I was teased for being overweight. A few years ago, I saw on the Internet that I’d been called
Jabba the Hutt — real creative! I was made to feel Invisible because I was not a “head turner”;
overlooked completely because my aesthetic didn’t measure up.
Three short years ago while I was still fat, I had a completely different life. Few “wanting” stares from men but plenty of disappointed ones. Few sales people in high end shops happy to show me merchandise, but many happy to offer the info that they did not carry my size, or tell me “THAT WILL NOT FIT YOU.” Plenty of “no wonder” looks in restaurants when I ordered dessert.
But I didn’t blame that life on the media or on my mom (well maybe a
little sometimes) or on men. Or on the oversexualizing of little girls or on my
being objectified as a woman.
I blamed it on me.
My weight’s spiralling out of control and my being somewhat unkempt was caused by me. Quietly inside, In fact, I was dying to be objectified for once.
Now, three years later, not fat and rocking clothes, hair and makeup
that sometimes (thankfully) cause men to peek and women to emulate, I’m happy. And I’m relieved that I’m getting some positive attention now because I know, at 42 years old, that my appeal in this way is not going to last forever.
I am well aware that the tide may shift tomorrow, next week or next month if I don’t work to keep myself together, and even if I do work super hard, I’m going to get old and lose my luster.
When that happens, I’m not going to blame anyone else.
If you want to comment on this post, I would love if you did so on the Huffington post.