While I was going about my business today (that business being wasting time on Facebook), I came across an article on Mic about Kate Hopkins, a British celebrity who apparently decided that she would prove that it's not possible to be fat and happy by gaining fifty pounds and being unhappy.
No, seriously.
Hopkins, who's tweeted such memorable phrases as "Fat shaming isn't a thing. There is just being fat - and someone letting you know.", apparently decided to try this "experiment" after being called out on her behavior during an appearance on the Late Late Show. She gained (and is now working on losing) 50 pounds, decided she didn't like being fat, and declared the case closed.
I almost don't know where to begin.
First off, she hasn't been a fat person. She's been a thin person who put on some weight to prove a point. To understand what life is like as a fat person, and to actually come to terms with her body, she would need to live in that skin for a hell of a lot longer. Further, she'd need to live in a body whose metabolism was fighting losing weight every step of the way. Being fat and happy isn't a cop-out, it's an epiphany; a realization that you don't have to wait to be thin before you can live your life in a joyous, meaningful fashion. It takes most of us years to get there. Her claiming it's impossible after she's briefly been "fat" (by which I mean moderately heavier than she initially was) is like a francophobe visiting Paris for a week and then claiming that no one could possibly be happy living there.
It's also obvious to anyone who's opened a basic science text that an experiment based on the subjective experience of someone who started out with a bias is about as likely to produce valid results as my cat is to start singing Thriller. Hopkins went into this little "experiment" convinced that it was impossible to be fat and happy. Of course her experience matched her expectation. To quote my teenage self, duh.
Finally, and perhaps most importantly, her experiment misses the point. Yes, in a lot of ways being fat is a miserable experience. Most of that misery, however, is not a direct result of your body being bigger; rather it's a result of the discrimination and prejudice you face on a day to day basis.
I don't get to gain some weight to prove a point and then lose it again, regaining my considerable thin privilege as I go. I have to live here. I have to live with people looking at me like I'm disgusting, treating me like I'm stupid, assuming I'm lazy and worthless. When you live with that on a day to day basis, not for a few days, but for all of your life, finding the courage to love your body, to be happy, is a revolutionary act. It's an act of revolt that more and more fat women are embracing. Being happy in my skin, happy in my life, is one of the hardest things I do every day. I don't always succeed. Sometimes the voices all around me telling me how worthless and hideous and useless I am win. On the days that they don't, I am fat and I am happy, and that is the bravest thing I ever am.
Kate Hopkins gained some weight. She may have, for a few days, experienced some fraction of the prejudice that is my day to day life. Instead of letting it teach her about what it's like to struggle with prejudice, she willfully chose to believe that her own bigotry was justified. Of course she didn't experience the radical self-love it takes to be fat and happy; she can't even manage basic empathy.
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
The Perfect Victim
I don't know her story, and won't presume to tell it, but I can say with confidence that she, like most victims of domestic abuse, like most of us, was not a perfect victim.
The perfect victim is a white, cisgender, straight woman. She's smaller than her abuser, who is a man. She never says anything cruel or unfair that might "provoke" him. She's supportive and loving, meek and gentle. Her abuser is violently physical, and she finally leaves when he hurts her so badly that it opens her eyes. She has to protect her children. Or maybe just herself; that might be okay.
She certainly never, ever hits back.
She is as rare as a unicorn, and the rest of us, we imperfect victims, are deemed unworthy of compassion and support by comparison.
 |
| My brother and I saying goodbye before freshman orientation at Hopkins. I'm on the right. |
When I met my ex, I was a fat, shy, bisexual nineteen year old, a sophomore at Johns Hopkins University. Although I'd had a short, torrid fling with my roommate at boarding school, I hadn't dated a boy since the brief period when I was thirteen and the size of my newly formed breasts was enough to distract from the size of the rest of me. I was many of the bad stereotypes about young girls of a certain size; lonely, desperate for affection, a bit boy crazy. I smoked hand rolled cigarettes, wrote a lot of poetry, and had a long string of crushes, none of which I really expected to pan out. Already, I wasn't a perfect victim.
Max was a short, skinny guy who still wore clothing off the boy's rack. He was maybe an inch taller than I was barefoot, and about a hundred pounds lighter. He wasn't really my type, but he was fairly nice to me, and his friend Mic* was dating my friend Zoe*. We hung out together constantly, and I was more than ready to fall in love.
(*names changed out of respect for privacy)
There were warning signs from the first. He was willing to "mess around" with me, and we spent all our time together, but he wouldn't call it dating. He slept with someone else when he went away for Christmas break (I rationalized that it was okay because we weren't "really" dating.) When he came back, Zoe, Mic and I were moving into a new rental house. He came in to help and got so mad at me for a joke I made about not wanting to move more stuff that he didn't speak to me for a week. Those should have been red flags, but I was horribly lonely, and the attention he paid me the rest of the time made it easy to dismiss those things as aberrations.
At one point, he went away for a week and I didn't call him once. I hung out with my friend Samir*, who was actually nice to me. I did other things. I felt like myself, and like maybe I could be okay without him. That's when he finally said he loved me. At the time, I thought it was because he missed me; now I think he felt me slipping away.
I might very well have slipped away eventually, if my father hadn't died that spring. It was sudden; a heart attack. He was there one minute, gone the next.
To understand what that meant to me, you have to understand that my father was the parent I lived with. While I loved my mother, I also fiercely resented her. She was a strong, successful, capable woman, driven and focused, compulsively neat. I was a disorganized, creative, fractured girl who had a great deal of trouble with focus and despised the tedious work involved in neatness. I was loud and passionate, while she was reserved and found displays of emotion uncomfortable. We got on like oil and water, so when I was fourteen I went to live with my dad, who despite his faults (many of which I share), was a very good parent for me. Losing him was losing my home, my sense of place in the world, the only safe place I had to go back to.
When my father died, I was already struggling. I was taking a mandatory semester off from school because I'd spent the semester before everywhere but in class. I couldn't find a job, and felt that I was failing my friends. Max, for all his issues, was the only bright spot in my life, and he was graduating. When I found out he was moving to Hawaii to work with his uncle (a pediatrician) and try to get into med school, I decided to go with him. It was by far the worst mistake I've ever made.
What followed was a slow transition from behavior that was simply occasionally dismissive or erratic into outright abuse. What had seemed like a fondness for binge drinking (a standard social activity in our crowd) became, when it was just the two of us, more and more obviously a drinking problem. He was a mean drunk, and sometimes a violent one. At first, he just threatened to hit, balling up a fist, even pulling back his arm, but not striking. I told myself he wasn't actually violent. I told myself that I was bigger than he was, so he couldn't actually hurt me anyway, so it wasn't abusive. I wasn't a perfect victim.
Later, when we were living in New Jersey, Max did hit me, over and over again. He bit me, leaving tooth shaped bruises on my breasts. Those were the only marks he left on me; he was too weak to actually bruise me with his fists. I told myself again, he can't hurt me, so its not abuse. When he tried to rape me one night in the middle of a particularly bitter argument, I told myself it didn't matter because he didn't succeed. Meanwhile, he was telling me I was worthless, that no one else would want me. He was encouraging me to gain weight because he got off on the control, and on the idea that my size kept me with him. He sabotaged my diets. Much later, he threatened to leave me when I considered surgery.
At one point I almost left him, but I had nowhere safe to go, not for more than a few days. I went back. My friends thought what he did was wrong, but also that I was "difficult", that I should be easier to live with. I wasn't meek or submissive. I argued with him. I didn't let him win. I wasn't a perfect victim.
We had a restaurant in New Jersey that we went to regularly. We'd have a nice dinner, Max would get drunk on Guinness, and he'd drive home (I wasn't allowed to drive our only car). On the way home, he often turned violent. We'd argue, and he'd hit me. He knew he could hit me in the car; when he hit me elsewhere, I could sometimes catch his arm and (as gently as possible) stop him. In the car, if I caught his arm, he couldn't drive. He had free reign, and he made use of it. One night in particular, he was doing this after threatening to crash the car and end it all for both of us. I was terrified and panicked and angry. I was angry. Perfect victims don't get angry. I wasn't a perfect victim.
