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The Weight of Stigma: How Society's Obsession with Thinness Harms Us All
When Aubrey Gordon boards a plane, she's not just carrying luggage-she's carrying the weight of society's judgment. As a fat person who has worn plus sizes since adolescence and size 26+ since college, she's intimately familiar with the myths that follow fat bodies like unwanted shadows. These aren't harmless misconceptions but powerful social weapons that frame fat people as failed thin people, restricting their lives and dignity. Gordon's book has become a cultural touchstone, praised by The New York Times as "revolutionary" and endorsed by celebrities like Roxane Gay and Lindy West. In a world where weight stigma affects nearly 70% of Americans yet remains largely unchallenged, Gordon's work offers a desperately needed perspective on how anti-fatness shapes our society-and how we might begin to dismantle it.
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The Myth of Choice: How We Misunderstand Fatness
In 2016, Us Weekly published a story about plus-size model Rosie Mercado that followed a familiar arc: painting her fat life as bleak before celebrating her 240-pound weight loss. Such narratives saturate our media, from reality TV shows like "The Biggest Loser" to countless magazine covers promising weight loss secrets. These stories reinforce the belief that our bodies reflect our choices, suggesting that being fat is simply a matter of poor willpower or lack of discipline. But this cultural insistence that fatness is a choice isn't about truth-it's about minimizing fat people's experiences and perpetuating bias that has real consequences in healthcare, employment, and social settings.
Medical researchers understand that fat people are fat for many reasons, but public perception lags far behind the science. Numerous health conditions cause weight gain resistant to traditional interventions: lipedema, a painful fat tissue disorder, affects up to 10% of people assigned female at birth; PCOS affects 6-12%, causing hormonal imbalances and metabolic issues; and even common diabetes treatments like insulin often cause significant weight gain. Medications for depression, anxiety, and bipolar disorder frequently list weight gain as a side effect. Research consistently shows that attempting weight loss often backfires-a landmark study of Biggest Loser contestants found their metabolisms permanently suppressed, burning up to 700 fewer calories per day. Furthermore, 75% of studies show dieting predicts future weight gain, creating a frustrating cycle of loss and regain.
Some fat people do choose fatness, like "gainers" who are "fat on purpose," but they face marginalization from both anti-fatness and body positivity communities. These individuals challenge our assumptions about body autonomy and choice. Historically, labeling any marginalized identity as a "choice" has been used to justify discrimination-from homophobia to transphobia to religious persecution-by implying the wrong choice was made. This rhetoric shifts responsibility to the marginalized person rather than addressing systemic bias and structural barriers to equality.
The dismissive command to "just lose weight" reveals profound ignorance about living in a fat body and the complex biological, genetic, and environmental factors that influence body size. For someone Gordon's size to reach a "healthy" BMI would require losing 220 pounds-three perfect years of steady weight loss with no plateaus or setbacks, a feat that fewer than 1% of people achieve long-term. This seemingly simple phrase serves as self-absolution for those with anti-fat bias, allowing them to ignore fat people's immediate needs for dignity, healthcare access, and basic accommodation while preserving their own complicity in discrimination. It reduces complex medical and social issues to a matter of personal responsibility, ignoring decades of research on the multiple factors that influence body size.
3장
The Broken Promise of Weight Loss: Why "Calories In, Calories Out" Fails
At nineteen, Gordon was accosted at her first college party by a stranger demanding to know why she was fat, insisting weight loss was "not that complicated" and "just calories in, calories out." This interaction exemplified how fat people are constantly expected to explain our bodies to thin people, who then lecture us on how to fix ourselves.
The science of weight loss contradicts these simplistic assumptions. What's dismissed as insufficient willpower is actually biological response: studies show hormones like ghrelin increase for at least a year after weight loss, driving hunger, while leptin resistance affects satiety signals. Our bodies defend our highest sustained weight by dropping energy usage by about 200 calories daily when we restrict intake.
