My Problem With "Maggie Goes On A Diet"

I discovered Maggie Goes On A Diet during one of my morning rituals (I tend to start my days with a cup o' joe and a few interesting Yahoo! articles). As the above video explains, the book, aimed at girls as young as 6 or 7, is about an overweight 14-year-old who decides to go on a diet after being teased mercilessly by her classmates.

I probably don't have to tell you that Maggie has sparked a lot of controversy. The media has been raving about so-called "mommy bloggers" who are up in arms over how the book mishandles sensitive body image issues, but what I noticed after sifting through the comments on several news articles is a slightly different attitude:

"There is nothing offensive about this book, unless you're living in denial. Girls do tend to obsess about their weight and image far more than boys, so choosing a girl as the main character makes sense." 

"God forbid she take up an activity that causes her to lose weight. What an awful message." 

"This book is a good thing. The last thing this world needs
is more fat chicks."

I'm not usually a fan of chatspeak, but I think that last statement warrants a big-ass smh.

I have no objection whatsoever to children's books teaching healthy eating habits and the value of exercise, but as a former (and current) Fat Girl this book is offensive. Society has always done a bang-up job of making girls feel like crap about themselves, and this book is the icing on the cake — or should I say, the no-calorie sweetener on the high-fiber oatmeal?

What could have been an uplifting book about a girl eating wholesome foods, having fun playing outside, and ultimately feeling good about herself (without other's approval) turned into a social commentary about the unacceptability of being overweight in our society. Maggie is a loser when she's fat. Nobody likes her. The boys all point and laugh. But then she drops X number of pounds and people are putty in her hands. She becomes the star of the soccer team, people know her by name and want to be her friend, and boys even think she's cute — the ultimate triumph! *gags*

I'm not denying the fact that there's an obesity problem in this country and I'm certainly not knocking the importance of a balanced diet and exercise. But there's a way to deal with these issues without telling little girls that their physical appearance and value as a person are inextricably linked.

"Because You Think Being A Girl Is Degrading"

(Above) Do androgynous models catch flack for rocking the very concept of
gender binary to its core? Well, if they do, they're probably too
busy making snow angels in piles of cash to notice.

When I was in 8th grade, my teacher wanted to liven things up by giving us a debate topic that was a tad more risqué than usual, at least by middle-school standards. The topic was: Is it better to be a girl or a boy? Not "which sex is better?", but literally "which sex has the better end of the deal?"

I remember being excited by this question. As a little feminist-in-the-making (which at that age probably translated to "Woo! Girls rule!"), I had my answer perfectly formulated before anybody else had time to blink: 

Obviously, girls have it better because we have more freedom when it comes to doing the things we want. Girls can play sports and do other "guy stuff" and people think it's cool. But poor boys, if they want to knit, or bake, or do stereotypical "girl stuff" people make fun of them for it.

I was confident with this answer. It felt rock-solid, and I didn't think anybody would be able to come up with a good counter-argument when it came time to duke things out in the classroom. Truth be told, I can't remember what words were exchanged that day, but I do remember feeling utterly betrayed when my friend — a Korean chick who, to this day, is still one of the coolest and funniest people I know — sat on the boys' side of the argument. I just couldn't understand why she thought boys had a better deal in life. What happened to sisterhood?

Looking back, I realize now that my friend (who I'll call Ki-Jyeong Mung for legal reasons) was smarter than all of us. While the rest of us girls sat in smug satisfaction that we had a pretty good set-up in life (We could choose to be tomboys or girly-girls! How liberating!), we didn't understand the deeper implications of our opinion. When a girl is admired for kicking tail on the basketball court but a boy is called every number of degrading names for wearing a holiday sweater that's too "feminine," what is that really saying about the female gender?

After all these years, I finally get it. And I think this picture (which quotes a Madonna song) sums "it" up perfectly.

