Musings on Using Thin Privilege and whatnot.

Right now my body is a size that means I have some degree of thin privilege.

Not a whole bunch but some.

This was my outfit from the other day.

ootd

I am not really as small as I look sometimes because of how I wear my clothes but I am not visually obviously still fat. It is quite a thing.

If you ask most medical professionals I am about to drop dead any minute.

Ask me and I’m borderline close to being too small to feel comfortable.

That aside, I am relearning how to use my degree of thin privilege to further my ideas about bodies and fatness.

For instance.

Not too long ago an indie designer I have admired for a very long time sent me a message on tumblr to tell me that something or other of theirs was back in stock, I had commented on a post about it months ago.

I went off to look and saw that their current sizing is bizarre. As in their size L had an upper measurement of a 30″ waist and 38″ hip.

So this person from looking at some photos of me assumes that I am relatively normatively sized and when I asked them privately about their jacked up sizing, they asked what I was worried for?

Well a.) the size L would be too small for me and b.) I am here for fat people.

Even though I am not currently sized out of a lot of clothes, I am still sized out of a lot of clothing I like. So I get my foot in because I have some thin privilege and then I start talking about fat folks and I still will not accept that making clothes for fat or really fucking fat people is impossible.

Size matters regardless of what size I am.

Said designer isn’t speaking to me anymore.

What irritates the shit out of me is the presumption that in order to care about a thing, in this case fatness you have to exemplify the thing.

No.

Even if you didn’t know that I was fatter at one point, the thing to know is that my point is still valid.

Why isn’t this available in bigger sizes is a serious question.

What irritates me even more is that now that I look not fat, (not thin but not really fat) people want to listen to what I have to say. I don’t like it. You should have listened when I was fucking fat.

At least fat in the someone looks at me and knows I’m fat kind of way.

Given that I don’t wield a lot of privilege in other ways, I am kind of enjoying learning to use it as a weapon. For good that is.

I will say that while I do have this bit of thin privilege I can’t say that I identify with thinness or even average-ness on a personal level.

Being that my perspective on body politics is a fat shaped (both identity and physically) lens, I am finding it easier to reject the idea that I am supposed to be happy with my weight loss or talk about it positively. Emotionally that has actually made the change in my body way easier to deal with and talk about in a truthful manner.

The truth is I am still not thrilled about it. I am accepting it as something my body decided to do and trying to maintain my health without bullshit.

But I am not really happy about it and that is okay.

This is something I’ve settled on fairly recently. Trying to deal with my negative feelings about my weight coupled with being uncertain if I should keep talking fatness etc was rough on me.

And then of course I went back to some core FA things.

  1. The size of my ass doesn’t change who I actually am.
  2. Smaller ass does not miraculously  make life better.

Concepts that I have talked about for years and really needed to remind myself of in recent times.

It will never get old to have that core to fall back on when shit gets rough regardless of the actual size of my ass.

That said.

Let this be my perhaps monthly reminder that Fat Acceptance is good for everyone.

Everyone.

Homo Out.

 

Welcome to my new thing y’all.

Here we are y’all.

Here is what I am doing here.

Recently I’ve realized several things that are a running theme in my life the last couple of years.

  1. Being a maker of things (written things, crocheted things, other mystery crafty things) means a lot to me on many levels.
  2. The number of fucks I give about how I am culturally inculcated to feeling about aging, my body and my looks has dwindled to negative 45.
  3. I needed a fresh spot to explore things.
  4. I was real tired of bloggers shit.

Those things happening at a time when I was already feeling some type of way about my previous litterbox mean this is happening.

So I’m just gonna start talking.

I’ve been doing this series over at XOjane for the past few weeks, I’ve been using both my poor skills and my passion for self care to try and help some folks get through it.

As I’ve been writing this series I am kind of amazed at how many of the attitudes I’ve shed over the years regarding what I do and don’t deserve and what is and is not okay for me to do or be interested in.

Once upon a time some of the shitty commentary from people who don’t like how I write would have just broken my heart. I would have bought into the idea that “the author” is the asshole to be made fun of thing and probably told Marianne I quit.

At this point though, I’ve heard all that.

I don’t particularly care. What I do care about more is in my own mind I feel like I’m doing some good and that’s awesome.

Also seeing how far I’ve really come in terms of learning to treat myself better.

Some of y’all might remember how much I angsted and wept over buying my beloved Oxblood Docs because they were expensive and I loved them.

Just lately as I’ve been learning to balance my writing life with the day job, and balance the writing things with each other I’ve been feeling down. I felt like I was/am doing something terribly wrong.

I’ve also realized I did a shitload of work to unlearn the whole concept of me “deserving” good treatment from myself or from others.

And then I ran into a brick wall.

I mentioned my deep love of and desire to just be a maker. I crochet, I used to do a lot of sewing. And then (as I am thinking of my stash of finished crocheted shawls) I realized I have a problem.

Somewhere in my early 20s when finances were dire I absolutely could not afford to have a hobby that didn’t involve free. I didn’t crochet, I didn’t buy clothes to tear apart or buy fabric. I didn’t buy books. I was at survival level brokeness.

During that period I decided somewhere in my subconscious that even if I did better financially being a maker of things that I might sell or give as gifts was not going to happen.

The part that fucks me up today is that I do have a hobby budget. I have a partner and other loved ones who support my obsession with being a maker but when I try to take that next step of setting up shop for physical items or entering a craft fair I freeze up and freak out.

There are a lot of messages that go through my head about this. The idea that if I fail or don’t sell I’ve gone and wasted money on my stupid ideas.

That if I do said thing even if it does sell it won’t really pay the bills so why the fuck.

Funny how the shit we think we have solved comes up again like a goddamn jack in the box.

Much like my years long struggles with learning to self care, learning to care for my body, learning to care for my hair this is something else I feel like I have to get through.

I have to struggle and remind myself I deserve to do shit that makes me happy. If I want to try and sell some arty shit, that’s okay too.

I want to say that if I can struggle through the depths of shit body image and through poverty driven disordered everything,  I fucking survived that and I am deeply invested in not turning 40 with this particular baggage.

To that end, there are some things I will probably talk about trying and failing at. Or the occasional win.

My current goal is to get at least two of my shawls photographed and ready for sale next weekend. Outside of really just wanting to unfuck my attitude about myself as a potential maker (note I don’t say artist, that is for reasons) I need to get through it.

I also really need to get going on my side hustles. I need a newer/more beefy laptop, I need to pay for myself and partner to go to AWP next year. And you know, life stuff.

I am glad I got that off my chest.

Welcome to Shannon has issues and is real over it.

Next time I want to talk about my one beautiful white hair on my head and some things about aging I was not expecting.

And thanks for reading y’all.

Homo Out.