Fairly recently, my partner and I were driving down the road and came upon a billboard advertisement for a morning talk show that was clearly targeted towards men. Featured on the billboard next to their radio station logo was a fat woman wearing pink lingerie. For the briefest of moments, I found myself impressed with the progressiveness of the sign. Naturally, that immediately faded when it dawned on me that she (in her fatness) was the joke.

I wondered at the time if the model knew she was going to be used in a gag advertisement. I also immediately recognized that it wasn’t my place to designate exactly how this woman viewed her own body, and what she was willing to sign it up for (even though I still think the creators of said advertisement are a bunch of assholes).



Body positivity means something different to everyone that’s adopted the term. Overwhelmingly, people tend to think of body positivity as moving away from hating one’s body into accepting it, or at least tolerating it in its natural state. There has been, until quite recently, very little representation of the fat girls that have always loved their figure as it is. We can mostly thank hip hop artist Lizzo for (literally and figuratively) taking up enough space to make an impact on the way fat women are portrayed. I know Lizzo wasn’t the first fat woman to be considered beautiful by society, but she is, to my knowledge, the first globally recognized fat woman to let it all out and embrace her big stomach on a stage in front of the whole world.







I’ve personally considered myself body positive for about 5 years now. At the beginning of my own self love journey, I had to actively avoid the type of people that would categorize me as subhuman because I was fat. There are no words to describe what it feels like to realize the people around you view you as less because you don’t have the ideal body type. Even after I dedicated myself to body positivity and self love, I still held on to the notion that I could be considered beautiful in the eyes of others, despite being fat. It’s taken me up until the last year or so to not only come to terms with my body, but the fact that I actually love my body, and always have.



The soft divots of flesh on either side of my hips. The way my breasts separate and slope in opposing directions. My thick, jiggly thighs. How my rolls pool against the bed sheets when I lay on my side. I even think my cellulite looks interesting, bringing an array of texture to my skin. These aren’t features I’ve learned to accept or love about myself, they are the features I’ve always enjoyed about myself.



Anytime I engaged in a crash diet (I think we’re supposed to call them “lifestyle changes” now), sought prescriptions for dangerous weight loss medications, or invested way too much money in girdles, it was for the benefit of others. I thought I hated my body because I was told by society that the only way I could be accepted as a fat person was if I was actively ashamed of it. It didn’t dawn on me until years later that I had always been turning myself on and ultimately didn’t care to change the way I looked.



Women are already conditioned to view their bodies and outer persona as an asset. I’m not going to delve too terribly much into this, but our entire society was built around the needs of men, including what they collectively decided makes for a sufficient mate. It’s always baffled me how obvious that is, and how little most people seem to care. In regards to the sexuality of fat women, every fat girl I know (and I know many) has disclosed at some point that their sexual partners had admitted to enjoying their bodies. It’s an unspoken truth that more men enjoy having sexual interactions with fat women than men who genuinely don’t, but why does that have to be unspoken?



In the past 10 years or so, entities like Seventeen Magazine have pushed for fat acceptance, which is great and all, but it doesn’t quite hit the nail on the head for me. I’m looking for fat celebration. As an advocate for fatness, I have become increasingly aware that discussing fat sexuality specifically makes others uncomfortable, no matter which way it’s presented. I’ve had folks dance around the topic of their own dislike for fat bodies as politely as they could, as if by saying fat people deserve to enjoy their bodies as they are, I’m insinuating that everyone has to enjoy having sex with them. Look bro, we don’t want to have sex with you either.



It’s bewildering to me how aggressive people can get when fat people dare to state that they are 100% OK with the way their bodies look. Unless you’re cashing in on the fat fetishism craze (you go girl), it’s generally viewed as a no-no to openly admit that you’re not looking to lose weight. I have jokingly called 2019 the year of the fat girl, but I’m eager to push our agenda (that’s right) into 2020. We’re coming for your crop tops and daisy dukes.