When we got home, he hit me again and I lost control. I hit him back, again and again. I hit him hard against a banister. I could have really hurt him. While I hit him, I said over and over "You're never going to hit me again".
There are very few things I've done in my life that I'm more ashamed of than that. What I'm more ashamed of yet, is that there is some part of me that's still there, still angry, still pounding at him, trying to get him to stop hurting me, and that part of me just wants to keep going until he can't hurt me ever again. Violence is not a solution to violence. I know that, but I didn't that night. That night, the years of torment, of physical harm, and emotional abuse, pushed me to the breaking point, and I made a very, very bad choice.
I'm not a perfect victim.
Despite all this, or perhaps because of it, I believed Max when he said no one else would ever want me. I believed that this was what love looked like. After seven years of abuse, I still agreed to marry him. I didn't leave then, nor for another five years after. When I did leave, it was because I realized I'd be happier without him, not because of some violent incident that finally let me see the light. It took me several more years to come to terms with what he'd done to me, to admit and understand the full scope of the abuse, in part because I wasn't the perfect victim.
The perfect victim never hits back. The perfect victim says "no" and struggles. The perfect victim is flawless and blameless, and has never done anything that can be used against her in the court of public opinion.
I am not a perfect victim, but I am a victim. The fact that I did something very wrong once in my relationship with Max does not negate the years of violence and abuse that occurred before and after that incident. The fact that I was larger than him did not prevent him from hurting me, from hitting me, from threatening me with a knife, or using my body without my consent, or likening me to a barnyard animal. The fact that I called him out on his behavior and demanded change did not justify the names he called me, the gaslighting, the insults to my intelligence, my integrity, by body, and my spirit.
There are women in prison because of this, because they weren't perfect victims, because they killed their abuser rather than let him kill them. We don't have great statistics, but the numbers we do have, as referenced here by Victoria Law of BitchMedia are staggering; in CA, 93% of women in jail for killing their partner were abused by him first. In NY, the number is 67%. Of these women, most sought help in the system repeatedly before defending themselves when the law wouldn't. I have to wonder how many of these women were arrested, tried, and convicted because they weren't perfect victims?
Requiring victims to be perfect is a way of assuring that we won't be believed, that our abusers won't be prosecuted, that we will be deemed unworthy of the law's protection and the empathy of those around us. After all, how many of us truly fit the bill? It's easy to claim that we were combative, or that the abuse didn't leave enough marks, so it doesn't count; people can say that we hit back once so we're the same as our abuser, or that we're crazy so we obviously imagined the whole thing. Discounting abuse is simple, as long as the victim needs to stay high up on a pedestal to be believed.
We are none of us perfect, victims included. If we demand perfection of victims, what we're really doing is giving leave to abusers to abuse, and refusing care and protection to those who need it most.
To understand what that meant to me, you have to understand that my father was the parent I lived with. While I loved my mother, I also fiercely resented her. She was a strong, successful, capable woman, driven and focused, compulsively neat. I was a disorganized, creative, fractured girl who had a great deal of trouble with focus and despised the tedious work involved in neatness. I was loud and passionate, while she was reserved and found displays of emotion uncomfortable. We got on like oil and water, so when I was fourteen I went to live with my dad, who despite his faults (many of which I share), was a very good parent for me. Losing him was losing my home, my sense of place in the world, the only safe place I had to go back to.
When my father died, I was already struggling. I was taking a mandatory semester off from school because I'd spent the semester before everywhere but in class. I couldn't find a job, and felt that I was failing my friends. Max, for all his issues, was the only bright spot in my life, and he was graduating. When I found out he was moving to Hawaii to work with his uncle (a pediatrician) and try to get into med school, I decided to go with him. It was by far the worst mistake I've ever made.
What followed was a slow transition from behavior that was simply occasionally dismissive or erratic into outright abuse. What had seemed like a fondness for binge drinking (a standard social activity in our crowd) became, when it was just the two of us, more and more obviously a drinking problem. He was a mean drunk, and sometimes a violent one. At first, he just threatened to hit, balling up a fist, even pulling back his arm, but not striking. I told myself he wasn't actually violent. I told myself that I was bigger than he was, so he couldn't actually hurt me anyway, so it wasn't abusive. I wasn't a perfect victim.
Later, when we were living in New Jersey, Max did hit me, over and over again. He bit me, leaving tooth shaped bruises on my breasts. Those were the only marks he left on me; he was too weak to actually bruise me with his fists. I told myself again, he can't hurt me, so its not abuse. When he tried to rape me one night in the middle of a particularly bitter argument, I told myself it didn't matter because he didn't succeed. Meanwhile, he was telling me I was worthless, that no one else would want me. He was encouraging me to gain weight because he got off on the control, and on the idea that my size kept me with him. He sabotaged my diets. Much later, he threatened to leave me when I considered surgery.
At one point I almost left him, but I had nowhere safe to go, not for more than a few days. I went back. My friends thought what he did was wrong, but also that I was "difficult", that I should be easier to live with. I wasn't meek or submissive. I argued with him. I didn't let him win. I wasn't a perfect victim.
We had a restaurant in New Jersey that we went to regularly. We'd have a nice dinner, Max would get drunk on Guinness, and he'd drive home (I wasn't allowed to drive our only car). On the way home, he often turned violent. We'd argue, and he'd hit me. He knew he could hit me in the car; when he hit me elsewhere, I could sometimes catch his arm and (as gently as possible) stop him. In the car, if I caught his arm, he couldn't drive. He had free reign, and he made use of it. One night in particular, he was doing this after threatening to crash the car and end it all for both of us. I was terrified and panicked and angry. I was angry. Perfect victims don't get angry. I wasn't a perfect victim.
When we got home, he hit me again and I lost control. I hit him back, again and again. I hit him hard against a banister. I could have really hurt him. While I hit him, I said over and over "You're never going to hit me again".
There are very few things I've done in my life that I'm more ashamed of than that. What I'm more ashamed of yet, is that there is some part of me that's still there, still angry, still pounding at him, trying to get him to stop hurting me, and that part of me just wants to keep going until he can't hurt me ever again. Violence is not a solution to violence. I know that, but I didn't that night. That night, the years of torment, of physical harm, and emotional abuse, pushed me to the breaking point, and I made a very, very bad choice.
I'm not a perfect victim.
Despite all this, or perhaps because of it, I believed Max when he said no one else would ever want me. I believed that this was what love looked like. After seven years of abuse, I still agreed to marry him. I didn't leave then, nor for another five years after. When I did leave, it was because I realized I'd be happier without him, not because of some violent incident that finally let me see the light. It took me several more years to come to terms with what he'd done to me, to admit and understand the full scope of the abuse, in part because I wasn't the perfect victim.
The perfect victim never hits back. The perfect victim says "no" and struggles. The perfect victim is flawless and blameless, and has never done anything that can be used against her in the court of public opinion.
I am not a perfect victim, but I am a victim. The fact that I did something very wrong once in my relationship with Max does not negate the years of violence and abuse that occurred before and after that incident. The fact that I was larger than him did not prevent him from hurting me, from hitting me, from threatening me with a knife, or using my body without my consent, or likening me to a barnyard animal. The fact that I called him out on his behavior and demanded change did not justify the names he called me, the gaslighting, the insults to my intelligence, my integrity, by body, and my spirit.
There are women in prison because of this, because they weren't perfect victims, because they killed their abuser rather than let him kill them. We don't have great statistics, but the numbers we do have, as referenced here by Victoria Law of BitchMedia are staggering; in CA, 93% of women in jail for killing their partner were abused by him first. In NY, the number is 67%. Of these women, most sought help in the system repeatedly before defending themselves when the law wouldn't. I have to wonder how many of these women were arrested, tried, and convicted because they weren't perfect victims?
Requiring victims to be perfect is a way of assuring that we won't be believed, that our abusers won't be prosecuted, that we will be deemed unworthy of the law's protection and the empathy of those around us. After all, how many of us truly fit the bill? It's easy to claim that we were combative, or that the abuse didn't leave enough marks, so it doesn't count; people can say that we hit back once so we're the same as our abuser, or that we're crazy so we obviously imagined the whole thing. Discounting abuse is simple, as long as the victim needs to stay high up on a pedestal to be believed.
