One of my favorite things to do for mental stimulation or taking a break is “falling down holes”. My friends and I use this phrase to specifically reference instances when we indulge our impulses while perusing internet search engine results or sifting through the algorithms on social media sites. I think Freud would be proud; it’s the modern day equivalent of free association. You start with something you want to search, like “sunroom remodel” on YouTube, which makes you think of design as a whole. Designing makes you think of making your own clothes, so you look up sewing videos. I’m a little teapot gal myself, so this means I refined my search for plus-sized sewing videos and happened to stumble upon this gem of a video from 2016 about fashion design and plus-sizes. Not only did I get great ideas for a story, but I found the video to be extremely well thought-out and the creator to be powerful in her messaging regarding the topic; which lead me to think about something else: how important the words we choose to use are and what those choices can say about us as writers.
In this video, Zoe Hong speaks about many different topics, from the fashion industry’s failure to standardize women’s sizes to terminology regarding “plus sizes” and the lost art of pattern making. What I found most striking about her video was her explicit choice of language and her ability to tackle comfortably the topic of fat bodies and fashion. My favorite quote of hers from the video by far, “Someone does not have to have universal appeal to deserve cute things to wear” really struck me because I identify with the struggle of trying to find clothes that fit my body being as short and round as I am. I shouldn’t have to starve, fad-diet, exercise 6 times a week to deserve a dress that fits me well and looks nice on me. I work hard enough as a wife, mother, and worker; why should body type and size merit fancy adornment? Not to mention, why aren’t we (in the US) sizing women’s clothes in a similar way to men’s fashions? Even with those questions in the air, the part of the video that I spent the most time thinking about was the words she used to describe men’s stores and sizes versus women’s. Men don’t have a “plus-sized” section; they have a “Big and Tall” section or store. In those stores, the sizing method remains the same; neck width and sleeve length for shirts, and waist width and inseam length for pants. Women have “petite” sizes for short folk and anything over a 10 or 12 OR 14 (all depends on the brand AND store) is sequestered into a “plus-sized” section that is lucky to go to a 18, rare to go to a 20, and never goes higher than 24 (in my experience). By the way, those numbers mean NOTHING; they aren’t a translation of the measurements, or a ratio of anything. They are arbitrary numbers that differ from brand, store, even style of item. There is no consistency between designers, houses, or anything. These numbers mean nothing; a 6 at one store is a 4 at another and an 8 somewhere else. I know my husband’s waist size and inseam and can shop for him if he so needs, but I could never ask my husband to pick something out for me like that; I’d have to try on item after item to settle for something I don’t like but fits okay at best.
Apologies; I digressed. I wanted to talk about language choices. Using words to describe a man as “big” or “tall” are unoffensive adjectives. These words don’t suggest that the man is different or strange or not normal. He just is what he is, which is big or tall. Calling a woman “plus-sized” is saying a woman is sized more than or in addition to; and it is to what that is at the heart of my thoughts: normal. Mary Nunes’s article for Byrdie references a study published in the International Journal of Fashion Design, Technology and Education and expresses that the average American women’s dress size is closer to a 16-18, and not the 14 as referenced by Hong and the fashion industry at large. Even still, a size 12 is usually the upper limit of “straight” sizes, meaning that a 14, 16, or an 18 will be considered in range for a “plus-sized” wardrobe. If an “average American woman” is, by these measures, “plus-sized”, why isn’t “plus-sized” considered normal?
Simple; women are made to fear the word fat. Being fat isn’t supposed to be normal.
I spend a lot of time on Twitter these days and, man, people are really mad about words. If you don’t carefully craft your 240 character post just right, you might find yourself on the end of a brutal bad faith argument from an account that retweets right-wing conspiracy theories, russian bot accounts, and Laura Ingram and Adam Jones. (Ugh…gay frogs, amirite? Can you hear my eyes rolling in my head?) But, on Twitter, there is a beacon in the mist, giving those of us who are fat hope of owning our own vocabulary: Your Fat Friend. (She’s a great writer and I completely hope you take the time to read her work on her website.) She has really blunt and honest reflections about what it’s like living in a fat body, why it’s okay (and, in most cases, preferred) to describe a body as fat, and how society has been shaped into being, propagating, and commercializing anti-fatness and anti-fat biases. Guess what? She’s correct. We are taught very early on that fat is a bad word and that no one is allowed to be fat and free from ridicule. Fat people are harassed on the streets for existing in their bodies. Yelled at, moralities assumed, lifestyles assumed, spat at, demonized…it always breaks my heart to hear people tell stories about how their existence in a fat body was somehow an unspoken, blanketed permission to accost, harass, and terrorize them, free from penalty.
Let me hard stop and flip the coin: how are we describing women, in general? Why is the size and shape of their bodies used to define their character? Why are we using words to describe women as edible, consumable goods? Why are “attractive women” always written THE SAME? Why are most heroines white, in popular American culture? Why are a female character’s “hot friends” always displayed or described with the same types of body (and arguably, similar in height)?
Okay, so, where am I going with this? Honestly, too many places; this is a conversation that is bigger than me and I’m (clearly) not nearly educated enough on the topics to go toe-to-toe with some of the people I follow on social media. But what I will say is this: I’m not afraid to say “I’m fat”, because I am. I am short, though. Really short. I’m a teapot, short and stout. I’m raising my children to correctly describe people and to do so with grace and sensitivity and no fear. I also am choosing to describe characters as they are, when appropriate, and in ways that reflect their style, attitude and aesthetic. Describing a fat character should not be a quick way to attribute characteristics of laziness, slovenly dress, or bad eating habits. If you can’t write characters without only writing them thin, and only attribute negative traits to what fat characters you do manage to write, perhaps you should take a step back and ask yourself why you are choosing that kind of language and narrative. Who is your audience that would want that kind of material?
Being honest, I like being fat. My big tummy encourages cuddles from my son, my large chest is broad enough for my baby to nap on. My husband likes my curvy, tree-trunk legs. The only one with an issue with my body at this point is my wardrobe; we are barely on speaking terms as it is. With that in mind, I like to write female characters with thin hips, strong, broad shoulders, and that are taller than average men. Why? Because they exist; and, not all women have dainty, hourglass figures. I like to write characters that are Black and Brown. When describing skin tones becomes necessary (as it sometimes does), I use correlations to the Earth, be it through forests or mountains or ore. Why? Because we come from the Earth, and to the Earth we return; also, BIPOC women have been treated as consumable possessions for long enough (STOP DESCRIBING WOMEN LIKE DESSERT, PLEASE). When I write fat characters, I think of the fat men and women in my life, how hardworking, intelligent, hilarious, and sweet they all are. It would be a disservice to them to write fat characters like sloppy buffoons.
This is the kind of writer I’m choosing to be. I want to write worlds that are full and rich with nuanced characters that feel real enough to relate to. And, in case you were wondering, of course Zoe Hong’s video gave me an idea for a story. That’s why we fall down holes; you never know where a hole can take your mind, even if it’s simply closer to one’s own convictions. I live in a world with fat people…I am a fat person. Regardless of the size and shape of my body, I’m a person who deserves respect and kindness. My writing and my parenting reflect that. As I always tell my son, we must always be mindful of other people’s bodies, as all bodies are deserving of love, respect, kindness and space.
-V. Raylean
A Portly Bard's Stage 