Whatthefuck
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Nov 7, 2017
Her head would explode. She'd short circuit. Next thing we'd hear is that the office furniture was fat phobic and she's the victim of oppression.
Last edited:
Fat Acceptance Movement / Fat Girlcows
- Thread starter AtroposHeart
- Start date
- Joined
- Jul 15, 2019
it’s just amusing how much they actually have to eat to maintain their weight and they claim that’s them trying. Like, I have WAY more sympathy for somebody who is 200-ish pounds because that’s about the time you really do got to start putting in consistent semi heavy effort to make progress (still the solution is eating less fat ass) but my fucking god how do these cows claim with any honesty they are trying, and still maintaining their 500 plus pound weights. The consumption And effort it takes every single day to eat that many calories into your body is wild. Literally, if binge eating is an issue for you just wait till like 7pm and smash a large pizza and pass out or something and you’d still drop 100s of pounds. And to that other video - no, nobody is surprised you went into genes periscope and projected a bunch of self hatred of yourself at him for being a fellow junkie. Nobody believes the “sweetness”- we all been knew you were a liar and shitty person. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are lmfao.
Tesshollidaysflupaknees
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Sep 10, 2018
New YouTube video from Anna. She tries hot sauces with her nephew. She sounds drunk, during the whole video.
Whatthefuck
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Nov 7, 2017
She's fucking grotesque. Yes, we been done knew, but it's like every time I see her she's just worse and worse. Why does anyone pay attention to her let alone sponsor her?
Tesshollidaysflupaknees
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Sep 10, 2018
New TikTok video from Anna. In this video Anna is seen "working out." Her body does not move like a normal human body. 
Anna makes the exercise equipment look small, when compared to her body. It's surprising that Anna did not break anything.
Link to TikTok video: https://www.tiktok.com/@glitterandlazers/video/6784553594629672197
Anna makes the exercise equipment look small, when compared to her body. It's surprising that Anna did not break anything.Link to TikTok video: https://www.tiktok.com/@glitterandlazers/video/6784553594629672197
fatfuck
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jun 13, 2018
She's a massive liar like Chantal. She keep saying she's busy volunteering and that she's on her feet most of the day but you can see she has trouble standing when she does her weigh in. Her volunteering job is guaranteed in the same building doing some worthless shit while sitting in her wheel chair all the time.
On a side note Gin did a video telling us that he's pretty much a leech like her that does nothing. He also has a problem going off sweets which is probably what Jen is also eating throughout the day. If he continues feeling the way he does it he will definitely crack and start drinking again.
Like I said before, she's not dumping him any time soon because he's the first guy that showed her some real life attention in a LONG time. It would have to get bad to levels of him drinking and physically abusing her and maybe even then she'd still stick by him because any attention is better than being lonely again.
Last edited:
- Joined
- Dec 15, 2019
She's sad she has no friends and OMG, can you believe it, this one chick didn't photograph fat people, you guize!!!!
Who is she talking about? (said non-friend seems to be in the media?)
And how dare they making stuff that doesn't cater to HER!!!!
Entitlement level 1000000000000000
- Joined
- Dec 27, 2019
This is beyond cringey. Bribing her nephew with gifts to be in a video where she is hammered, has the same greasy skin and unbrushed hair. I genuinely want to know how much alcohol it takes to get her as drunk as she is in that video.
I used to have a friend who was tall like Anna and weighed about 280. She didn't drink everyday but when we did go out she could easily drink 6 or 7 hard liquor drinks before catching a good buzz and be fine to drive home an hour later. When she lost a good amount of weight her tolerance plummeted so it's scary to think about the kind of beating Anna's liver takes on the reg.
lamp shade
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jun 15, 2018
“Fat suits take jobs from fat actors”
wait...so they want to act in the roles that are always negative toward fat people or?
737 MAX Stan Account
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jan 19, 2020
Forget camel toe, forget moose knuckle, she has probably ascended to a full on mammoth hoof.
- Joined
- Aug 23, 2019
Autism and utter cluelessness are not the same thing, Kelly.
