Who’s fat enough to be fat?
Most of us feel like we’re fat — but how do we define who is?
“I’m getting so fat.”
You stare in the dressing room mirror, pulling at the swell of your hips, pinching your thicker skin. You press your palm into your belly, hoping to keep its swell at bay. Winter has arrived, and with the change in seasons, you notice your thighs push against the seam of your jeans, their size six beginning to insist upon an eight.
“Seriously, look at me,” you sigh, examining your body in the dressing room mirror. “I can’t believe I’ve gotten this fat.” You trace your fingertips over your body, remembering where convex was once concave, where peaks were once valleys.
I take in both reflections in the mirror — yours, slight and undressed, brightly lit from your harsh floodlight, and mine, its size 26 shadow, distorted and cast behind you.
I’m getting so fat. Your sharp words hang heavy in the air, swinging precariously above my tender neck. I do not know how to tell you, twenty sizes smaller, that we live worlds apart.
I’m getting so fat.
How could you feel any other way? News reports tell you about stress hormones and belly fat, life expectancy and risk for chronic illness, all while you watch…
