Pandemic Fatty

I didn't realize how much I relied on body movement during my pre-pandemic lifestyle. Work-related walking, running errands, engaging in hobbies – I was constantly on the go. But, of course, that abruptly stopped in March 2020. There's been a gradual increase in where I go and what I do, but body movement is definitely not the same. And my body reflects that...

I gained weight. 

As someone over 250 lbs, gaining additional weight didn't feel significant. Society hates fat people, and I have the closet of a chronic yo-yo dieter to show for it. I've learned not to worry about the number on the size tag and go by how it feels when I wear it. I also do several full-body selfie photoshoots each month. When my body changes, I am hyper-aware of it;it's a constant struggle not to beat myself up.

My unexpected weight gain made me worry about returning to the office. Throughout the pandemic, coworkers would exercise on their treadmills during Zoom meetings. They'd congratulate one another for their discipline, even at the expense of their performance and participation. How would these people view their fat coworker who dared to get even fatter? 

Society conditions us to view health as a privilege, referring to fatness as a form of abuse. Any visible increase in my size negatively impacts how others treat and perceive me. Verbally and physically assaulting fat people for being fat is acceptable in amerikkkan culture, resulting in various forms of trauma. 

My fat isn't a problem – society's reaction to it is. People are hyperaware of what I eat, detailing my food's portions, calories, and fat content. I've endured endless judgment and snide comments about my body, whether I do or don't work out. The yells of "you go, girl!" when jogging outside, and the faux encouragement of "Don't give up now! You can do it!" People respond to my body like it's a spectacle; they comment on whether it's acceptable or attractive. Any response to these casual violations of my personhood has been deemed an overreaction to their "concern."

Let's clarify that good Health is based on racist statistics. Health was meant to create a standard of "normal" that everyone compares to. Cisgender hetero able-bodied white men set that standard. The farther away you are from their "normal," the less healthy you are. 

Fat people bear the burden of proving their existence's value to those who aren't fat because society has conditioned us to see health as something we owe people. In reality, health is a barometer for our humanity and the treatment we supposedly deserve. But, unfortunately, when we buy into these health ideas, we are upholding our own oppression. White supremacy excels at intertwining institutions of oppression meant to maintain a curated social order. 

Unless you're fat, you have no idea how important it is to see fat people existing, living, loving, and thriving in this world. Our existence is made into a spectacle, rendering us invisible. Unless, of course, we're used as a cautionary tale or a fucking punchline. To be told that you embody none of the attributes we celebrate in this society and that you should feel grateful that people tolerate your existence. 

Sometimes, it takes everything to say, "it's good for me to be fat." And that's after the dieting shame cycle that turned me into a judgmental weight-shaming asshole who later had to recant everything she'd said and done for years. It's easy to think that I should starve myself and exercise until I hurt; anything less is self-indulgent and lazy. That beauty is pain. And, if I want to be socially acceptable, I need to excise the fat from my body. The moment I begin criticizing my body, I start the spiral that brings me to tears. Fatphobia has affected how I think of myself and how I believe people perceive me. Killing that negative bullshit is a non-stop and ever-evolving process for me.

Fat is just a descriptor. I am fat, and there's nothing wrong with that. However, people who shit on others to feel good about themselves are the monsters in this narrative, not me or my fat body. 

I shun the idea that I should like the altered images on social media or the excessive thinness of people on-screen. I reject the propaganda, shilling the notion that people who look like me should be ostracized and discarded. I have repeatedly chosen to accept and believe that I deserve to be liked, loved, and cared for because that's what humans are supposed to do for one another. That's how we survive as a community, and that's how we thrive in this life. We aren't thriving when we're oppressing people based on a discriminating aesthetic choice we didn't even make for ourselves. People are dying to be smaller and take up less space – how the fuck is this acceptable? Why is this promoted? People's opinions about our size shouldn't have any power over our lives. But it does, and it is your callousness and cruelty fueling it. This violence needs to stop. 

TaLynn Kel is a self-published author, cosplayer, and speaker in Atlanta, GA. Their cosplay has been featured in the New York Times and on NBC. Check out more of her work at talynnkel.com & Instagram