Boson
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Nov 4, 2014
I was actually surprised by the comments on this post. It’s a tumblr bot that forwards reddit posts.
- Joined
- Dec 15, 2016
I've been following this thread long enough that this sort of lunacy shouldn't be surprising but I just had to look up that Bri Loging character to confirm they're not a troll. Seem real.
Also: found lipids' long lost smugface (albeit better socialized) twin:-
wellthen
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2019
I don't follow a lot of photographers but don't they typically feature work they've been paid for? What if fat people aren't contacting them OFTEN? This is so dumb.
Last edited:
Tesshollidaysflupaknees
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Sep 10, 2018
New blog post from "Your Fat Friend." It's a long one. I'll try to only post the important parts.
The Long Con: Womanhood, Fatness and Normalizing Abuse
Jessica Walter’s voice was strangled with tears when she addressed Jeffrey Tambor’s outburst with her Arrested Development castmates for the New York Times.
She was quick to point out that “he never crossed the line on our show, sexually,” and preemptively insisted she needed to “let it go,” likely bracing herself for the inevitable pushback that would come when a woman spoke up about her difficult experiences with a man.
Like many women and survivors of any kind of abuse, listening to the interview was a lot to take. I felt it bodily: the turn in my stomach, the chill in my skin, the clench in my muscles, bracing for the crash. I felt it viscerally, like a method actor sourcing my own memories. The male boss who told me I was too emotional to do my job well. The white man who publicly shouted down a woman of color in a public meeting, and the other white men who gave him endless second chances. The same men who would later say they were stunned to see the wave of #MeToo posts, and who would profess shock at the casual callousness with which the men of Arrested Development brushed off Jessica Walters’ pain.
(Of course she had to make this about herself.)
Thanks to centuries’ worth of work from dedicated feminists, most of us could feel misogyny in that painful interview. We could touch the contours of its waves. We could feel its undertows, know where to find them. We could name misogyny publicly as a culprit.
Yes, there is pain, both for the woman wronged and for those of us who see ourselves in her experience. But there was acknowledgment, for the first time, of the hurt and harm this kind of abuse causes. And there was a reckoning, not only for Tambor himself, but for the Batemans and Hales of the world, who instinctually and reflexively normalize abuse that falls short of physical or sexual violence. That reckoning doesn’t offer redemption — not by a long shot — but it does show some small measure of progress.
As a woman who was all too familiar with experiences like Walters’, I felt validated, seen and heard like I hadn’t before. But that validation was, I knew, limited. Because I wasn’t just a woman, I was a fat woman. The bulk of my abuse had come at the hands of thin people, believing they were doing right and doing good, emboldened by a culture that agreed with them. And in my soft and certain marrow, I knew that that abuse — the abuse faced by fat people — would not be understood to warrant a similar reckoning. The same people who chastised Tambor, Bateman, and Hale on social media had readily defended the street harassment and institutional discrimination faced by fat people. And, culturally, they were affirmed.
So what do you do when your abuse is widely accepted? And how do you persist when your abuser is a culture?
As I write this, I weigh 330 pounds.
Three days ago, a stranger sped up to pull alongside my car in traffic. She motioned for me to roll down my window. I did, thinking I might have a tail light out. Instead, I was met with a full-throated shout. GET OUT OF THE CAR AND TRY WALKING FOR A CHANGE.
When I got home, I texted a friend to tell her what happened. The response came quickly. Did you do something to provoke her? Cut her off or something? I said no. Nothing? Are you sure? Yes. People are going to judge. I guess the only way to make it stop is to just lose weight.
There it was. My own Jason Bateman, with no reflection or reckoning in sight.
There is a minefield of abuse reserved for the very fat. Two years ago, I weighed 400 pounds and rode city buses daily. At bus stops, strangers would approach me regularly, insisting on weight loss regimens, telling me loudly what I should and shouldn’t wear, shouting to passersby, is everyone seeing how fat this bitch is? Look at her! On airplanes, strangers stared openly and noisily announced their unwillingness to see my body.
I have come to view the world through the prism of that abuse, negotiating my days around reducing it. Who will shout at me? Which doctors will refuse to see me? Which dates will mock my body? Which strangers will photograph me, or make a meme of my skin?