We are none of us perfect, victims included. If we demand perfection of victims, what we're really doing is giving leave to abusers to abuse, and refusing care and protection to those who need it most.
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Bad Medicine
"Do you have an endocrine problem, or do you just have an enormous appetite?"
I'm at the doctor's office. I hate new doctors for just this reason.
I'm seeing a nurse practitioner; they apparently didn't have a doctor free or something, although I made an appointment to see a doctor. Not that it matters.
She's already talked with me about my medication. She knows I have a serious thyroid issue. Knows how high the dosage is. She knows I'm also treated for depression, anxiety, PTSD.
"Do you just have an enormous appetite". Fuck you. You know better; it's on the damn chart.
"No" I say, "and most people don't get my size that way".
I'm almost in tears, and the fury is streaming off of me like steam or sweat.
She backs off a little bit, though not much. We were talking about gastric bypass. I'm not opposed to the idea, but I hate the fact that most people support it as a knee-jerk, want me to do it so they can be more comfortable, so they don't have to look at me. It makes it hard for me to be okay with losing weight for health, as much as I want to. I hate making bigots feel better. Even more, I hate the part of me that hates my fat body because I've seen the same bigoted crap about fat people they have. It hurts.
I don't really listen to her next few sentences. She can feel my rage, and she's not comfortable with it. She's sitting back slightly, is winding up the conversation, when she says something about all the harm that my weight has done to my body.
I say "You know what? For all the harm that's done, I've been harmed much more by the way people treat me because I'm fat. That's why I'm fighting to change it."
She says "Oh no, don't do that. Just work on yourself".
I'm at the doctor's office. I hate new doctors for just this reason.
I'm seeing a nurse practitioner; they apparently didn't have a doctor free or something, although I made an appointment to see a doctor. Not that it matters.
She's already talked with me about my medication. She knows I have a serious thyroid issue. Knows how high the dosage is. She knows I'm also treated for depression, anxiety, PTSD.
"Do you just have an enormous appetite". Fuck you. You know better; it's on the damn chart.
"No" I say, "and most people don't get my size that way".
I'm almost in tears, and the fury is streaming off of me like steam or sweat.
She backs off a little bit, though not much. We were talking about gastric bypass. I'm not opposed to the idea, but I hate the fact that most people support it as a knee-jerk, want me to do it so they can be more comfortable, so they don't have to look at me. It makes it hard for me to be okay with losing weight for health, as much as I want to. I hate making bigots feel better. Even more, I hate the part of me that hates my fat body because I've seen the same bigoted crap about fat people they have. It hurts.
I don't really listen to her next few sentences. She can feel my rage, and she's not comfortable with it. She's sitting back slightly, is winding up the conversation, when she says something about all the harm that my weight has done to my body.
I say "You know what? For all the harm that's done, I've been harmed much more by the way people treat me because I'm fat. That's why I'm fighting to change it."
She says "Oh no, don't do that. Just work on yourself".
Work on yourself.
"Do you work on yourself when someone treats you like you're stupid or useless or worthless because of how you look?" She blanches a bit; she's Asian, and she's no doubt gotten something like that.
"Their bigotry is the problem. Oh, I'll work on myself too, don't get me wrong, but I'm going to work on them. They need to change."
She doesn't have anything to say to that really, not that I process. I leave without the simple blood test I came for.
"Do you work on yourself when someone treats you like you're stupid or useless or worthless because of how you look?" She blanches a bit; she's Asian, and she's no doubt gotten something like that.
"Their bigotry is the problem. Oh, I'll work on myself too, don't get me wrong, but I'm going to work on them. They need to change."
She doesn't have anything to say to that really, not that I process. I leave without the simple blood test I came for.
I don't start crying until I'm in the waiting room, quiet tears, the kind that stream down a bit at a time. My best friend is there, waiting for her appointment. She goes in, and I have a panic attack while I wait for her. Someone offers me a tissue. Not everyone is awful. I hold on to that as best I can.
Just work on yourself.
Because she thinks my body is what's wrong. Because she thinks people have a right to treat me like crap as long as I'm fat, and that the reasonable solution is to try to make me thin. Like I'd never tried that in my fucking thirty-seven years. Like my body is the problem, and not their prejudice.
I manage to keep the tears somewhat tamped down until I get to the car; then the crying is hysterical, helpless. My friend understands. He gives me a hug, listens, watches True Blood with me. When he gets home, my fiance understands. He holds me for a long time. We order in; I'm not up to making dinner.
Just work on yourself.
Because she thinks my body is what's wrong. Because she thinks people have a right to treat me like crap as long as I'm fat, and that the reasonable solution is to try to make me thin. Like I'd never tried that in my fucking thirty-seven years. Like my body is the problem, and not their prejudice.
I manage to keep the tears somewhat tamped down until I get to the car; then the crying is hysterical, helpless. My friend understands. He gives me a hug, listens, watches True Blood with me. When he gets home, my fiance understands. He holds me for a long time. We order in; I'm not up to making dinner.
It helps until it's time to sleep, and then my head runs around in circles, hurt, angry, helpless. Another panic attack. Not the last.
I have to find a new doctor..
I have to find a new doctor..
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
Guest Post: 10 Reasons Women Might Not Say No
[Note from Abi: This post was written by The Editor at The Daily Libertine, and is being reblogged with permission. Here is the direct link: http://dailylibertine.com/wordpress/blog/2014/04/09/10-reasons-women-might-not-say-no/ While it applies to women (and people) in general, I think it is a particularly important read for women of size.]
I’m going to use feminine pronouns in this writing, but you should be aware that men, genderqueer folk, and transpersons are also vulnerable to these reasons, sometimes even more so. A lot of these can apply to cis-men too, but I think they apply more often to women, so pardon my pronouns. I’ll try not to trip over myself.
I almost lost my shit last night on someone I am very fond of because he started a sentence with: “I mean, if someone in a public space is yelling NO, then. . .”
I don’t actually know how he was going to end that sentence, but it triggered me anyway and I ended the conversation before I got angry.
This sort of thing frightens men a lot, and they are deeply resistant to the idea that they can rape someone without actually knowing they are doing it. It’s a very scary thought. It seems unfair. But it is a thing that can and does happen. Frequently, rape doesn’t look the way we think it should, with a woman struggling and shouting no and some horrible monster ignoring her refusals and struggles. It’s a lot more subtle than that. Sometimes women never say no at all. Sometimes they have sex with you with grudging consent, which doesn’t quite meet the bar for full consent and in unlucky circumstances can fall beneath the minimal standards necessary for actual consent. Not all of these situations are rape, but some of them are. In most cases, the accounts of such situations are going to vary drastically based on the perspectives of the people involved. It’s entirely possible for a man to say “I’m not a rapist!” and a woman to say “He raped me!” and both of those people to be telling the entire truth as they understand it. This shit is heart-breaking and complicated. You owe it to yourself to understand it better and stop thinking that rape is only rape if it’s forced through a No.
So, without further ado, here are 10 reasons people might not say no to sex they don’t actually want, and how to make sure you’re really getting true consent in each of these situations.
———————————————————–
1) They feel obligated to have sex with you
Maybe she’s been teasing you all night and is afraid of being accused of just being a tease, or maybe you’ve been courting her like a BOSS for a few weeks and it just seems like the next step. Just like our society teaches men that if they complete the proper steps they will win the girl at the end, it teaches women that we are prizes to be won and that men deserve us if they properly complete these steps. This is pretty fucked up, but sometimes women feel like they should reward you with sex when you press for it so you will continue treating them well. (Because we have also been taught, often through bad experience, that men who are sexually rejected treat us badly. See #2.) Most women who end up having sex they don’t want for this reason don’t feel raped. They usually just feel sort of tired and relieved. But this is still not good sex, and it’s not really sex the women want. It’s a transactional token, and things can get really bad really fast if you, as a man, learn to expect this kind of transaction for the simple act of treating women well.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: Talk about nice things you are going to do for her in the future whether or not sex is had. Explicitly say you are still interested in her and still want her even if sex is not forthcoming in the near future. Maybe this seems less spontaneous and romantic, but if you make a sexual move and her response is “Sure, okay” instead of “OH HELL YES!” you might want to clarify. “Sure, okay” is code for “well, you want this and I feel like I should give it to you for some reason.” What you actually want isEnthusiastic Consent. Aim for that.