Exercise, though beneficial for health, produces minimal weight loss. Research reviews show intensive short-term exercise programs yield just 0.4 pounds of loss, while year-long high-intensity programs result in only 3.3 pounds-less than 1% of Gordon's 340-pound body weight.
Diet research consistently shows initial success followed by failure. A massive 2020 BMJ review of 121 trials covering 14 popular diets found all produced about 10 pounds of weight loss that disappeared after one year. UCLA researchers similarly concluded, "You can initially lose 5-10% on any diet, but then the weight comes back." More troublingly, studies show dieters often gain more weight long-term, with one finding only 4.6% maintained weight loss over three years.
The popular "calories in, calories out" model stems from a 1959 paper claiming each pound equals 3,500 calories-a formula now thoroughly debunked as lacking "contemporary scientific foundation." Even the FDA's 2,000-calorie daily recommendation wasn't scientifically derived but merely rounded down from Americans' self-reported intake averages.
Ultimately, we don't know precisely why some people are fat and others thin, or why weight loss is so limited and unsustainable. What's clear is that nearly all weight-loss interventions fail most people while driving toward an exclusionary vision of a world without fat bodies.
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Childhood and Control: The Dangerous Myth of Parental Responsibility
When dieting and "lifestyle changes" fail, some parents turn to weight-loss surgery for their children, a trend that has increased dramatically in the past decade. Children's National Hospital provides gastric sleeves and bypasses to children and adolescents with no listed age limits, requiring only that children have had BMIs in the "obese" category for three years and "understand the lifelong dietary commitment." A 2013 case study even discussed surgery on a two-and-a-half-year-old child. These surgeries come with significant risks, including malnutrition, vitamin deficiencies, and potential complications from anesthesia in young patients.
The push for such extreme interventions is built on the false assumption that parents can and should control their children's size. Research has thoroughly undermined this logic through multiple channels: longitudinal studies show that 95-98% of weight-loss interventions fail long-term, researchers have identified dozens of genetic markers influencing weight and 59 distinct subtypes of fatness, and extensive public health research demonstrates that individual health is largely determined by social determinants like racial inequality, access to healthcare, environmental factors, and poverty rather than personal behaviors. Studies of identical twins raised apart consistently show that body size is heavily influenced by genetics, with heritability estimates ranging from 70-80%.
Threatening parenthood has historically been used as a weapon to control marginalized communities, creating intergenerational trauma. From the American eugenics movement forcibly sterilizing disabled people and immigrants in the early 20th century to the forced sterilization of American Indians (3,406 documented cases between 1973-1976 alone) to recent attacks on trans children's parents in Texas, targeting parental rights is a tactic with deep roots in oppression. These interventions disproportionately impact families of color, with Black children facing the highest risk of CPS investigation - up to three times more likely than white children in some jurisdictions. Native American families face similar discrimination, with their children being removed at rates up to four times higher than the general population.
The trauma of parent-child separation causes profound, lifelong harm that extends far beyond the immediate emotional impact. Research from Romanian orphanages shows separation fundamentally alters children's brain development, reducing gray and white matter volume in areas critical for emotional regulation and executive function. Studies of children in foster care show increased rates of anxiety (up to 60% higher than the general population), depression (45% higher), addiction (2-3 times more likely), suicide attempts (4 times more likely), heart disease (2 times more likely), and lower lifetime earnings (averaging 30% less). Ironically, removing fat children "for their health" likely worsens the very health markers used to justify their removal, as chronic stress and trauma are strongly linked to inflammation, metabolic disorders, and weight gain. This creates a cruel cycle where intervention causes the very "problems" it claims to solve.
5장
The Harmful Myth of "Helping": When Support Becomes Control
Growing up fat meant weight-loss encouragement and advice followed Gordon everywhere like a stubborn shadow. From grade school adults suggesting too-small clothing to inspire food restriction, to supervisors hinting at advancement if she lost weight, to dates offering diet tips-the ceaseless advice never stopped. This pressure from loved ones hurts more than even the cruelest jibes from strangers, because few things sting like rejection from those we love most, especially when wrapped in the insistence that they "just want to help."