These incidents have become commonplace, even rote for me. I have developed a sad skill set: I know how to minimize these instances. I know how to avoid eye contact with strangers, knowing that our locking eyes are too often misconstrued as an invitation to shout or detail their judgments of my body. I know how to deploy a charm offensive, calming agitated aggressors before they get the chance to unleash their fury. I know how to swallow these instances, feel their pressure only from within myself. I know how to keep abusers at bay alone, knowing that no one else will step in. I know how to contain the blast.
I have never become accustomed to the complete lack of empathy from so many around me. I refuse to accept it.
For women — especially white women — describing our abuse is difficult, but increasingly, it’s met by some measure of sympathy, even if only from other women. But when fat people disclose our abuse, we are met with a steely refusal to believe it.
When that abuse turns physical, those scraps of empathy dissolve altogether. Fat survivors are told we are so undesirable that it’s impossible to sexually assault us. When it turns institutional, as with staggeringly prevalent employment discrimination or punitive airline policies, others’ responses curdle, turning from indifference to outright defense. Suddenly, people who otherwise relish complaining about delayed flights and cramped legroom become airlines’ staunchest defenders. They’ve got to make their money. Like spokespeople, they pivot to profits and regulation, the cost of jet fuel and supply side economics, defending companies they otherwise regularly decry.
There are so many barriers to empathizing with fat people. Many will overconfidently assert that fat people are in full control of our own bodies, despite a growing body of evidence to the contrary. Fat people are readily, gleefully mocked in movies, or held up as tragic morality tales on TV. When fat people are depicted with anything approaching normalcy, we’re met with naked disgust. Disdain for fat people is even encouraged, reframed as tough love, somehow deployed to our benefit.
Yes, there are barriers to empathizing with fat people. But it shouldn’t be an act of courageous defiance to name what fat people face as abuse. It shouldn’t be a radical act to insist that no one’s body warrants beratement simply by passing through someone else’s field of view.
I understand why others don’t intervene when fat hate rears its head. Intervention is uncomfortable and uncertain, risky and difficult. We don’t know what to say or how to make it stop. We find ourselves out of our depth, reaching for skillsets we’ve never had to develop, or suddenly reliving our own abuse. I can still recall vividly the times I have frozen in the face of abuse, or the times that I have failed to recognize it with the seriousness it deserved.
But at our core, even without intending to, most of us believe that abuse of fat people is simply a natural consequence of living in such defiant bodies. We believe that fat people can change our bodies, we simply fail to. We believe that “tough love” will motivate that change. And we believe that fat hate ought not earn our outrage because it is simply the way of the world, unworthy of the effort it would require to change it.
I am desperate for simple acknowledgement. I yearn for a that should never happen to anyone, offered without caveats or limitations, “tough love” posturing or threats of my assumed impending illness.
If you don’t wear plus sizes, you may struggle to hear the severity and irrationality of anti-fat abuse and bias. It may be difficult to hear, or difficult to believe. It speaks to a world that may be unfathomable to you. Life in a thinner body means the world around you has been redacted, presented to you only in part. It is unthinkable that strangers shout unprompted epithets at my body, but they do. It is unfathomable that doctors ban fat patients from their offices, but they do. It is impossible that airlines would bend to the will of brash and finicky passengers, but they do.
I am asking you to try to change your own perception, and in so doing, make some small change to the world.
I am asking you to reach out, feel the world around you as it exists now. Experience it anew. You cannot see the air, the way it pushes in gales of wind. But you can look to the trees. You can see how they sway and break when its momentum becomes too great.
I am asking you sharpen your vision if only so you can see me. I am asking you to notice when I am swept up, broken, gone.
Link to blog post: https://medium.com/@thefatshadow/the-long-con-womanhood-fatness-and-normalizing-abuse-132336d8093f
The Long Con: Womanhood, Fatness and Normalizing Abuse
Jessica Walter’s voice was strangled with tears when she addressed Jeffrey Tambor’s outburst with her Arrested Development castmates for the New York Times.