Maybe she’s been teasing you all night and is afraid of being accused of just being a tease, or maybe you’ve been courting her like a BOSS for a few weeks and it just seems like the next step. Just like our society teaches men that if they complete the proper steps they will win the girl at the end, it teaches women that we are prizes to be won and that men deserve us if they properly complete these steps. This is pretty fucked up, but sometimes women feel like they should reward you with sex when you press for it so you will continue treating them well. (Because we have also been taught, often through bad experience, that men who are sexually rejected treat us badly. See #2.) Most women who end up having sex they don’t want for this reason don’t feel raped. They usually just feel sort of tired and relieved. But this is still not good sex, and it’s not really sex the women want. It’s a transactional token, and things can get really bad really fast if you, as a man, learn to expect this kind of transaction for the simple act of treating women well.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: Talk about nice things you are going to do for her in the future whether or not sex is had. Explicitly say you are still interested in her and still want her even if sex is not forthcoming in the near future. Maybe this seems less spontaneous and romantic, but if you make a sexual move and her response is “Sure, okay” instead of “OH HELL YES!” you might want to clarify. “Sure, okay” is code for “well, you want this and I feel like I should give it to you for some reason.” What you actually want isEnthusiastic Consent. Aim for that.
2) They are afraid of being treated badly if they reject you
Men in our society do not generally react well to rejection. If you don’t believe me, ask a female friend of yours to show you her okcupid or fetlife or other dating site messages. Even otherwise good men, when their sexual advances are denied, will grump about it or emotionally punish women for rejecting them. Less good men punish women more extremely via emotional manipulation, while others might punish them physically. Sometimes, even in an established sexual relationship, a woman may not want to deal with your grumping, or she might be in a sensitive emotional state for some reason and can’t handle pissing you off even a little bit. So she will have sex with you even if she doesn’t really want to, because she’d rather you be happy with her than upset with her.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: First, learn not to be a grump when you are rejected. I know this is hard because there is some biological stuff that is in play, but just take five minutes after your partner rejects you to re-establish nonsexual intimacy. Snuggle. Kiss her and say that you love her. Pet her hair. Chat with her about something. Do something to show that you are still happy with her even though sex is not being had. Then you can excuse yourself and go take care of your arousal on your own. Or if you have that kind of relationship, you can take care of it in her presence. That’s usually cool. Anything to show her that you don’t consider your sexual gratification her responsibility. It’s all too easy to train your partner to the opposite and never even know you’re doing it. I know. It’s not fair. We live in a fucked up society, man. When it comes to new partners, some of them may have already been trained by other men, so once again, you are looking for Enthusiastic Consent, the difference between “Well, okay, sure” and “HELL YES I WANT ALL THE SEX.”
Men in our society do not generally react well to rejection. If you don’t believe me, ask a female friend of yours to show you her okcupid or fetlife or other dating site messages. Even otherwise good men, when their sexual advances are denied, will grump about it or emotionally punish women for rejecting them. Less good men punish women more extremely via emotional manipulation, while others might punish them physically. Sometimes, even in an established sexual relationship, a woman may not want to deal with your grumping, or she might be in a sensitive emotional state for some reason and can’t handle pissing you off even a little bit. So she will have sex with you even if she doesn’t really want to, because she’d rather you be happy with her than upset with her.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: First, learn not to be a grump when you are rejected. I know this is hard because there is some biological stuff that is in play, but just take five minutes after your partner rejects you to re-establish nonsexual intimacy. Snuggle. Kiss her and say that you love her. Pet her hair. Chat with her about something. Do something to show that you are still happy with her even though sex is not being had. Then you can excuse yourself and go take care of your arousal on your own. Or if you have that kind of relationship, you can take care of it in her presence. That’s usually cool. Anything to show her that you don’t consider your sexual gratification her responsibility. It’s all too easy to train your partner to the opposite and never even know you’re doing it. I know. It’s not fair. We live in a fucked up society, man. When it comes to new partners, some of them may have already been trained by other men, so once again, you are looking for Enthusiastic Consent, the difference between “Well, okay, sure” and “HELL YES I WANT ALL THE SEX.”
3) They are afraid to say no
This one is for those of you who think it’s impossible to rape someone in a public space like a kink event or a sex club. If a relationship is already abusive, a woman may know very well that she is going to get hurt or punished if she says no, or even if she just lays there like a wet noodle and lets it happen. If she doesn’t participate, she puts the lie to the man’s need to believe that she wants it, and abusive men get angry when you point out to them, either implicitly or explicitly, that you do not want them. That sex is going to look consensual to an outsider. A friend pointed out to me that economic abuse plays a role here too, which I should know very well. My ex husband used to say to me things like “Why should I care about your needs when you don’t care about mine?” Where my needs were help with the kids and paying off the credit card full of medical bills, and his were sex from me. If I didn’t have sex with him, he would give me the silent treatment and not help with anything for a few days, which was especially terrible because I was ill and needed care. So obviously sometimes it just wasn’t worth it for me to piss him off by refusing all the time, because I paid for it dearly every time I did. (And I also said no a lot, but there were times when I just couldn’t deal so I gave in.)
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT:Well, obviously, don’t punish women for not having sex with you. You probably don’t because you aren’t that kind of asshole. But also, don’t assume that just because sex looks consensual that necessarily means that it is. Don’t assume that if a woman looks like she is enjoying it, or if she orgasms, that that sex is consensual. There may be other things going on, and it becomes especially hard to tell the difference when you mix in a D/s relationship.
This one is for those of you who think it’s impossible to rape someone in a public space like a kink event or a sex club. If a relationship is already abusive, a woman may know very well that she is going to get hurt or punished if she says no, or even if she just lays there like a wet noodle and lets it happen. If she doesn’t participate, she puts the lie to the man’s need to believe that she wants it, and abusive men get angry when you point out to them, either implicitly or explicitly, that you do not want them. That sex is going to look consensual to an outsider. A friend pointed out to me that economic abuse plays a role here too, which I should know very well. My ex husband used to say to me things like “Why should I care about your needs when you don’t care about mine?” Where my needs were help with the kids and paying off the credit card full of medical bills, and his were sex from me. If I didn’t have sex with him, he would give me the silent treatment and not help with anything for a few days, which was especially terrible because I was ill and needed care. So obviously sometimes it just wasn’t worth it for me to piss him off by refusing all the time, because I paid for it dearly every time I did. (And I also said no a lot, but there were times when I just couldn’t deal so I gave in.)
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT:Well, obviously, don’t punish women for not having sex with you. You probably don’t because you aren’t that kind of asshole. But also, don’t assume that just because sex looks consensual that necessarily means that it is. Don’t assume that if a woman looks like she is enjoying it, or if she orgasms, that that sex is consensual. There may be other things going on, and it becomes especially hard to tell the difference when you mix in a D/s relationship.
4) They are drunk
You already know this one. It’s probably okay to have sex with an established partner when you’ve both been drinking and have already discussed that this sort of thing is okay, but you should never have sex with someone new if they are drunk. Drunk means they cannot truly consent.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: Have a nice cuddle and maybe a snog if you feel like living dangerously and are bothEnthusastically Consenting, and wait until you are both sober to have sex. DUH. Be careful about that snog though. Being drunk isn’t a good excuse for sexual assault either.
You already know this one. It’s probably okay to have sex with an established partner when you’ve both been drinking and have already discussed that this sort of thing is okay, but you should never have sex with someone new if they are drunk. Drunk means they cannot truly consent.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: Have a nice cuddle and maybe a snog if you feel like living dangerously and are bothEnthusastically Consenting, and wait until you are both sober to have sex. DUH. Be careful about that snog though. Being drunk isn’t a good excuse for sexual assault either.
