Thinness Won’t Save Us
Image Description: Three women pose in front of the ocean for a selfie wearing their bathing suits. On the left, a fat, Black woman with natural hair holds a smartphone high in the air and smiles. In the middle, a white, fat woman with long, blondish hair makes a kissy face. On the right, a thin, white woman with long, dark hair blows a kiss. Photo by Curated Lifestyle for Unsplash+.
Content Note: Mentions of dieting, weight-loss medications, intentional weight loss
In 2021, I was flying high. Body positivity was soaring. Brands were pledging to be more size-inclusive and fat-positive, promising to not only extend sizing but also include those sizes in-store. Black and brown fat people were actually being included in the conversation and in some instances, even being asked to lead. Later that year, I got a dream book deal to write about body liberation, a topic near and dear to my heart.
In 2022, Lizzo premiered her reality TV show, Watch Out for the Big Grrrls. My friends, my online community, and I all sang its praises. There was just something so beautiful about seeing bodies of all shapes and sizes dance and move unapologetically—the jiggle, the rolls, the cellulite. There was something primal about watching normal bodies showcased as just that—normal. And while there was nothing extraordinary or brave about women dancing on a reality competition show, it was special because it’s so rare to see bodies that resemble my body given representation on TV.
I optimistically started to believe that maybe my book, The Body Liberation Project, wouldn’t be as relevant when it came out in 2023. Body diversity was soaring. Everyone was embracing it and embracing their bodies and I could finally see the progress we all dreamed about happening in front of our eyes.
But just as quickly as the thought came, it was gone.
In November 2022, The New York Post published “Bye-bye booty: Heroin chic is back,” showcasing pictures of Kim and Khloe Kardashian and models like Bella Hadid donning their waif-thin physiques, officially announcing that thinness was trending again. Shortly after that, Ozempic and other semaglutide medications hit the market as a solution for weight loss. It’s important to note that these drugs were originally intended for diabetic patients, and were then co-opted by celebrities for weight loss, widely popularizing them and creating a shortage for patients who required them for legitimate reasons.
It felt like people were literally shrinking right in front of my eyes. Body-positive influencers—people I once followed because of our shared body liberation values—were now getting thin and proselytizing the “benefits” of semaglutides.
Fast forward to September 2024: Lizzo, our fat-positive queen, the one who had helped so many people feel unapologetic about existing in our fat bodies, posted a picture to her Instagram feed with the caption, “When you finally get Ozempic allegations after 5 months of weight training and calorie deficit.”
Nuance is required in this conversation. For starters, I don’t believe Lizzo ever decided to be the voice of the body-positive community. We appointed her as such because we desperately needed to see what she represented—a fat, Black woman unapologetically embracing her body.
And although this may be an unpopular opinion, when I say we shouldn’t comment on people’s bodies, I mean that for all bodies. So while we may feel disappointment or even betrayal from Lizzo’s (and others’) decision to lose weight, ultimately, Lizzo doesn’t owe any of us an explanation for her body, just like we don’t owe anyone an explanation for our bodies. That’s not to say we can’t be disappointed or feel disillusioned. But we don’t know anyone’s reasons for weight loss unless they tell us. I can’t help but feel sympathetic toward Lizzo. To be a fat, Black woman in the public eye and have your body picked apart every single day on a massive scale can’t be easy.
Still, I can’t say managing the changing media landscape hasn’t been difficult. In many ways, it feels like we are fully back in 2000s-era anti-fatness. But it’s more than just managing personal feelings and body image; it’s also facing the fact that because thinness is trending again, companies are no longer interested in inclusivity. In just the past few months, multiple companies including Miaou and Loft have announced the end of extended sizing altogether, while companies like Old Navy are scaling back the availability of extended sizing in-store.
It’s disheartening and frustrating. Setting aside the mounting social pressure to be thin, systemic factors including limited access to affordable clothes make it even more difficult to exist. Therefore, many of us may feel called to weight loss pills or dieting, even when we realistically know that thinness won’t fix these issues. Our bodies aren’t the problem; systems of oppression are the problem. However, knowing that doesn’t necessarily ease the frustration and anxiety many of us may be experiencing.
The more time I spend on social media, the more uneasiness I feel. The more I feel unhappy with my body. I pick myself apart. I fall prey to the belief that my value and worth are based on my looks. I know that’s not the truth. I know I’m inherently worthy because I exist. I know my body is simply the vessel that allows me to have this human experience. But the endless stream of weight loss content flooding across my screen has made it increasingly difficult to remember that.
Our relationships with our bodies don’t exist in a vacuum and the influx of weight loss marketing and content is working overtime to keep us dissatisfied and distracted.
And honestly, I think that’s the goal. The patriarchy wants us distracted. It wants us to keep making ourselves as small as possible—literally and figuratively. It wants us immobilized. It wants us sedated. It wants us to do anything and everything besides take our power back.
And dieting accomplishes all of that.
Because what would happen if millions stopped being preoccupied with our appearances? If we turned our collective rage towards the systems that have subjugated us for hundreds of years? If we took back our collective power? If we stopped being obedient? It would be really fucking powerful, and that’s exactly what scares the hell out of the folks interested in keeping us distracted.
There is social capital attached to thinness. However, being the smallest and most snatched version of yourself simply won’t save you.
Being thin and pretty won’t save us.
Untangling ourselves from the grips of diet culture, especially in the age of social media, is no easy feat. But I’m working towards it every day.
What a tragedy it would be to spend the best moments, days, or a lifetime fighting with your body and wishing it was something else. Instead, we could spend our best moments, days, and a lifetime sharing our magic with the world.
Taking up space in a world that wants us to play small is revolutionary.
I don’t care about being a pretty woman. Or a thin woman. Or an agreeable woman.
I want to be a radicalized woman. An untamed woman. A dangerous woman.
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