My college theater professor once told me that despite my talent, I’d never be cast as a romantic lead. We put on shows that involve flying children and singing animals, but apparently, no one has enough willing suspension of disbelief to buy anyone loving a fat girl.
Welp! Rachel is spot-fuckin’-on. Such a captivating and dynamic performer, speaking such important truths.
Even when you find love as a fat girl, you’re in a constant state of disbelief because everyone tells you this is impossible. She singles out Cosmo, for instance: “I will not take your sex tips to please a man that you do not think my body will ever be worthy of.”
PREACH!
I’ve written about this very thing before. About how prior to our first date, my now-fiance assured me that he knew I was curvy, and he liked that — but I was still skeptical, afraid. Rachel speaks to having fears of infidelity based primarily on the idea that she wasn’t small enough — she doesn’t mention anything her partner does to make her think he’d stray, only that her body makes her fear she won’t be enough.
That’s intense stuff. That’s how society’s messages about the unworthiness of fat bodies twist us, seep into our minds, infiltrate our most important relationships. To this day, I get the occasional twinge of sharp discomfort when Chris points out the attractiveness of this-or-that skinny girl. I think to myself, reflexively, “Would he find me more attractive if I were that skinny?”
And I know the answer is no — but it doesn’t matter. Just like he likes girls with crazy brightly colored hair, and I like dudes who wear eyeliner and puffy pirate shirts all the time, it doesn’t matter that we don’t match every single iteration of each other’s fantasies because we’re in-fuckin’-love. He chose me. I chose him. Nobody else can replace either of us in this relationship.
Thank you so much, Rachel. Keep on keepin’ on.