5) They are in another kind of compromised mental space that makes them unable to truly consent
This includes subspace, ropespace, and at times, heavy emotional states such as grief. A woman in subspace or ropespace will often gladly consent to sex she didn’t want before the scene, and will realize when she comes out of the space that she didn’t actually want it then either. Un-negotiated penetration happened to me once in a rope scene and while it was fine at the time, I was very upset about it when I came back to myself. (Don’t worry, my vanilla friends. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, either hit the Google or skip this one.)
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: DON’T RENEGOTIATE IN THE MIDDLE OF A SCENE. I swear, I get so pissed off every time I hear about a Dominant or a Top doing this. Once the scene has started, your sub/bottom is in no condition to negotiate or consent. Negotiate sex before the scene starts. If sex is not negotiated, don’t try to get consent mid-scene. Also, keep in mind that just because aftercare is over that doesn’t mean your sub/bottom is completely out of subspace. They’re probably still feeling pretty subservient to you. If sex wasn’t negotiated in advance, DON’T HAVE SEX. Also, keep in mind that this is another kind of rape that looks consensual to someone watching it in a club. You don’t actually know if sex in subspace has been negotiated before the scene. It might not have been. It’s a scary thought, but you may have already seen a woman being raped and just assumed it was part of a totally consensual scene. I’d also go so far as to recommend not having unnegotiated sex with a new partner even post-aftercare. Bottoms and submissives are still in a compromised mental state at this time.
This includes subspace, ropespace, and at times, heavy emotional states such as grief. A woman in subspace or ropespace will often gladly consent to sex she didn’t want before the scene, and will realize when she comes out of the space that she didn’t actually want it then either. Un-negotiated penetration happened to me once in a rope scene and while it was fine at the time, I was very upset about it when I came back to myself. (Don’t worry, my vanilla friends. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, either hit the Google or skip this one.)
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: DON’T RENEGOTIATE IN THE MIDDLE OF A SCENE. I swear, I get so pissed off every time I hear about a Dominant or a Top doing this. Once the scene has started, your sub/bottom is in no condition to negotiate or consent. Negotiate sex before the scene starts. If sex is not negotiated, don’t try to get consent mid-scene. Also, keep in mind that just because aftercare is over that doesn’t mean your sub/bottom is completely out of subspace. They’re probably still feeling pretty subservient to you. If sex wasn’t negotiated in advance, DON’T HAVE SEX. Also, keep in mind that this is another kind of rape that looks consensual to someone watching it in a club. You don’t actually know if sex in subspace has been negotiated before the scene. It might not have been. It’s a scary thought, but you may have already seen a woman being raped and just assumed it was part of a totally consensual scene. I’d also go so far as to recommend not having unnegotiated sex with a new partner even post-aftercare. Bottoms and submissives are still in a compromised mental state at this time.
6) They freeze or are too shocked to react
We all want to think we’re secretly ninja action heroes ready to spring into action when the shit hits the fan, but sometimes in an overwhelming emotional situation we actually freeze. Sometimes it takes too long for your brain to catch up to the fact that this horrible thing is actually happening to you, and by the time it does you’ve allowed it to happen for so long that your claim for wanting it to stop seems less valid. Many women who are raped report something like this when they are asked why they didn’t scream or fight back. Also, many women report realizing that the fastest and safest way to make it stop is to give the person raping them an orgasm as quickly as possible so they will stop raping them.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: Remember that submission does not equal consent. This is another great time to get up on myEnthusastic Consent soapbox again. If your sexual partner is non-verbal, that’s a pretty good clue they aren’t consenting. (Unless they are in subspace and sex was pre-negotiated before hand. Then have at it.) In the latter case, it can still look very much like consensual sex, because how can it be rape if her tongue is down his throat and her finger is in his ass wiggling like mad? But it can be.
We all want to think we’re secretly ninja action heroes ready to spring into action when the shit hits the fan, but sometimes in an overwhelming emotional situation we actually freeze. Sometimes it takes too long for your brain to catch up to the fact that this horrible thing is actually happening to you, and by the time it does you’ve allowed it to happen for so long that your claim for wanting it to stop seems less valid. Many women who are raped report something like this when they are asked why they didn’t scream or fight back. Also, many women report realizing that the fastest and safest way to make it stop is to give the person raping them an orgasm as quickly as possible so they will stop raping them.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: Remember that submission does not equal consent. This is another great time to get up on myEnthusastic Consent soapbox again. If your sexual partner is non-verbal, that’s a pretty good clue they aren’t consenting. (Unless they are in subspace and sex was pre-negotiated before hand. Then have at it.) In the latter case, it can still look very much like consensual sex, because how can it be rape if her tongue is down his throat and her finger is in his ass wiggling like mad? But it can be.
7) You are insistent, and it’s the easiest way to get you to leave them alone
I asked my feminist friends about things to put on this list, and one of them said “Because it’s a faster way to get to sleep than leaving him to pester you for another half hour?” with a silly tongue emoticon indicating she was joking. But really, is that funny? If it’s easier to have sex with a person than to tell them no, then that person is applying undue pressure for sex. Grudging consent isn’t really consent, and it’s not funny.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: Don’t badger anyone for sex. No means no. Hints that they are doing something else or not really interested mean no. Trying to go to sleep means no. You may think you’re being funny or cheeky, but most women have been in the position where we will have sex with you just to make you stop bothering us about sex. Be really careful about this, dudes.
I asked my feminist friends about things to put on this list, and one of them said “Because it’s a faster way to get to sleep than leaving him to pester you for another half hour?” with a silly tongue emoticon indicating she was joking. But really, is that funny? If it’s easier to have sex with a person than to tell them no, then that person is applying undue pressure for sex. Grudging consent isn’t really consent, and it’s not funny.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: Don’t badger anyone for sex. No means no. Hints that they are doing something else or not really interested mean no. Trying to go to sleep means no. You may think you’re being funny or cheeky, but most women have been in the position where we will have sex with you just to make you stop bothering us about sex. Be really careful about this, dudes.
8) They are in an emotionally abusive relationship and don’t think they can say no
This one in particular I’ve seen happen to a lot of young transpeople, many of whom feel like nobody will ever love them as the person they really are. Obviously this can happen to cis-women too, but I’ve noticed that this kind of predator is a big problem in the Trans community. Another friend pointed out to me that women of size are also very vulnerable to this kind of abuse. Also, disabled people. Anyone that our culture paints as sexually unappealing in the media and at social events. This kind of ingrained cultural shit can do a number on a person’s self esteem. It’s hard for most of us to feel wanted in the best circumstances, can you imagine what it’s like if your entire culture tells you every day that you’re right and nobody wants you? Basically what happens is that a predator finds someone who is insecure and plays on existing insecurities to convince this person that they aren’t worthy of love, but the predator is doing them the great favor of loving them anyway. Nobody else will ever love them because they have all these flaws, which the predator is happy to list. The victim will happily keep having sex with the predator whether they want it or not because it’s very important to them that this emotionally abusive person continue to love them. They never even think about saying no. They think they owe this person for loving them. They are afraid that if they say no this person will withdraw their love (and they may actually punish the victim by doing so periodically). This looks like consent, and for a time it may even feel like consent, but with therapy and healing and distance from the relationship the victim comes to realize that it was nothing resembling true consent.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: Obviously, don’t be emotionally abusive, but those of you reading this probably aren’t. Be aware of your partner’s insecurity levels and your own tendencies toward criticism. You probably aren’t an emotional abuser by accident, but much like some previous examples, it’s possible a previous partner has trained your new partner to these unhealthy behaviors. Continue to keep in mind that just because a relationship looks consensual doesn’t mean that it is. Keep a careful eye on people you think might be in this sort of relationship. Are they being lifted up or put down? Do they talk about how lucky they are that so-and-so would love a horrible person like them? Is their partner taking advantage of their insecurities?