She was quick to point out that “he never crossed the line on our show, sexually,” and preemptively insisted she needed to “let it go,” likely bracing herself for the inevitable pushback that would come when a woman spoke up about her difficult experiences with a man.
Like many women and survivors of any kind of abuse, listening to the interview was a lot to take. I felt it bodily: the turn in my stomach, the chill in my skin, the clench in my muscles, bracing for the crash. I felt it viscerally, like a method actor sourcing my own memories. The male boss who told me I was too emotional to do my job well. The white man who publicly shouted down a woman of color in a public meeting, and the other white men who gave him endless second chances. The same men who would later say they were stunned to see the wave of #MeToo posts, and who would profess shock at the casual callousness with which the men of Arrested Development brushed off Jessica Walters’ pain.
(Of course she had to make this about herself.)
Thanks to centuries’ worth of work from dedicated feminists, most of us could feel misogyny in that painful interview. We could touch the contours of its waves. We could feel its undertows, know where to find them. We could name misogyny publicly as a culprit.
Yes, there is pain, both for the woman wronged and for those of us who see ourselves in her experience. But there was acknowledgment, for the first time, of the hurt and harm this kind of abuse causes. And there was a reckoning, not only for Tambor himself, but for the Batemans and Hales of the world, who instinctually and reflexively normalize abuse that falls short of physical or sexual violence. That reckoning doesn’t offer redemption — not by a long shot — but it does show some small measure of progress.
As a woman who was all too familiar with experiences like Walters’, I felt validated, seen and heard like I hadn’t before. But that validation was, I knew, limited. Because I wasn’t just a woman, I was a fat woman. The bulk of my abuse had come at the hands of thin people, believing they were doing right and doing good, emboldened by a culture that agreed with them. And in my soft and certain marrow, I knew that that abuse — the abuse faced by fat people — would not be understood to warrant a similar reckoning. The same people who chastised Tambor, Bateman, and Hale on social media had readily defended the street harassment and institutional discrimination faced by fat people. And, culturally, they were affirmed.
So what do you do when your abuse is widely accepted? And how do you persist when your abuser is a culture?
As I write this, I weigh 330 pounds.
Three days ago, a stranger sped up to pull alongside my car in traffic. She motioned for me to roll down my window. I did, thinking I might have a tail light out. Instead, I was met with a full-throated shout. GET OUT OF THE CAR AND TRY WALKING FOR A CHANGE.
When I got home, I texted a friend to tell her what happened. The response came quickly. Did you do something to provoke her? Cut her off or something? I said no. Nothing? Are you sure? Yes. People are going to judge. I guess the only way to make it stop is to just lose weight.
There it was. My own Jason Bateman, with no reflection or reckoning in sight.
There is a minefield of abuse reserved for the very fat. Two years ago, I weighed 400 pounds and rode city buses daily. At bus stops, strangers would approach me regularly, insisting on weight loss regimens, telling me loudly what I should and shouldn’t wear, shouting to passersby, is everyone seeing how fat this bitch is? Look at her! On airplanes, strangers stared openly and noisily announced their unwillingness to see my body.
I have come to view the world through the prism of that abuse, negotiating my days around reducing it. Who will shout at me? Which doctors will refuse to see me? Which dates will mock my body? Which strangers will photograph me, or make a meme of my skin?
These incidents have become commonplace, even rote for me. I have developed a sad skill set: I know how to minimize these instances. I know how to avoid eye contact with strangers, knowing that our locking eyes are too often misconstrued as an invitation to shout or detail their judgments of my body. I know how to deploy a charm offensive, calming agitated aggressors before they get the chance to unleash their fury. I know how to swallow these instances, feel their pressure only from within myself. I know how to keep abusers at bay alone, knowing that no one else will step in. I know how to contain the blast.
I have never become accustomed to the complete lack of empathy from so many around me. I refuse to accept it.
For women — especially white women — describing our abuse is difficult, but increasingly, it’s met by some measure of sympathy, even if only from other women. But when fat people disclose our abuse, we are met with a steely refusal to believe it.