Love the Body You've Got (Take it From a Fat Girl)

I've never seen anyone like Beth Ditto in
the limelight before; I think her beauty is
absolutely magnetic. Hooray for confidence!

I recall a time in elementary school when a friend tried to defend me from a few bullies by saying that I "wasn't fat, just big-boned." A few years later, I had a teacher who — probably in an attempt to keep my ego intact — wouldn't let kids say "fat" in class, only "fluffy."

To set the record straight, I do not have abnormally large bones. And I am not, nor have I ever been, a rabbit. But whether it's these sugar-coated terms or the painfully unoriginal "ugly fat girl," I've never quite been able to shake my overweight status for long.

Despite a few traumatizing events (i.e. falling off the jungle gym, losing my paper pilgrim's hat on Thanksgiving, etc.), I have relatively good memories of elementary school. I was about a foot taller than everybody else and began experiencing all the joys of early puberty (ah, training bras!), but I still don't remember those days in terms of my body. Rather, I remember going insane on Field Day (I still have the ribbons to prove it), competing with my classmates to see who could write the most numbers (we had to sprawl our lists out in the hallway to measure them), and playing "The Magic Scrap" when our teacher needed to trick us into cleaning up our messes.

Middle school was a different story. I don't know what they started putting in the Capri Suns the summer between my 5th and 6th grade years, but everybody got meaner while I became more and more self-conscious. I was significantly - shall we say, heftier - than my classmates, and there were always those intent on reminding me that I was fat and they were not.

I was an emotional wreck. Whether people recognized it or not, I was basically writhing in my own skin, caught between trying to wear clothes that were "hip" (and feeling awkward), and falling back on dingy jeans and band t-shirts (and still feeling awkward).

I love Adele. But whenever I go on
Youtube all I see are comments
saying how "fat" she is. Tell me
this woman isn't beautiful.

High school, I am proud to say, is much better. No overweight teen is going to escape the negative comments that inevitably bounce through high school hallways, but I've found a comfortable niche among friends and clubmates where I feel almost immune to that sort of thing. I've been living by the mantra "If it won't matter in five years, don't worry about it."

But last week, after a several-month streak of body positivity, somebody really hurt me. And I don't even think they meant to.

Long story short, this person (who is probably a size 4 or smaller) complained about how much weight they've gained and, in a not-so-subtle way, alluded to the fact that I was unhealthy. Really? You're going to complain to me about how much weight you've gained? And then you're going to criticize my health, despite the fact you know how hard I bust my butt for school, projects, and all the stuff I'm involved with? I was literally thinking: "Sorry, insert-name-here, I haven't had much motivation to exercise lately. Hard to imagine why."

Needless to say, I felt really crappy when I got home that day. But then I found these posters in the Love Your Body Day section of the NOW website and immediately felt better.

My favorite poster.

To top it all off, I also found this quote in a random comment on the Ms. Magazine website:

The less we judge each other by the contours of our bodies, the more clearly we will see the true content of each other's characters.

Isn't that awesome?

It reminded me that in the grand scheme of things it doesn't matter what we look like, just what we do. We're not going to be remembered for being a size 4 (or 24), so we might as well make the most of life without letting insecurities "weigh" us down.
______________________________________________________________

You may not know Beth Ditto (pictured above), but she's the lead singer of a band called Gossip (which originated only 30 miles from my hometown). Ditto is apparently well known for her outspoken support of both LGBT and feminist causes (according to the all-knowing Wikipedia), and is also an advocate of body positivity. Even if this isn't exactly my type of music, it's cool to see a bigger girl rock it out for once!

For Every Girl, For Every Boy

Sting Operation Results Part #1: Hollister

Life's Big Question #283: Why don't the models
in clothing ads ever wear any clothes?