This one in particular I’ve seen happen to a lot of young transpeople, many of whom feel like nobody will ever love them as the person they really are. Obviously this can happen to cis-women too, but I’ve noticed that this kind of predator is a big problem in the Trans community. Another friend pointed out to me that women of size are also very vulnerable to this kind of abuse. Also, disabled people. Anyone that our culture paints as sexually unappealing in the media and at social events. This kind of ingrained cultural shit can do a number on a person’s self esteem. It’s hard for most of us to feel wanted in the best circumstances, can you imagine what it’s like if your entire culture tells you every day that you’re right and nobody wants you? Basically what happens is that a predator finds someone who is insecure and plays on existing insecurities to convince this person that they aren’t worthy of love, but the predator is doing them the great favor of loving them anyway. Nobody else will ever love them because they have all these flaws, which the predator is happy to list. The victim will happily keep having sex with the predator whether they want it or not because it’s very important to them that this emotionally abusive person continue to love them. They never even think about saying no. They think they owe this person for loving them. They are afraid that if they say no this person will withdraw their love (and they may actually punish the victim by doing so periodically). This looks like consent, and for a time it may even feel like consent, but with therapy and healing and distance from the relationship the victim comes to realize that it was nothing resembling true consent.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: Obviously, don’t be emotionally abusive, but those of you reading this probably aren’t. Be aware of your partner’s insecurity levels and your own tendencies toward criticism. You probably aren’t an emotional abuser by accident, but much like some previous examples, it’s possible a previous partner has trained your new partner to these unhealthy behaviors. Continue to keep in mind that just because a relationship looks consensual doesn’t mean that it is. Keep a careful eye on people you think might be in this sort of relationship. Are they being lifted up or put down? Do they talk about how lucky they are that so-and-so would love a horrible person like them? Is their partner taking advantage of their insecurities?
9) They did say no, they just didn’t use the actual word, so you pretended to misunderstand
I present this article in it’s entirety to address this issue.
Also, keep in mind that in many cultures direct refusals are considered the height of rudeness. If you are dating someone whose first language is not English, you need to be extra careful to pay attention to subtle refusals: things like “I don’t want to mess up my clothes” or “it’s too cold in here” or even just an attempt to change the conversational topic away from sex.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: Read that article and think about it. Stop thinking that if a woman doesn’t scream no she hasn’t already said it in half a dozen different ways. Stop blaming women for not communicating “no” clearly because more often than not it’s entirely clear and men just pretend not to hear it. If you are dating someone from another culture, have an explicit conversation about how they are comfortable presenting refusals. It may not be as direct and bold as Americans expect.
I present this article in it’s entirety to address this issue.
Also, keep in mind that in many cultures direct refusals are considered the height of rudeness. If you are dating someone whose first language is not English, you need to be extra careful to pay attention to subtle refusals: things like “I don’t want to mess up my clothes” or “it’s too cold in here” or even just an attempt to change the conversational topic away from sex.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: Read that article and think about it. Stop thinking that if a woman doesn’t scream no she hasn’t already said it in half a dozen different ways. Stop blaming women for not communicating “no” clearly because more often than not it’s entirely clear and men just pretend not to hear it. If you are dating someone from another culture, have an explicit conversation about how they are comfortable presenting refusals. It may not be as direct and bold as Americans expect.
10) They have a mental or physical illness that makes them unable to provide clear consent
I have a friend whose wife has Dissociative Identity Disorder (what most of us call Multiple Personalities). One of her personalities is a pretty fucked up teenager, who one day decided to pretend to be the main personality and seduce her husband. She revealed herself right as he was climaxing. To say this fucked with his head is an understatement, but then he also had to confess to his wife later, when she had truly returned, that he had had sex with her as another one of her personalities, which was a hard limit for their relationship. Fortunately she understood, but of course she felt victimized. So did he. There is no villain here; one could argue both people were raped. That’s a really scary thought, right? For a less extreme example, a clinically depressed person in the throes of depressive apathy may really believe they don’t care at all if someone sticks it in them. Sure. Whatever. They can’t feel anything, so why not? Anyone with a high level of social awkwardness might just be following a relationship script and doing what they think comes next whether they actually want that sex or not. Someone with environmental sensitivity issues may be too overwhelmed by the sensations of sex and intimacy to process them properly. On the physical side, frontal lobe damage (which can occur from things like undiagnosed meningitis and isn’t always as obvious as overt blunt force trauma or a piece of shrapnel through the forehead) can impair a person’s impulse control much like alcohol. A simple partial seizure isn’t always obvious to an outside observer. Syphilis can actually increase libido, because disease is crafty that way and wants to spread itself. There are a million different ways mental or physical illness can affect a person’s ability to consent. Brains are complicated, yo.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: To a certain extent, some of the responsibility for this is on the person with the illness to disclose. If a person with DID has sex with you and does not disclose their illness, and something bad happens, that is definitely not on you because you had no way of knowing. On the other hand, if you’re dating someone with severe depression you probably already know that and should take it into account. Also, realize that no, your magical penis cannot cure them and isn’t going to make them feel better, even if it appears they are slightly more cheery post orgasm because biology is like that. Not everyone needs to disclose a mental or physical illness for a one time sexual encounter, but if you are dating or playing with someone on an ongoing basis it’s a good idea to sit down and have a talk about mental or physical conditions that may impair their ability to play or consent. Ask if they have any. Make sure they know you aren’t going to judge them.
I have a friend whose wife has Dissociative Identity Disorder (what most of us call Multiple Personalities). One of her personalities is a pretty fucked up teenager, who one day decided to pretend to be the main personality and seduce her husband. She revealed herself right as he was climaxing. To say this fucked with his head is an understatement, but then he also had to confess to his wife later, when she had truly returned, that he had had sex with her as another one of her personalities, which was a hard limit for their relationship. Fortunately she understood, but of course she felt victimized. So did he. There is no villain here; one could argue both people were raped. That’s a really scary thought, right? For a less extreme example, a clinically depressed person in the throes of depressive apathy may really believe they don’t care at all if someone sticks it in them. Sure. Whatever. They can’t feel anything, so why not? Anyone with a high level of social awkwardness might just be following a relationship script and doing what they think comes next whether they actually want that sex or not. Someone with environmental sensitivity issues may be too overwhelmed by the sensations of sex and intimacy to process them properly. On the physical side, frontal lobe damage (which can occur from things like undiagnosed meningitis and isn’t always as obvious as overt blunt force trauma or a piece of shrapnel through the forehead) can impair a person’s impulse control much like alcohol. A simple partial seizure isn’t always obvious to an outside observer. Syphilis can actually increase libido, because disease is crafty that way and wants to spread itself. There are a million different ways mental or physical illness can affect a person’s ability to consent. Brains are complicated, yo.
HOW TO ACHIEVE REAL CONSENT: To a certain extent, some of the responsibility for this is on the person with the illness to disclose. If a person with DID has sex with you and does not disclose their illness, and something bad happens, that is definitely not on you because you had no way of knowing. On the other hand, if you’re dating someone with severe depression you probably already know that and should take it into account. Also, realize that no, your magical penis cannot cure them and isn’t going to make them feel better, even if it appears they are slightly more cheery post orgasm because biology is like that. Not everyone needs to disclose a mental or physical illness for a one time sexual encounter, but if you are dating or playing with someone on an ongoing basis it’s a good idea to sit down and have a talk about mental or physical conditions that may impair their ability to play or consent. Ask if they have any. Make sure they know you aren’t going to judge them.
NOW WITH BONUS REASONS!
Friday, August 2, 2013
Fat Princess's Disturbing "Feeder" Resonance
In Anita Sarkeesian's excellent Tropes Vs Women in Video Games series, she discusses different, problematic portrayals of women in video games. The latest episode focused, in particular, on ways in which the princess/damsel motif can be subverted, both in destructive and constructive ways.
One of the games she talked about was Fat Princess, a capture the flag + tower defense game which uses the two team's "princesses" as the flags. That is bad enough for obvious reasons; women aren't objects, and using them as prizes or game balls is inherently misogynistic.
However, that wasn't enough for this gaming company; they wanted to fat shame too, so decided that they'd make the princess fat, and thus undesirable and difficult to carry.
Again, this would be enough for me to hate this game, to think it should be boycotted and possibly burned, to want to personally punch the game designer.
That wasn't enough for them though. To make the game more difficult, they decided that you could make the princess even fatter, and thus harder to carry (think ten little players carrying one huge princess) by feeding her cake.
I hopefully don't have to tell anyone that showing a fat woman indiscriminately eating cake and getting bigger and bigger, and using her body as an obstacle is a grotesque combination of misogyny and fat shaming.
