Body of Proof
I’ve been thinking a lot about body weight lately. About mine. About other people’s. About the concept in general. What is it that makes us obsess about the size and weight of our bodies, especially when what we think is going to be attractive to another person isn’t necessarily what is really going to be attractive to that other person? Because that’s why we do it, right?
We may say that it is about health. And if health is your motivator, then great. But there is more than one way to “look” when you are healthy. And the fact is that a lot of people do *really* unhealthy things to their bodies in the service of either slimming down or bulking up, thinking that it will make them appear more attractive to whomever it is they would like to attract. And it might work. But at what cost? Your actual health?
Lately I’ve been eyeballing random people on the subway, hoping not to be too obvious or look too creepy. I just gaze at the floor and check people out in my peripheral vision as they walk by. Or I scan the car with a lazy focus and act distracted while I listen to music. But I am checking them ALL out — men, women, old, young.
I am looking for a few things. I am looking for a sense of this person — who are they? What is their life ? Do *they* think that they are attractive, and is there a way to tell? Then I am looking at their body size, and thinking to myself, in my personal opinion, does their body size actually impact how attractive I think they are, and in what way?
Because I think what most of us would find is that we are vastly more judgmental of ourselves and how we look to others than we are of other people. And also than they are of us. Which is not to say that there are not some judgmental individuals out there who want to make other people miserable. But they are the minority. On the whole, most people are minding their own business, and/or probably don’t care if we lost 5 pounds. Or if we didn’t.
If we do find ourselves being judgmental of other peoples’ body weights, then it’s very likely that the judgment is really us, judging ourselves
If we do find ourselves being judgmental of other peoples’ body weights, then it’s very likely that the judgment is really us, judging ourselves, and then projecting that onto someone else who reminds us of that thing about ourselves we don’t like and/or fear. (That’s a good life rule in general, not just about body weight.) I know this is the case for me.
What I noticed, in running my little subway experiment, was that actual body weight wasn’t the primary factor in whether or not I found someone else to be attractive. It was a part of the overall picture. But for me, it was more like: did they look happy? Did they look like someone I could have a conversation with? Did I like their sense of style? (Not, “were the clothes super trendy,” but did they dress in a fun way that worked with their body, whatever size it was?)
I paid particular attention to looking at women in this slightly-removed way, because I can remember, as a kid, looking at my classmates and marveling at how long and thin all of their thighs seemed to be. I would look at myself in the mirror and see these round, bubbly things that I thought were bloated and enormous. “Thunder thighs” I called them. But in actual fact, they were not large at all. When I look at pictures of myself at age 10, I can hardly believe that I thought of myself as “fat.” But it wasn’t about the reality. That was my perception, when comparing myself to others, whom I deemed more attractive than I was by someone else’s standard.
Now, 26 years later, I like my thighs just the way they are. It helps a little that my partners are pretty interested them as well. But that’s just an external confirmation. I had to do the emotional work first to realize that the way my legs look is actually just fine, and they don’t need any alteration. Sure, there is some fat. But fat is normal. They are also muscular. And no matter how much weight I lose, my thighs remain the same basic shape. There is not a chance that I will ever have a “thigh gap,” nor do I want one. Because if I had that, then there would be something very, very wrong.
Speaking of which — and to bring in the other side of the element of attraction — I conducted another experiment accidentally years ago. I was 25. I felt like I had gained too much weight, and wanted to lose 20 pounds. So I hit the gym. Three days a week for two hours, I worked out regularly, in addition to a kickboxing class. I had fun. I enjoyed working out. It wasn’t all a chore. And as usual, I put on a few pounds first, in the form of muscle mass, and after that I started to lose weight. And once that started — maybe 3 or four weeks into the process — it was like a boulder rolling down a hill. It started gradually at first. Then it gained momentum. I lost 10 pounds, then 15. I was nearing goal of 20, and my target weight of 145. And the boulder kept rolling. Pretty soon I was down in the 130’s.