Well, as I sit here in the gentle glow of my brother and his girlfriend playing through a stack of new video games (Santa brought me a Chuck Norris t-shirt and feminist literature!*), I would like to wish everybody a very happy Christmas, Hanukkah, Festivus, or whatever the heck it is that you celebrate. If your family is anything like mine, today should consist of comfy pj's and incessant snacking . . .

Anyway, it's taken me long enough, but I've finally summoned the strength to write about last Saturday's sting operation. I am, however, realizing that if I want to do this thing right it's going to take a lot more than one post.

For those of you who didn't scroll down a few notches to read my last post, the girls from Real Beauty Revolution and I conducted a little sting operation at a nearby mall last Saturday. Each dressed as a different stereotype (see below), we infiltrated several stores (that sounds cooler than "walked into") to see how the workers would react to us. We wanted to see how blatant discrimination is in today's society - be it against sex, physicality, economic status, or otherwise - and while I can't say that we got any 100% conclusive results, it was a very eye-opening and, strangely, empowering experience.

I've decided to go about this one store at a time. I apologize if I'm keeping anybody on the edge of their seat (anybody?) but I've got a lot to say, and I don't want to glaze over anything just to keep a modest word count. So, what better way to introduce Operation: Anti-Discrimination than to recognize the lovely ladies (or better yet, kick-ass chicks) who made it possible:



From Left to Right: Lacee, Carrie, Jenny (eating Lorrie's head),
Lorrie (having her head eaten), Holly, Tia, Saundra, and Tamara.



If you look a bit closer, we're loosely divided into three categories:

• The Rocker Chicks: Tamara, Saundra, Lacee and I (though I'm not in the picture) were somewhere in the goth-to-rocker spectrum.
• The Preps: Lorrie and Holly suffered from what one might jokingly refer to as "preppy-princess-itis."
• The Normies: Tia, Carrie, and Jenny were dressed normally . . . though "normal" easily passed for "grubby" in some of the stores we went into.

In a pre-operation meeting at a nearby Krispy Kreme (that pretty much felt like we were planning a bank robbery), we devised a brilliant plan to enter our targeted stores in three waves. First, two or three girls would enter a store and plant themselves near some workers without being too conspicuous. Next came the stereotype "operative" who was different depending on the store (i.e. the person who would look most out of place). And finally, a second round of "observers" as we called them would meander in to play extra sets of eyes and ears. It was the stereotype operative's job to wreak a little havoc - ask questions, seek help, simply exist - but it was the observers' job to mentally log everything and anything that was going on around them.

In all the weeks it took RBR to plan Operation: Anti-Discrimination, I only had one request:

"I want Hollister."

Meaning, of course, that I wanted to be the stereotype planted in the blasted place because I've heard too many horrific tales of discrimination and abuse not to want to check it out for myself. And going into that skinny paradise as a PLUS-SIZE WOMAN who's been the victim of understocked and sizist stores her entire life (and who also warrants capital letters to contain her fabulosity*), I felt like some kind of crusader for every girl out there who's been told her thighs were too big, her boobs were too small, or . . . well, just think up some misogynist crap that's been fed to you.

*Did I really say "fabulosity"?

If you want to know the truth I was quite happy with my get-up, but only because it was what I wear on a daily basis. Donning a slightly worn Dream Theater cap, Iron Maiden t-shirt (with "Best of the Beast" printed on the back in bold, red letters), old jeans, fuzzy striped socks, messy locks, and a mocking expression, I felt like a warrior geared up to face her demons.

Lorrie was a good partner in crime for
our first stop! I have more pictures of
The Girls to show in future posts :)

I was nervous up to the second we stepped inside the store, which was dimly-lit and smelled as if it had been fumigated with cologne, but thinking back, I don't know why I was so worked up. Maybe because I had never been in there? Because my brother and I have always made "snooty" comments when we pass it in the mall? Because I half-expected the place to look like some "beautiful peoples' nightclub" where I would be the freak attraction? I dunno.

Life Lesson #4,313: the Teenage Girl mind isn't always rational.