That's not why it gave me the feeling I have just before an anxiety attack, though, the feeling like I have needles under my skin and if I don't run away I'm going to completely lose it.
I had that feeling because I've had a partner who was a feeder.
A feeder is a man who exerts his control over a fat woman by fetishizing her eating, and by pressuring her to eat more and more unhealthy food in the hopes that she grows. Feeders often use coercive levels of pressure to achieve this goal. A feeder may try to convince the woman in question that she'll never find anyone else who will love her body as he does. He may also fetishize her stomach, upper arms, or other generally non-erogenous but adipose heavy tissue. His objectification is particularly pernicious because it isn't accompanied by positive feedback elsewhere; the world thinks fat women are gross and horrible, so it can be hard to recognize that a man who claims to "like your fat" isn't necessarily a loving and supportive partner.
Feeder erotica (and yes, I've read some; my ex had a lot of it) is focused on coercive feeding. In their "erotic" fiction, women are tricked into gaining weight or sometimes literally force fed. Their bodies are objects that the men who fetishize this want to possess and control. Their ultimate fantasy is often to render a woman immobile.
Feeding also can amount to physical and economic abuse. It is difficult for fat women to get jobs, and a woman who is immobilized or nearly so to support her partner's fetish is then completely at his mercy for everyday needs like food, toilet usage, water, shelter, etc.
Feeders would tell you that the women who they feed consent to this, but as a woman who once "consented" to it, I can tell you that such consent is problematical. Consent to feeding often involves elements of coercion (if you won't eat for me you don't love me), gaslighting (why wouldn't you want me to feed you; that's crazy), and other emotional abuse (If I leave you, no one else will ever want you, so you should please me). I would argue that most women who "consent" to be fed are bullied or coerced into it, or are trying to find some way to please an unpleasable partner in an abusive relationship.
That a video game company has decided to use this abusive behavior as a mechanic is disgusting beyond belief. Women die because of this. Women have their lives ruined because of it. Women take years to recover their self esteem, and longer to feel safe in a relationship, confident that they're loved for themselves and not their fat.
Some people will say "well they didn't know", but if the company couldn't manage a basic Google search, that's on them. This game is abhorrent. Not only will I not play it, I really don't want any contact with anyone who will. It's that important to me.
One of the games she talked about was Fat Princess, a capture the flag + tower defense game which uses the two team's "princesses" as the flags. That is bad enough for obvious reasons; women aren't objects, and using them as prizes or game balls is inherently misogynistic.
However, that wasn't enough for this gaming company; they wanted to fat shame too, so decided that they'd make the princess fat, and thus undesirable and difficult to carry.
Again, this would be enough for me to hate this game, to think it should be boycotted and possibly burned, to want to personally punch the game designer.
That wasn't enough for them though. To make the game more difficult, they decided that you could make the princess even fatter, and thus harder to carry (think ten little players carrying one huge princess) by feeding her cake.
I hopefully don't have to tell anyone that showing a fat woman indiscriminately eating cake and getting bigger and bigger, and using her body as an obstacle is a grotesque combination of misogyny and fat shaming.
That's not why it gave me the feeling I have just before an anxiety attack, though, the feeling like I have needles under my skin and if I don't run away I'm going to completely lose it.
I had that feeling because I've had a partner who was a feeder.
A feeder is a man who exerts his control over a fat woman by fetishizing her eating, and by pressuring her to eat more and more unhealthy food in the hopes that she grows. Feeders often use coercive levels of pressure to achieve this goal. A feeder may try to convince the woman in question that she'll never find anyone else who will love her body as he does. He may also fetishize her stomach, upper arms, or other generally non-erogenous but adipose heavy tissue. His objectification is particularly pernicious because it isn't accompanied by positive feedback elsewhere; the world thinks fat women are gross and horrible, so it can be hard to recognize that a man who claims to "like your fat" isn't necessarily a loving and supportive partner.
Feeder erotica (and yes, I've read some; my ex had a lot of it) is focused on coercive feeding. In their "erotic" fiction, women are tricked into gaining weight or sometimes literally force fed. Their bodies are objects that the men who fetishize this want to possess and control. Their ultimate fantasy is often to render a woman immobile.
Feeding also can amount to physical and economic abuse. It is difficult for fat women to get jobs, and a woman who is immobilized or nearly so to support her partner's fetish is then completely at his mercy for everyday needs like food, toilet usage, water, shelter, etc.
Feeders would tell you that the women who they feed consent to this, but as a woman who once "consented" to it, I can tell you that such consent is problematical. Consent to feeding often involves elements of coercion (if you won't eat for me you don't love me), gaslighting (why wouldn't you want me to feed you; that's crazy), and other emotional abuse (If I leave you, no one else will ever want you, so you should please me). I would argue that most women who "consent" to be fed are bullied or coerced into it, or are trying to find some way to please an unpleasable partner in an abusive relationship.
That a video game company has decided to use this abusive behavior as a mechanic is disgusting beyond belief. Women die because of this. Women have their lives ruined because of it. Women take years to recover their self esteem, and longer to feel safe in a relationship, confident that they're loved for themselves and not their fat.
Some people will say "well they didn't know", but if the company couldn't manage a basic Google search, that's on them. This game is abhorrent. Not only will I not play it, I really don't want any contact with anyone who will. It's that important to me.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Yes, Virginia, Fat Shaming IS Prejudice: For Denis and Everyone Else
I was going to write a nice, measured, thoughtful post about weight, privilege and intersectionality today. To use the colloquial, this ain't it.
This one is not going to be nice.
It's not going to be measured or polite.
It's not going to cite studies and logically weigh the value of different points of view.
You've been warned.
Today my brother-in-law posted an article. He posted it with the comment "I know the F word is offensive and there may be better language to get her point across. I also know this is a painful subject. Most importantly I know I don't want to lose people I care about because I was too uncomfortable with the conversation." as his qualifier. This is my response, not just to him, but to all the people out there who feel like they have a right to treat me as different or lesser because of how much I weigh.
.
I've read this article, and ones like it, a thousand fucking times. I suspect my readers have too, although if you feel a need to read this one as well, here you go. Trigger warnings: fat shaming, cherry-picked scientific studies, acclamation of thinness as morally valuable, patronizing health care industry crap, an ill-informed doctor with a heavy dose of confirmation bias.
Its thesis is "Fat people are weak willed creatures who would lose weight if they just ate less junk food, and who are morally inferior to thin people, who are that way because of willpower". It was written by a doctor in the condescending fashion of someone who considers what they're saying to be simple, self-evident truth. Her evidence was mostly anecdotal; as a doctor she'd seen lots of unhealthy fat people. You know, because healthy fat people love going to see doctors, who will inevitably fat shame us and treat us like crap. Where she quoted studies, she failed to mention the portions of them that directly disputed her conclusions.
She spends plenty of time letting us know what a saint she is for being involved with a bariatric clinic, all the while talking about how dirty, sweaty, weak-willed, and dishonest her fat patients are. She then bemoans how terribly miserable all her fat patients are, obviously because they're fat.
Here's the thing: fat people aren't miserable because we're fat. Being fat is inconvenient, uncomfortable, and sometimes awkward, but the size of my body is not the thing that contributes to my depression, that makes me want to kill myself some nights, that makes going out in public an exhausting, demoralizing experience. It's not my body that makes making new friends hard. It's not my body that makes potential employers turn me away. It's not my body that makes people decide at a glance that I am worthless, useless, lazy, stupid, and ugly.
It is not my body.
It is your prejudice.
Yours.
Your prejudice and the prejudice of people like you. People who think they're good people. People who go to bed at night convinced that they make the world a better place. People who are tolerant, giving and kind most of the time.
Your prejudice.
Here's a quote from the article.
Is homesexuality inherently wrong? Ask Aristotle, Susie Orbach, Naomi Wolf. Their answers are different, their
arguments from different places. It is not an empirical question although it reads as one. Today when we look at
those who are straight, part of what we see is a triumph of will over desire, so the beauty is a moral beauty
Oh, by the way, I did you the favor of replacing references to "fat" with references to "homosexuality". Does it still ring true? No? That's hideously bigoted? Gee, you know what, I think so too.