I ran into my friend in the subway one day. She’s Japanese. “Did you lost weight?” She asked me. Yes, I lost weight. And I was aware that I was supposed to be super proud of this fact. I mean, I was. That was my goal — I had intended to lose weight. But to be honest, I was a little nervous that I was about to lose more than I really wanted to, and I didn’t want to feel “proud” of that because, socially, I was expected to be skinny.
The last time I had weighed 130 pounds was when I was in high school; incidentally also a time when I considered myself to be “fat.” But now, as an adult, that was actually smaller than I wanted to be. There was a weird satisfaction in having lost so much weight. I could legit now say that I was more or less “skinny” — though not nearly so much as many women I could still observe around me. (There’s that comparison again. What’s that thing: “You can never be too thin, or too rich”? Awful quote to live by.) But I didn’t want that smug satisfaction. I wasn’t actually aiming to look like those women. I just wanted to be a nice, medium weight for my build.
And then I noticed the odd effect that I hadn’t expected. Because we all assume that men want to see skinny women. Thin women are always in ads, and they are always going down the runway, because apparently (according to the industry) clothes just “look better” on them. (ugh) So you would assume that, being at my lowest weight since my mid-teens, I would be attracting tons of attention from guys. NOT SO MUCH.
In fact, I got so little attention that I began to feel invisible. Almost nobody was checking me out. And I’m not saying that I love catcalls, but as a measurable indicator of whether or not someone is attracted to you, it stood out to me that I received significantly less creepy call-outs as a “skinny” woman than I ever did when I had more weight on my body.
“Huh.” I thought to myself…
And the same is true for me now. That is, the reverse is true. I weigh about 10+ pounds more now than I did when I wanted to lose that weight back then. Yet I feel amazing. Sure, I don’t look “skinny” in pictures. But I look beautiful to myself when I look in the mirror, with or without clothes. I feel comfortable when dancing, walking, running, or doing anything else that requires the use of my body, which is like everything. And I experience zero lack of attraction from the opposite sex — or even, dare I say, from the same sex. Let’s just say that I feel in no way unattractive at my current weight.
It would be fine if I lost a few pounds spontaneously. But it’s also fine if I don’t. And I find that I like being more realistic about my expectations for how I am “supposed” to look. Maybe there is a reason that my body weight just kept creeping up by 20 pounds every few years. And maybe every time I took that as a message that I needed to get to the gym and get my body weight down again, that was me forcing my body to do something it didn’t really want to do because of a social pressure I didn’t believe I was responding to.
So now I don’t feel like fighting my body anymore. I don’t feel like pressuring her to be something she isn’t. My body is happier. I’m happier.
OK. So now I don’t feel like fighting my body anymore. I don’t feel like pressuring her to be something she isn’t. My body is happier. I’m happier.
What I had to lose wasn’t 20 pounds. It was the judgmental attitude I was carrying around inside myself that said I was supposed to look like someone who had lost 20 pounds. But now I’m keeping the weight I have. Because that’s me. It’s my body. And I don’t want to give that up.
Addendum: I realize that there are some of you out there right now, shaking your heads, and thinking, “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She’s never battled extreme obesity.” And you’re right. I haven’t. I don’t really know what that’s like, and I’m sorry. But this is for you, too. For 2 reasons:
- I’ve seen a lot of people recently of larger body types really embrace their bodies and get out there and do what they love without trying to make their bodies smaller. Big Gal Yoga is one. And there are many others. If I find other links, I’ll post them. And this goes for both men and women. There are infinite body types and shapes. Yours is the only one that looks like you. Of course I don’t have your body type. The point is, I thought I had a good body image, but I didn’t. I had to learn to love my particular body, and it took decades to get there. You only get one body in this lifetime. This is the time to be nice to the one you’ve got.
- I’m not judging you. I can promise you that I am one of those people out there who is not interested in deciding whether or not your body is the right shape. When I see you, I go, ‘Oh, look, there is a person.’ I accept their body size and shape for what it is, at that moment. Does that mean that I want to cuddle up to every single one? No. It means I am more concerned with, are you a respectful person? Do you have interesting stories to tell? And where did she get that awesome dress?