For many fat people, our bodies seem to invite constant, unsolicited "advice" that sends clear messages: I'm watching your size, I disapprove of how you look, I think your body is a problem you've failed to solve. This logic assumes thin people are weight-loss experts and that thinness is always a hard-fought victory rather than simply a different body type. In reality, lifelong thin people lack the life experience to offer meaningful input to fat people, many of whom have years of experience navigating anti-fatness and pursuing weight loss.
Research confirms this experience-a 2005 study found that experiences of anti-fatness were nearly universal among fat participants, with family members being the most common source (98% reported disparaging remarks from family; 86% said loved ones were embarrassed by their size). When loved ones monitor what we eat or offer unsolicited calorie counts and diet tips, they're communicating that fat people somehow owe our loved ones thinness.
While offering weight-loss advice cloaks itself in good intentions, it fundamentally asserts a thin person's superiority over fat people-a kind of zealotry reminiscent of white missionaries colonizing Black and Brown Indigenous cultures. As Sabrina Strings shows in "Fearing the Black Body," anti-fatness has deep roots in anti-Blackness and white supremacy, from the transatlantic slave trade through the creation of the BMI (derived solely from white male bodies) to contemporary attitudes.
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Medical Bias: How Healthcare Fails Fat Bodies
Ellen Maud Bennett's obituary went viral in 2018 with her dying wish: that women of size advocate for their health after she received a terminal cancer diagnosis too late because doctors had dismissed her symptoms as weight-related for years. Her story resonated with countless fat people who shared similar experiences of medical neglect.
Rebecca Hiles endured bloody coughing fits for six years before being diagnosed with lung cancer, while doctors blamed her weight. Patty Nece's hip pain from progressive scoliosis was misdiagnosed as "obesity pain" despite her having lost seventy pounds. These aren't isolated incidents-they represent a systemic problem.
Research confirms fat patients' fears aren't unfounded. A 2014 study found 53% of women have been shamed by doctors, while another study revealed fat patients actually overestimate how respectfully they'll be treated. A comprehensive review identified ten common themes in fat people's healthcare experiences, including contemptuous treatment, attribution of all health issues to weight, and avoidance of healthcare services.
For patients with multiple marginalized identities, bias intensifies dramatically. Fat transgender patients face BMI restrictions for gender-affirming surgeries despite research showing weight-loss attempts rarely change their BMI classification. Black patients routinely receive inadequate pain treatment due to providers' racist beliefs about pain sensitivity.
Healthcare providers' anti-fat attitudes are well-documented. Studies show physicians spend less time with fat patients while ordering more tests, describe them as "annoying" and appointments as "a waste of time," and view them as "awkward, unattractive, ugly, and noncompliant." Even obesity specialists demonstrated implicit bias, believing fat people are "lazy, stupid, and worthless." This bias directly impacts care quality, with providers building less emotional rapport with fat patients and nurses who believe weight is controllable showing greater discrimination in medical settings.
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The BMI Myth: A Pseudoscientific Tool of Oppression
Despite its universal acceptance in modern medicine, the Body Mass Index (BMI) has a surprisingly unscientific history and continues to perpetuate racial and gender disparities. Recent studies during the COVID-19 pandemic revealed that fat Black people and People of Color in the UK were significantly more likely to test positive for COVID-19 than their white counterparts. However, most research failed to adequately investigate crucial social determinants of health - such as access to healthcare, living conditions, occupational exposure, and systemic racism - instead defaulting to simplistic biological explanations based on body size.
The notion of an "obesity paradox" - where higher BMI correlates with better survival rates in certain conditions - exemplifies our deeply ingrained biases. This phenomenon is only considered paradoxical because it contradicts our unfounded assumption that fat people cannot be healthy. The BMI's persistent use despite proven inaccuracies bears striking parallels to historical pseudosciences like phrenology and eugenics that used questionable measurements to uphold whiteness as an idealized norm. Even as contemporary research increasingly reveals the complex relationship between size and health, including factors like metabolic health, cardiovascular fitness, and genetic diversity, society remains attached to oversimplified narratives that justify the continued marginalization of fat people.