When that abuse turns physical, those scraps of empathy dissolve altogether. Fat survivors are told we are so undesirable that it’s impossible to sexually assault us. When it turns institutional, as with staggeringly prevalent employment discrimination or punitive airline policies, others’ responses curdle, turning from indifference to outright defense. Suddenly, people who otherwise relish complaining about delayed flights and cramped legroom become airlines’ staunchest defenders. They’ve got to make their money. Like spokespeople, they pivot to profits and regulation, the cost of jet fuel and supply side economics, defending companies they otherwise regularly decry.
There are so many barriers to empathizing with fat people. Many will overconfidently assert that fat people are in full control of our own bodies, despite a growing body of evidence to the contrary. Fat people are readily, gleefully mocked in movies, or held up as tragic morality tales on TV. When fat people are depicted with anything approaching normalcy, we’re met with naked disgust. Disdain for fat people is even encouraged, reframed as tough love, somehow deployed to our benefit.
Yes, there are barriers to empathizing with fat people. But it shouldn’t be an act of courageous defiance to name what fat people face as abuse. It shouldn’t be a radical act to insist that no one’s body warrants beratement simply by passing through someone else’s field of view.
I understand why others don’t intervene when fat hate rears its head. Intervention is uncomfortable and uncertain, risky and difficult. We don’t know what to say or how to make it stop. We find ourselves out of our depth, reaching for skillsets we’ve never had to develop, or suddenly reliving our own abuse. I can still recall vividly the times I have frozen in the face of abuse, or the times that I have failed to recognize it with the seriousness it deserved.
But at our core, even without intending to, most of us believe that abuse of fat people is simply a natural consequence of living in such defiant bodies. We believe that fat people can change our bodies, we simply fail to. We believe that “tough love” will motivate that change. And we believe that fat hate ought not earn our outrage because it is simply the way of the world, unworthy of the effort it would require to change it.
I am desperate for simple acknowledgement. I yearn for a that should never happen to anyone, offered without caveats or limitations, “tough love” posturing or threats of my assumed impending illness.
If you don’t wear plus sizes, you may struggle to hear the severity and irrationality of anti-fat abuse and bias. It may be difficult to hear, or difficult to believe. It speaks to a world that may be unfathomable to you. Life in a thinner body means the world around you has been redacted, presented to you only in part. It is unthinkable that strangers shout unprompted epithets at my body, but they do. It is unfathomable that doctors ban fat patients from their offices, but they do. It is impossible that airlines would bend to the will of brash and finicky passengers, but they do.
I am asking you to try to change your own perception, and in so doing, make some small change to the world.
I am asking you to reach out, feel the world around you as it exists now. Experience it anew. You cannot see the air, the way it pushes in gales of wind. But you can look to the trees. You can see how they sway and break when its momentum becomes too great.
I am asking you sharpen your vision if only so you can see me. I am asking you to notice when I am swept up, broken, gone.
Link to blog post: https://medium.com/@thefatshadow/the-long-con-womanhood-fatness-and-normalizing-abuse-132336d8093f
Whatthefuck
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Nov 7, 2017
Fucking hell. It's amazing the mental gymnastics involved in making everything in the universe about your choice, CHOICE, to be a fat fuck.New blog post from "Your Fat Friend." It's a long one. I'll try to only post the important parts.
The Long Con: Womanhood, Fatness and Normalizing Abuse
Jessica Walter’s voice was strangled with tears when she addressed Jeffrey Tambor’s outburst with her Arrested Development castmates for the New York Times.
She was quick to point out that “he never crossed the line on our show, sexually,” and preemptively insisted she needed to “let it go,” likely bracing herself for the inevitable pushback that would come when a woman spoke up about her difficult experiences with a man.
Like many women and survivors of any kind of abuse, listening to the interview was a lot to take. I felt it bodily: the turn in my stomach, the chill in my skin, the clench in my muscles, bracing for the crash. I felt it viscerally, like a method actor sourcing my own memories. The male boss who told me I was too emotional to do my job well. The white man who publicly shouted down a woman of color in a public meeting, and the other white men who gave him endless second chances. The same men who would later say they were stunned to see the wave of #MeToo posts, and who would profess shock at the casual callousness with which the men of Arrested Development brushed off Jessica Walters’ pain.
