The Fatslayer Chronicles

I’ve been looking at a lot of bellies lately, and I have to say I’m pretty ambivalent about this whole “if you’ve got fat, flaunt it” attitude. On the one hand, I sort of admire women who have the confidence to bare their fat, but another part of me is appalled at their lack of decorum and – dare I say it – self-respect. That inhibited, judgemental part wants to run up to them with big baggy sweaters and cover them up, as if I was some priggish Victorian father appalled at a glimpse of ankle or cleavage. That’s the part of me I’m fighting against at the moment.

It seems to be a fairly recent phenomenon, to see these hefty gals walking around with their untamed wobbly bits protruding in the gap between their shirt and their jeans. It’s caught on like wildfire – suddenly all this flesh has burst forth and multiplied like some kind of marauding chubster virus, and you can’t swing a cat on the average high street without it bouncing from one Buddha belly to the next.

Either this is due to some sort of widespread reverse body dsymorphia, whereby all these girls look in the mirror and see a Kate Moss physique rather than a Dawn French one staring back at ‘em, or its down to a fundamental change in their attitudes towards their bodies – they think they look great and they don’t give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks of them.

If it’s the latter, it’s refreshing – and intellectually I applaud it – but I’ve got to be honest, I’m struggling to actually find it attractive. I try to find it attractive - and I honestly don't turn my nose up at them for being that size and shape - but the thought of joining their ranks and letting it all hang out simply horrifies me!

I’m old school, you see. I’ve spent a lifetime covering up my batwing arms and my chunky calves, wearing marquee-dimension Tshirts that reach to mid-thigh, avoiding anything clingy or figure-hugging. I find it shocking that women with figures like mine have started to hit the beaches in thong bikinis, and to sashay down the street on an average Friday night wearing clobber that wouldn’t look out of place in a Rocky Horror audience. Fat girls aren’t supposed to show cleavage! Fat girls aren’t supposed to go clubbing in a basque, fishnet stockings and velvet cheek-skimmer hot-pants (like I saw a big gal wearing at the weekend!). Us fat girls are supposed to be discreet, understated and inconspicuous - aren’t we?!?!

The fact that fat girls in their droves are challenging this self-loathing world-view has turned all my preconceptions on their head, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. I’m still Little-Miss-Inhibited, and it doesn’t seem to matter how many leg-of-mutton upper arms or Michelin-man waistlines I see, for me personally nothing would persuade me to strip off and throw caution to the winds. I guess forty years of discomfort with flashing my fat in public can’t be easily cast aside.

But there appears to be a whole generation of young women who don’t have the same embarrassment about their girth as I do, and they’re standard bearers for fat acceptance. I think that that must be a good thing. Certainly if it leads to big girls living richer, fuller lives, and throwing themselves unashamedly into physical activities with gusto and enthusiasm (sports, sex, dancing etc.) instead of standing on the sidelines like shy wallflowers  - and thus ensuring that they’re not only fat but also happy and healthy - it’s definitely a good thing.

Do I sound as if I've convinced myself...?