When you look at me and make assumptions about my intelligence, my competence, my kindness or my will based on the size of my waistline, you are being a bigot.
Your prejudice, and that of others like you, is the worst thing I experience every day. It makes my life hell. It is a major factor in why I stayed in an abusive relationship for twelve years. It does me material harm.
You say you are concerned about my health. One of my most damaging health problems is major depression. You know what's the single biggest factor in that? Living in a world where every person I meet treats me like crap until I've proven to them that I'm a "good" fat person, one who is clean and smart and mostly smells okay, and whose fat "isn't really her fault". Even then, they don't want to be too close to me or touch me; after all, it might be contagious.
I have to deal with this any time I leave my home. I see the prejudice in the faces of many of my friends, although they are mostly kind and brave enough to fight it. I hear it in the voices of people I interact with casually, see it in the way people studiously don't look at me on the sidewalk, or the way they stare. When I apply for a job, my biggest concern isn't whether I'm qualified, or able; it's whether some bigoted asshole is going to reject me simply because of my waistline. I don't wonder if I'm going to experience prejudice when I walk out my front door; my only question is how much there will be, and whether it will be blatant enough that I can't ignore it.
My body does not do this, any more than a rape victim's dress causes her rape, a gay child's sexuality causes his suicide, or a black teen's hoodie justifies his murder. My body is not at fault.
Your prejudice is.
Your prejudice makes my life hell and it is going to STOP.
I'm not asking nicely; I've done that. I'm demanding it.
You WILL stop treating me as if I am worthless, stupid, mean, smelly, lazy, ugly, disgusting, weak-willed and valueless.
You WILL stop creating media that portrays me and all women like me this way.
You WILL stop discriminating against me when I apply for a job or walk into a hospital.
You WILL stop ignoring the fact that modern scientific data does not support your views.
You WILL stop telling me that I can't be beautiful, special, sexy or wonderful.
You will stop doing this because I and millions like me are done being "nice". We are done being patient. We are done being quiet. We are done hating ourselves for your benefit. We are done taking whatever scraps of acceptance you choose to throw our way and pretending they're as much as we need or want or deserve.
We are done.
I am done.
You can keep thinking what you think, behaving as you behave, but not if you want to be in my life. If you want to be my friend, my family member, my acquaintance, you have to be better than that. I don't tolerate bigots.
This one is not going to be nice.
It's not going to be measured or polite.
It's not going to cite studies and logically weigh the value of different points of view.
You've been warned.
Today my brother-in-law posted an article. He posted it with the comment "I know the F word is offensive and there may be better language to get her point across. I also know this is a painful subject. Most importantly I know I don't want to lose people I care about because I was too uncomfortable with the conversation." as his qualifier. This is my response, not just to him, but to all the people out there who feel like they have a right to treat me as different or lesser because of how much I weigh.
.
I've read this article, and ones like it, a thousand fucking times. I suspect my readers have too, although if you feel a need to read this one as well, here you go. Trigger warnings: fat shaming, cherry-picked scientific studies, acclamation of thinness as morally valuable, patronizing health care industry crap, an ill-informed doctor with a heavy dose of confirmation bias.
Its thesis is "Fat people are weak willed creatures who would lose weight if they just ate less junk food, and who are morally inferior to thin people, who are that way because of willpower". It was written by a doctor in the condescending fashion of someone who considers what they're saying to be simple, self-evident truth. Her evidence was mostly anecdotal; as a doctor she'd seen lots of unhealthy fat people. You know, because healthy fat people love going to see doctors, who will inevitably fat shame us and treat us like crap. Where she quoted studies, she failed to mention the portions of them that directly disputed her conclusions.
She spends plenty of time letting us know what a saint she is for being involved with a bariatric clinic, all the while talking about how dirty, sweaty, weak-willed, and dishonest her fat patients are. She then bemoans how terribly miserable all her fat patients are, obviously because they're fat.
Here's the thing: fat people aren't miserable because we're fat. Being fat is inconvenient, uncomfortable, and sometimes awkward, but the size of my body is not the thing that contributes to my depression, that makes me want to kill myself some nights, that makes going out in public an exhausting, demoralizing experience. It's not my body that makes making new friends hard. It's not my body that makes potential employers turn me away. It's not my body that makes people decide at a glance that I am worthless, useless, lazy, stupid, and ugly.
It is not my body.
It is your prejudice.
Yours.
Your prejudice and the prejudice of people like you. People who think they're good people. People who go to bed at night convinced that they make the world a better place. People who are tolerant, giving and kind most of the time.
Your prejudice.
Here's a quote from the article.
Is homesexuality inherently wrong? Ask Aristotle, Susie Orbach, Naomi Wolf. Their answers are different, their
arguments from different places. It is not an empirical question although it reads as one. Today when we look at
those who are straight, part of what we see is a triumph of will over desire, so the beauty is a moral beauty
Oh, by the way, I did you the favor of replacing references to "fat" with references to "homosexuality". Does it still ring true? No? That's hideously bigoted? Gee, you know what, I think so too.
When you look at me and make assumptions about my intelligence, my competence, my kindness or my will based on the size of my waistline, you are being a bigot.
Your prejudice, and that of others like you, is the worst thing I experience every day. It makes my life hell. It is a major factor in why I stayed in an abusive relationship for twelve years. It does me material harm.
You say you are concerned about my health. One of my most damaging health problems is major depression. You know what's the single biggest factor in that? Living in a world where every person I meet treats me like crap until I've proven to them that I'm a "good" fat person, one who is clean and smart and mostly smells okay, and whose fat "isn't really her fault". Even then, they don't want to be too close to me or touch me; after all, it might be contagious.
I have to deal with this any time I leave my home. I see the prejudice in the faces of many of my friends, although they are mostly kind and brave enough to fight it. I hear it in the voices of people I interact with casually, see it in the way people studiously don't look at me on the sidewalk, or the way they stare. When I apply for a job, my biggest concern isn't whether I'm qualified, or able; it's whether some bigoted asshole is going to reject me simply because of my waistline. I don't wonder if I'm going to experience prejudice when I walk out my front door; my only question is how much there will be, and whether it will be blatant enough that I can't ignore it.
My body does not do this, any more than a rape victim's dress causes her rape, a gay child's sexuality causes his suicide, or a black teen's hoodie justifies his murder. My body is not at fault.
Your prejudice is.
Your prejudice makes my life hell and it is going to STOP.
I'm not asking nicely; I've done that. I'm demanding it.
You WILL stop treating me as if I am worthless, stupid, mean, smelly, lazy, ugly, disgusting, weak-willed and valueless.
You WILL stop creating media that portrays me and all women like me this way.
You WILL stop discriminating against me when I apply for a job or walk into a hospital.
You WILL stop ignoring the fact that modern scientific data does not support your views.
You WILL stop telling me that I can't be beautiful, special, sexy or wonderful.
You will stop doing this because I and millions like me are done being "nice". We are done being patient. We are done being quiet. We are done hating ourselves for your benefit. We are done taking whatever scraps of acceptance you choose to throw our way and pretending they're as much as we need or want or deserve.
We are done.
I am done.
You can keep thinking what you think, behaving as you behave, but not if you want to be in my life. If you want to be my friend, my family member, my acquaintance, you have to be better than that. I don't tolerate bigots.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Back from the Dead (or at least the seriously uncomfortable)
Hey all,
Sorry that I've been silent for about the past month. I've been trying very hard not to cough my lungs out. This effort has been complicated by the fact that my lungs have at various points been somewhat interested in getting out, tried to flee, and demanded egress in no uncertain terms. This led to a lot of coughing and trying not to cough, and not much of anything else, including writing. I'm on my second course of antibiotics, so hopefully I should be ok from now on.
Take care,
Abigail
Sorry that I've been silent for about the past month. I've been trying very hard not to cough my lungs out. This effort has been complicated by the fact that my lungs have at various points been somewhat interested in getting out, tried to flee, and demanded egress in no uncertain terms. This led to a lot of coughing and trying not to cough, and not much of anything else, including writing. I'm on my second course of antibiotics, so hopefully I should be ok from now on.
Take care,
Abigail
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