(Of course she had to make this about herself.)
Thanks to centuries’ worth of work from dedicated feminists, most of us could feel misogyny in that painful interview. We could touch the contours of its waves. We could feel its undertows, know where to find them. We could name misogyny publicly as a culprit.
Yes, there is pain, both for the woman wronged and for those of us who see ourselves in her experience. But there was acknowledgment, for the first time, of the hurt and harm this kind of abuse causes. And there was a reckoning, not only for Tambor himself, but for the Batemans and Hales of the world, who instinctually and reflexively normalize abuse that falls short of physical or sexual violence. That reckoning doesn’t offer redemption — not by a long shot — but it does show some small measure of progress.
As a woman who was all too familiar with experiences like Walters’, I felt validated, seen and heard like I hadn’t before. But that validation was, I knew, limited. Because I wasn’t just a woman, I was a fat woman. The bulk of my abuse had come at the hands of thin people, believing they were doing right and doing good, emboldened by a culture that agreed with them. And in my soft and certain marrow, I knew that that abuse — the abuse faced by fat people — would not be understood to warrant a similar reckoning. The same people who chastised Tambor, Bateman, and Hale on social media had readily defended the street harassment and institutional discrimination faced by fat people. And, culturally, they were affirmed.
So what do you do when your abuse is widely accepted? And how do you persist when your abuser is a culture?
As I write this, I weigh 330 pounds.
Three days ago, a stranger sped up to pull alongside my car in traffic. She motioned for me to roll down my window. I did, thinking I might have a tail light out. Instead, I was met with a full-throated shout. GET OUT OF THE CAR AND TRY WALKING FOR A CHANGE.
When I got home, I texted a friend to tell her what happened. The response came quickly. Did you do something to provoke her? Cut her off or something? I said no. Nothing? Are you sure? Yes. People are going to judge. I guess the only way to make it stop is to just lose weight.
There it was. My own Jason Bateman, with no reflection or reckoning in sight.
There is a minefield of abuse reserved for the very fat. Two years ago, I weighed 400 pounds and rode city buses daily. At bus stops, strangers would approach me regularly, insisting on weight loss regimens, telling me loudly what I should and shouldn’t wear, shouting to passersby, is everyone seeing how fat this bitch is? Look at her! On airplanes, strangers stared openly and noisily announced their unwillingness to see my body.
I have come to view the world through the prism of that abuse, negotiating my days around reducing it. Who will shout at me? Which doctors will refuse to see me? Which dates will mock my body? Which strangers will photograph me, or make a meme of my skin?
These incidents have become commonplace, even rote for me. I have developed a sad skill set: I know how to minimize these instances. I know how to avoid eye contact with strangers, knowing that our locking eyes are too often misconstrued as an invitation to shout or detail their judgments of my body. I know how to deploy a charm offensive, calming agitated aggressors before they get the chance to unleash their fury. I know how to swallow these instances, feel their pressure only from within myself. I know how to keep abusers at bay alone, knowing that no one else will step in. I know how to contain the blast.
I have never become accustomed to the complete lack of empathy from so many around me. I refuse to accept it.
For women — especially white women — describing our abuse is difficult, but increasingly, it’s met by some measure of sympathy, even if only from other women. But when fat people disclose our abuse, we are met with a steely refusal to believe it.
When that abuse turns physical, those scraps of empathy dissolve altogether. Fat survivors are told we are so undesirable that it’s impossible to sexually assault us. When it turns institutional, as with staggeringly prevalent employment discrimination or punitive airline policies, others’ responses curdle, turning from indifference to outright defense. Suddenly, people who otherwise relish complaining about delayed flights and cramped legroom become airlines’ staunchest defenders. They’ve got to make their money. Like spokespeople, they pivot to profits and regulation, the cost of jet fuel and supply side economics, defending companies they otherwise regularly decry.
There are so many barriers to empathizing with fat people. Many will overconfidently assert that fat people are in full control of our own bodies, despite a growing body of evidence to the contrary. Fat people are readily, gleefully mocked in movies, or held up as tragic morality tales on TV. When fat people are depicted with anything approaching normalcy, we’re met with naked disgust. Disdain for fat people is even encouraged, reframed as tough love, somehow deployed to our benefit.
