14 Things No One Will Tell Fat Girls… So I Will

Things that I wish I deluded myself with earlier. Things that I’ve learned in online life, where babbling nonsense can never be fact-checked. Things people really need to talk about more, until they start to believe their own bullshit:

Everyone has rolls when they bend over. Everyone.

Yes, it’s true. When women hug their knees they show tummy rolls. ALL OF THEM HAVE TUMMY ROLLS. Of course, some rolls are tiny miniature baguettes that have to be coaxed out with extreme physical contortion and some are sun-bleached whale carcasses that protrude at the slightest exertion. And some rolls are so mighty they undulate even when the woman is standing straight. Not that any of this should make a difference, Judgy McJudgidouche. Everyone is equally sexy to the opposite sex. Except for creepers and nerds.

When people say “you’re gorgeous”, believe them.

Because if you start doubting the sincerity of random strangers who just want to make it through the day without starting fights with hair-trigger, insecure fatties, you’ll get depressed and think about killing yourself. (Protip: Don’t embarrass your family by having your dead body airlifted through a hole in the roof. Do the dirty deed in an empty field, preferably downwind of major population centers.) When well-meaning friends genuinely compliment your looks despite all evidence to the contrary, it’s because they see all of you. I mean, they see ALL of you with assistance from fish-eye lenses. So they know how to tailor their lies accordingly.

“Arm flab is embarrassing.”

No it’s not, go fuck yourself. Arm flab is romantic. Think about all the songs written about boys dying in your arms tonight… from asphyxiation.

You’re not stunning despite your body. You’re stunning because of your body.

That’s true. When a fat woman embraces you with all the inner beauty she can muster, you will be stunned and gasping for breath as your spine cracks. If you start to see a white light at the end of a tunnel, you’re not having a near-death experience; that’s just a flashlight she lost six months ago wedged in her cleavage. I am of the firm belief — much like the firmness with which creationists hold their beliefs — that every person is beautiful (except for the aforementioned creepers and nerds), and so this leaves the inside to be the part that is most telling when it comes to true “beauty”, which I have put in scare quotes because there’s no such thing as beauty, except for the even harder to discern stuff that exists on the inside. Presumably somewhere in the mitochondria?

A guy can pick you up off your feet, and it won’t break his back.

It won’t, I promise! Getting picked up by him won’t cripple anything but perhaps his ego as he struggles to deadlift a weight well above his one rep max.

True story. This just happened to me for the first time in… six years? I’m considerably heavier than I was 6 years ago (like… 70 pounds heavier) and so when I ran up to my friend Eric for a hug and he picked me up with my heels in the air… it left me breathless. I had forgotten that it was possible; I had accepted a life void of being lifted. So exhilarating. Eric didn’t suffer any lasting injuries that I could tell and he walked away pretending to be Ok, before spending the evening alone icing every joint in his body.

You don’t need to exercise every day in order to feel better about yourself.

You could get your dopamine fix with a tub of butterfat, for instance. You don’t owe it to anyone to look good for them, unless you want to be noticed by normal men with functioning libidos.

You’re allowed to fall in love with yourself. I promise.

This will be the scariest thing you will ever do, because there will be some moldy fungus colonies in your belly folds that will be very hard to love. It will also be the most amazing (albeit super delusional) experience you will ever have. It doesn’t make you narcissistic. It doesn’t make you vain. It makes you blind to reality, and that’s liberating in every nuance of the term.

It’s also okay to have days were you don’t love yourself.

It’ll take a long time to reverse the effects of self-hate indoctrination and brainwashing by hanging out on feminist fat-acceptance websites where you can indulge self-love indoctrination and brainwashing.  It’s going to take a lot longer than you think to reverse this thinking, because the non-rationalizing part of your brain knows that fatness kills romance dead. So give the media the finger, and move forward into a different media that tells you what you want to hear.

Everyone’s boobs are uneven. If you have a lot of boobs, they might be way uneven.

If you have a lot of boobs. you may want to see a doctor. Superfluous boobs are weird. But if you have just two boobs, and they’re uneven, worry about other things. Unevenness is not as much of a turn-off to men as are hanging sacks of seal blubber pendulously slapping the top of a fupa.

There are people who prefer large ladies. And I mean all sizes of large.

I thought that my best bet in life was to find a partner who accepted my fat. Pause. Give me a minute to hang my melonhead and shake it at myself. Not only are there people who adore “thick” women, but a LOT of them who prefer it. By “people”, I mean loser men with no options. By “LOT”, I mean one or two weirdo fatty fuckers.

Here is what you need to know: you do NOT need to settle for a lover who is “okay” with your body. You have the right (and millions of imaginary opportunities) to find someone who is infatuated with your body. You deserve to be worshiped by a freak fat fetishist who wants to masturbate into your chins, woman!

Fat chicks bang hot guys… ALL. THE. TIME.

If my proof by assertion doesn’t convince you, there’s always Hugh Jackman. And a million indiscriminately horny black men who would bang your back tits in a drunken haze.

“Girls” showed what society thinks about that when Hannah’s character has a weekend romance with an attractive and wealthy doctor. People flipped their shit. It was like seeing a beautiful woman in the arms of a pimply brony with a stutter. It violated too many rules about how the world really works. Never mind that the show is a vehicle for Lena Dunham’s wish fulfillment feminist fantasies, the message to us fatty fats is a positive one, and should remind us that hot guys aka socially awkward rejects will settle for dumping their tepid crippled seed in our distended porcine holes when the couch crease stops looking attractive.

Exceptions prove that the rules don’t apply to US, ladies. Now let’s group hug with our T-rex arms.

Riding during sex will NOT collapse his insides.

But it may kill him just the same.

Wearing whatever you want is a political statement.

Join the revolution. Throw style rules out the window. Wear the tutu. Wear the horizontal stripes. Wear the turquoise skinny jeans (shoe horn included). Wear the see-through blouse. Wear the bikini (sans bridge). Wear the sweat pants. Wear the shirt that says “Does this shirt make me look fat?”. Wear whatever it is that makes you happy, even if that’s the four-person tent tarp. This is your life. And it’s the life of everyone else who will mock the Mariana Trench plumber’s crack of your revolutionary posturing.

You are fucking beautiful.

I’m saying this with a straight face and seriously meaningful look where I maintain eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time, because these are the immense efforts I need to make to convince myself as well as you of an absurdity that is so transparently false to anyone with the eyes to see. I know you don’t feel like you fit into the category of gorgeous that our world aka immutable biological reality creates. I know that its hard. I know that its a daily battle to adhere to proper grammar. But fuck their fascist beauty standards, replace them with your own fascist beauty standards. The second you stop looking for a skinny model in your funhouse mirror and start looking at YOU… is the second you will start to appreciate the solitary life of the manatee. Stop looking for folds. Stop looking for canyon-sized dimples. You are perfect in the middle of a polar vortex where your layer of insulating fat gives you a survival advantage. You are more than enough for that all-you-can eat brunch buffet. You are the best thing that has ever happened to discarded piano cases doubling as coffins. And you are fucking beautiful to hungry predators looking for immobile prey and an easy week-long meal.

Say it with me, because no one of sound mind will say it with us.

“Thing #1: You’re fucking repulsive to the human eye. Oh shit! How did that get past the hamster editor?”