The BMI's origins further highlight its problematic nature. Belgian mathematician Adolphe Quetelet developed it in the 1830s as a population measurement tool, explicitly stating it should not be used for individual health assessment. Quetelet's formula (weight in kilograms divided by height in meters squared) was designed to track population trends, not determine individual health status. More troublingly, the BMI was developed using data exclusively from white European men, yet is now applied universally across genders, ethnicities, and body types despite well-documented physiological variations among different populations.
The BMI's transformation into a medical standard was driven more by financial interests than scientific evidence. When insurance companies adopted it in the mid-20th century, they arbitrarily lowered the threshold for "overweight" classification to expand their market for weight-related policies. A more recent and egregious example occurred in 1998, when the National Institutes of Health (NIH) further reduced the BMI threshold for "overweight" from 27.8 to 25 for men and from 27.3 to 25 for women. This single administrative decision instantly categorized 29 million Americans as "overweight" without any new scientific evidence supporting the change. Investigation revealed that this modification was heavily influenced by the Weight Loss Medication Panel, where eight out of nine members had direct financial ties to pharmaceutical companies manufacturing weight-loss drugs, highlighting how commercial interests often drive medical standards rather than scientific evidence or patient welfare.
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The Emotional Eating Myth: Pathologizing Fat Bodies
"Emotional eating" as a cultural concept is relatively recent, with a more complex history and science than commonly understood. Jean Nidetch, Weight Watchers founder and celebrity who dated Hollywood legends, was an early champion of the emotional eating framework. At a 1973 Madison Square Garden event before 16,000 people, she presented herself as "a combination Cinderella and Aimee Semple McPherson" with the evangelical message that "overeating is an emotional problem with an emotional solution."
Both fat and thin people eat for reasons beyond hunger-comfort, celebration, socialization, boredom. But unlike thin people, fat people's food choices are constantly monitored, judged, and laden with cultural meaning. Ordering salad becomes a message about acknowledging fatness and trying to become thin; ordering fries becomes a commitment to "unhealthy behaviors." This scrutiny stems from the belief that fat people have failed their bodies.
The connection between fatness and trauma resonates with some fat people. Research has shown links between higher body weights and trauma, including the landmark Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACE) study, which began when physician Vincent Felitti noticed high dropout rates at his extreme low-calorie weight-loss clinic. After discovering that 55% of his patients had experienced childhood sexual abuse, he launched what became one of America's largest trauma studies.
Body weight can also be influenced by epigenetic factors-environmental imprints on gene expression that can be passed through generations. Ancestral experiences of famine, internment, colonization, or migration can alter descendants' metabolism and body size. Anti-fatness itself can be traumatic and drive "obesogenic processes." In one study, nearly 98% of fat participants reported nasty comments from family, 89% inappropriate comments from doctors, and 86% said loved ones were embarrassed to be associated with them.
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The "Glorifying Obesity" Myth: Fat Visibility as Cultural Threat
The year 2019 was a banner one for "glorifying obesity." Pop star Lizzo attended a Lakers game wearing an oversized black T-shirt dress with a cutout showing her buttocks in a thong-more conservative than her stage wear and showing less skin than the thin woman sitting next to her and the Laker Girls dancers. When she appeared on the jumbotron, she twerked briefly before sitting down. Internet commenters erupted, insisting her actions "glorified obesity."
That same year, fat influencer Anna O'Brien modeled for Gillette's Venus razors in a two-piece bathing suit. The backlash was so intense that Gillette issued a statement defending their casting decision: "Venus is committed to representing beautiful women of all shapes, sizes, and skin types because ALL types of beautiful skin deserve to be shown."
Accusations of "glorifying obesity" follow fat people everywhere-at beaches in bathing suits, playing sports, going to the gym, or appearing in media without expressing shame about our bodies. Activities celebrated or ignored when done by thin people become controversial when fat people do them.