Yes, there are barriers to empathizing with fat people. But it shouldn’t be an act of courageous defiance to name what fat people face as abuse. It shouldn’t be a radical act to insist that no one’s body warrants beratement simply by passing through someone else’s field of view.
I understand why others don’t intervene when fat hate rears its head. Intervention is uncomfortable and uncertain, risky and difficult. We don’t know what to say or how to make it stop. We find ourselves out of our depth, reaching for skillsets we’ve never had to develop, or suddenly reliving our own abuse. I can still recall vividly the times I have frozen in the face of abuse, or the times that I have failed to recognize it with the seriousness it deserved.
But at our core, even without intending to, most of us believe that abuse of fat people is simply a natural consequence of living in such defiant bodies. We believe that fat people can change our bodies, we simply fail to. We believe that “tough love” will motivate that change. And we believe that fat hate ought not earn our outrage because it is simply the way of the world, unworthy of the effort it would require to change it.
I am desperate for simple acknowledgement. I yearn for a that should never happen to anyone, offered without caveats or limitations, “tough love” posturing or threats of my assumed impending illness.
If you don’t wear plus sizes, you may struggle to hear the severity and irrationality of anti-fat abuse and bias. It may be difficult to hear, or difficult to believe. It speaks to a world that may be unfathomable to you. Life in a thinner body means the world around you has been redacted, presented to you only in part. It is unthinkable that strangers shout unprompted epithets at my body, but they do. It is unfathomable that doctors ban fat patients from their offices, but they do. It is impossible that airlines would bend to the will of brash and finicky passengers, but they do.
I am asking you to try to change your own perception, and in so doing, make some small change to the world.
I am asking you to reach out, feel the world around you as it exists now. Experience it anew. You cannot see the air, the way it pushes in gales of wind. But you can look to the trees. You can see how they sway and break when its momentum becomes too great.
I am asking you sharpen your vision if only so you can see me. I am asking you to notice when I am swept up, broken, gone.
Link to blog post: https://medium.com/@thefatshadow/the-long-con-womanhood-fatness-and-normalizing-abuse-132336d8093f
LetThemEatCake
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Sep 23, 2019
You know, while I do sympathize with anyone who is the target of actual wankers and bullies in real life who shout abuse while you're minding your business, it still doesn't mean we should normalize grotesque levels of obesity. Just like you shouldn't mock cripples, but generally we'd all prefer not to be crippled either. The issue with gross obesity is it's self-inflicted and thus the disgust is doubled - not only are megafats physically repellent, they CAN help being that way. All the activist noise in the world won;t change the fact that nothing about super morbid obesity will ever be seen as a good thing by anyone sane.
- Joined
- Jan 6, 2019
not just beetus, but fatty liver as well. Still doesn’t think her morbid obesity (the clue is in the name) has anything to do with it.
Perhaps we should just start being blunt, “you have diabetes and fatty liver disease. The cause of this is your body mass. If you follow this diet and shed x pounds you can probably reverse this and live a normal life. If you don’t you’re going to die, but before that you’ll suffer sight loss, circulation issues, peripheral nerve problems, and ulceration and possibly loss of extremities. The diet is strict but we can provide a lot of support. Your choice.”
JuniperFalls
kiwifarms.net
- Joined
- Nov 9, 2018
I'd suggest one tiny change to the part I highlighted: say "If you don’t you’re going to die early, but before that ...."
Otherwise, I guarantee some deliberately obtuse FA dipshit will choose to interpret your statement as "Dr. Otterly thinks thin people never die."
- Joined
- Dec 4, 2017
Fatty liver is really just a different way of saying non-alcoholic cirrhosis. All the damage without the fun of heavy drinking. They’re finding it to moving faster toward advanced liver disease, some statistics say within ten years and people aren’t grasping how dangerous this this. It’s also becoming more prevalent at an alarming rate. Pretty soon it’s going to be the largest cause of liver transplants if it isn’t already.