Anyway, I slithered into Hollister with my new friend Lorrie in tow (our established "preppy" stereotype). Our million-dollar idea was to act like we were trying to find a shirt for her mom. Now I know what you're thinking: a prep and a rocker joining forces? But I knew finding a shirt for me, a plus-size girl in an old Iron Maiden shirt, would be a stretch. And besides, stereotypes suck.

"So, Lorrie, you're looking for a shirt for your mom?"

"Yeah, she likes blue."

"What size?"

"Probably XL."

"Don't you mean 2XL?" Wink.

"Oh, yeah!"



*Hypnotic voice* I am a young, attractive,
white female. You want to be me . . . and
even though you'll never come close, Hollister
clothes might help. A bit. *Demon voice*
BUY THEM!

We searched for a tag that didn't say XS, S, or even M, but (unsurprisingly) came up empty-handed. Holding up those shirts that were purportedly medium made me feel either (a) that I was a size XXXXXXL by Hollister standards, or (b) that I had cast some wacky spell and everything was shrinking around me. The shirts were so small.

"I dunno Lorrie, I've never been in this store before" I said in my best acting voice, yet remaining entirely truthful, "they must have a plus-size section in the back somewhere."

By this time - with secret agents planted all around me, falling from the rafters even - I worked up the gumption to trot over to the counter to a wide-eyed, perfectly trimmed employee. She had pale skin (shock?) and curly brown hair, but I made a mental note that she probably still fit Hollister's "beautiful employee" requirement.

"Hi, we're trying to find a shirt for her mom . . . but I noticed the sizes only go up to Large."

"Yes . . . our largest size in women's clothing is 11."

Mock disappointment.

"Will you be getting a plus size section any time soon?" I asked, chuckling a bit and trying to seem personable. "It just seems funny to only go up to size 11 when the average person can't fit into that."



Blink, blink. I guess whatever the heck I said didn't compute. The girl looked at me - my senior by only a few years - and said she "wouldn't know the answer to that."

I thanked her for her time and left, muttering disappointments about the store to Lorrie as I shook my head like a reproving grandmother. I hadn't felt overtly discriminated, but one of the observers, Jenny, noticed that the oh-so-lively store clerk "grimaced" as I was walking away. When I asked Jenny what that meant she said "It was a why-would-you-ask-that sort of look."

Now, is that enough for me to convict Hollister of any sort of crime?

*Sigh* No. And I was so ready to sue any sucker who looked at me funny.

But that was only the beginning of the epically-titled Operation: Anti-Discrimination. We also went into Hot Topic, Torrid, Gamestop, Macy's, Nordstrom, Abercrombie - and I even stood up to annoying, holier-than-thou idiots at Spencers when I called one of their sexist shirts into question.

More about that later! So stay tuned!

_______________________________________________

*Santa, being the wily fellow he is, brought me The Purity Myth by Jessica Valenti! I mentioned the book in an earlier post but haven't had a chance to read it until now. It's pretty freaking amazing, considering I lapped up the first 80 pages in about twenty minutes. It's all about the ridiculosity of a juxtaposition women face each and every day: pressures to be sexy on one side (think: pornography, 15-year-old sex icons, padded bras for children), and pure on the other (think: crazy idiots who blame sex education for promiscuity and measure womens' worth by their hymens).

It just amazes me that people could be so closed-minded about sexuality, propagate an archetype in which girls (i.e. pretty, young, white girls) are only worth something if they're virgins, and find a way to blame feminism for virtually everything.

My eyes have been bulging like crazy reading the book, and I'll look up and begin to rant - but then I realize it's only my brother and his girlfriend there, and they don't appreciate a good fem-rant . . . *pouts*

P.S. If anybody's looking to get me an early Christmas present for next year, the next "Valenti gem" on my list is He's a Stud, She's a Slut: And 49 Other Double-Standards Every Woman Should Know!