Despite frequent use, there's no clear definition of "glorifying obesity." The dictionary defines glory as "praise, honor, or distinction extended by common consent." But photographing a fat person for a razor ad isn't praise-it's just hiring a fat model as companies have hired countless thin models. The objection isn't about bestowing glory but about the audacity to treat fat people as if we were thin.
These accusations aren't about behaviors but about fat people receiving media attention without performing weight loss pursuit or expressing shame. Simply put, critics don't want to see fat people depicted neutrally, sexually, or joyfully. Their objections are rooted in bias and disgust, weapons to perpetuate anti-fatness and cut fat people down to size. By claiming they're fighting a "health threat" rather than expressing judgment, they justify their prejudice.
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Reclaiming Language: The Power of Calling Ourselves Fat
When Gordon refers to herself as fat, thin people rush to deny this simple truth about her body. At airports, when children innocently observe her fatness, their parents scold them harshly, teaching that "fat" is a bad word. This creates powerful negative associations, teaching children that naming fatness brings embarrassment rather than understanding it as a neutral body type.
She is fat, tall, blonde, and thirty-eight-all simple facts about her body, none more insulting than another. Yet straight-size people act like bodyguards between her and the word "fat." For fat people, the hurt doesn't come from naming our bodies; it comes from the discrimination we face-street harassment, medical bias, and the silence of thin people when we're bullied.
The fear of being called fat reveals a deeper anxiety: thin people are terrified of being treated the way they've seen fat people treated or how they've treated fat people themselves. Thinness represents power and privilege, and "fat" threatens that status. When thin people insist "you're not fat, you're beautiful" or "you have fat, you aren't fat," they deny lived experience and preserve anti-fat bias.
Reclaiming "fat" is about reclaiming our bodies and the right to name them. It should be a neutral descriptor like "tall" or "short." Let fat people name their own bodies, and instead of distancing yourself from fatness, work to dismantle anti-fat bias.
This reclamation isn't merely semantic-it's political. By using "fat" as a neutral descriptor rather than an insult, we begin to separate the word from shame and judgment. We create space for fat people to exist without constant apology. We acknowledge that bodies come in different sizes naturally, just as they come in different heights and colors. Most importantly, we challenge the underlying assumption that being fat is inherently bad, wrong, or worthy of correction.
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Beyond Individual Bias: Dismantling Systemic Anti-Fatness
Anti-fat discrimination is not only real and deeply harmful, but as of 2022, it remains perfectly legal in forty-eight states. Only Michigan (1976) and Washington (2019) offer statewide protections against weight-based discrimination, with just a handful of cities like San Francisco, Santa Cruz, Urbana, Binghamton, and Madison following suit with local ordinances.
The economic impact of this discrimination is severe. Research shows fat men lose approximately $2,646 annually in wages, while fat women lose nearly double that at $4,879. Even more alarming, one study found "very thin" women earned $22,000 more annually than "very heavy" women, who earned $19,000 less than average. Even a modest weight gain of 13 pounds could result in a $9,000 annual salary loss.
Employment discrimination against fat people is shockingly overt. Forty-five percent of British employers admitted they were less likely to hire fat candidates than thin ones. Hiring managers consistently shuffle fat employees into lower-wage positions emphasizing physical activity while keeping them away from public-facing roles. Among workers with BMIs over 35, 40 percent reported experiencing workplace discrimination, making anti-fatness one of the four most common forms of discrimination in the United States.
The criminal justice system compounds this bias. Studies show thin male jurors are more likely to find fat women defendants guilty and to believe they will reoffend. In sexual assault cases, anti-fat beliefs were the strongest predictor of victim blaming-but only when the victim was fat.
Dismantling these systems requires more than individual awareness-it demands policy change, legal protections, and cultural transformation. It means creating accessible spaces, challenging discriminatory practices, and building a world where all bodies can exist with dignity. It means recognizing that anti-fatness intersects with and reinforces other systems of oppression, particularly racism, ableism, and misogyny. Most importantly, it means listening to fat people about their lived experiences rather than imposing thin-centered "solutions" that cause more harm than good.
