they win intelligence. She doesn’t win anything but idiocy and mouth-flappery.

This is, by the way, called “concern-trolling.” It’s like being a troll, only you’re pretending it’s because you CARE. Isn’t that nice? A whole new way to be a douchecanoe!

Sara, from Laments and Lullabies, wrote an amazing post recently about fat-shaming, which you all should read. Her post, and the terrible comments on that Facebook post up there, were what finally made me realize I needed to write my own post. Here’s her post. You should all a., read, and b., comment. Oh, and c., follow her blog.

There are more. There are so many more. But this is edging into way too many words for a Saturday territory, and also I’d like to get to bed at some point.

I will leave you with some bullet points. Because, who doesn’t like bullet points, am I right?

  • Other people’s bodies are none of your business. Keep your words off them. Unless you’re telling them they’re beautiful. Everyone likes that shit. Even if they pretend they don’t.
  • Pretending you’re “worried about someone’s health” is not an excuse for commenting on someone’s weight, whether they’re heavy or thin. Again, see the first bullet point. Even if they’re naked with you, their size is none of your business. Whose business is it then, Amy? THEIRS. No one’s but theirs.
  • Making fat jokes is a., not funny, and b., lazy. There are actual funny things in the world to point out. Like misspellings. Who doesn’t like a good misplaced apostrophe or missing comma? The answer to that is NO ONE.
  • To reiterate what we learned in the first bullet point: before making a comment about someone’s weight, please think the following quietly to yourself: “What is my least-favorite attribute. Now, would I like someone to loudly mention it and say it is ugly and/or unhealthy for me to have, and publicly shame me about it?” The answer to that question is always no. ALWAYS.
  • Also: if you think you are too fat, and everyone’s judging you, and you’re ugly, and OMG I CANNOT LEAVE THE HOUSE, guess what. No, seriously, guess. Hardly anyone even notices. The only people that do are assholes. And who cares what assholes think? I hope you don’t.
  • Finally: I’m going to tell you something I’ve learned in my old age. Ready? Shh, don’t share this one around, it’s kind of radical. WE ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL. I know! Every single last one of us. Fat. Thin. Tall. Short. We’re a lovely bunch of coconuts. Except – there is one thing that makes you ugly. Guess what that is? Hatefulness. Being hateful. You can’t be beautiful with hate in your mind, soul, or mouth. So get rid of that, and guess what? You’re gorgeous again. And everyone will see it. I can see it right now! Whoa, babe, dial that back, you’re blinding me with it.

We’ve become a culture of shaming. We’re rape-shaming and we’re slut-shaming and we’re thin-shaming and we’re fat-shaming. It’s repulsive and this shit’s gotta stop. Like, immediately.

Stop shaming anyone. Including yourself. You are beautiful. The people around you are beautiful. No one should be shamed for how they look. The next time you look at yourself in the mirror, be amazed at how gorgeous you are. And tell the people around you how beautiful they are. Don’t allow them to blow it off and say things like, “Oh, I look like a cow in this top” or whatever, either. Nope. Not today, buckaroos. Tell them they’re beautiful AGAIN. Until they actually believe it.

Then, all of that stuff? Do quadruple that for your kids. Make sure your kids enter the world with the strongest self-esteem possible. They’re going to need it, and you can help them with that.

We might be surrounded by shame, but we can combat that with love. Is that the opposite of shame? Don’t care. For our purposes it is.

Love you guys. You’re gorgeous. Every last one of you.


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