by Emily Smith
I’ve never told anyone that before. In fact, I’m not even sure I believed it myself until recently. Now that the holidays are behind us, weight-loss resolutions and new diets crowd our collective consciousness like Thanksgiving leftovers in an overwhelmed refrigerator. But why? Is it really so important for one’s silhouette to lack its occasional lumps and bumps? Is it worth the dinner dates missed, sweets unwrapped, Christmas teacakes uneaten? Is all that effort and worry really worth a physique that’s never even seen as “good enough” once it gets there? What kind of a way to live is that?!
If your answer is different from mine, please don’t worry about it. You’re entitled to your own feelings. But at least in my own experience, the answer to that question is “totally not worth the commitment. Being fat is awesome.” For real. Putting away all the holiday candy and ornaments never makes me think “oh shit, I’m super flabby now and that’s AWFUL.” I mean, I am super flabby now, even by my lax personal standards. Happens to me every single year, actually. But what of it? During the holidays, everyone cooks and eats and laughs together. We indulge in gift-giving and booze and eating red-and-green peanut butter cups whenever we damn well please. It’s the most wonderful time of the year.
Granted, I don’t want my fatness to get in the way of living. I don’t want to be inconvenienced by excess bulk; I don’t want to die before my time. I’m not even opposed to getting into better shape. There are just two things that everyone in my life needs to know, and will not change.
One: I absolutely, unequivocally, do not want to be thin. That’s not a knock on anyone who is, and it’s not a value judgment on body shapes of any kind. Thin is not my shape. “Stocky” is the thinnest I get. And that’s fine.
Two: In fact, it’s better than fine. See title. “I Love Being Fat”! That’s a true statement, and I don’t even have to justify it. I will anyway, though, because I live in a world where mere neutrality towards fat is considered subversive, and unless you’re reading this article in the very distant future, you probably live there too. So fasten your seatbelt. I’m warping us somewhere else.
I wouldn’t really be me if I weren’t fat. I wouldn’t relate to the world in the same way. I’d hardly understand my own body. There’s supposed to be a nice protective slab of fat all over it, and while other people might value me less for that characteristic, I don’t actually want my body to be that different. More muscular, perhaps, or more flexible. But skinny? Never.
Fat is for comfort. It lets a person lie comfortably in most any position. It’s perfect for long hours of idle chats with friends, tabletop gaming, and giving lots of excellent hugs. Fat is for loving and snuggling. Fat is for satisfaction and fun. Ever heard the phrase “fat and happy”? It’s mostly true. Because fat is for happiness.
I genuinely feel like my personality is conducive to fatness. I’m an accomplished cook, a lifelong gamer, and a family loyalist. I eat what I like, play when I can, and love whom I want. I prefer Sunday morning to Friday night. For me, all that is improved by a little extra give in the waistband. It’s here to stay.
I love being fat. If you let yourself find out, maybe you’d love it, too.