Some Girls are Bigger than Others (And Other Things No One Told Me)

Here’s something I’ve been wondering: why is it culturally acceptable to be a complete and total jackass but it’s not okay for a woman to weigh more than an average 8^th grader?

Case in point: Charlie Sheen went batshit crazy after being fired from Two and a Half Men (possibly before) and was rewarded with a comedy tour and a new sitcom; Adele, on the other hand, still gets hassled about her weight, despite the multiple music awards she’s won and the fact that she is probably one of the most talented individuals on the face of the planet. Lena Dunham, star of Girls and Tiny Furniture, is beyond gifted. Literally, her talent knows no end. She’s a writer and an actress, she’s funny as hell, and she’s an Instagram extraordinaire. Yet she still feels the need to point to her fat (and I say that with air quotes) as a point of criticism in her own TV show. Even Mindy Kaling, who graduated from Dartmouth and has since become a star/writer of The Office and The Mindy Project, feels compelled to defend her weight because she has, at some points in time, worn a size 10 jean.

I know. We might as well stone her.

It’s an odd phenomenon in Western culture that I still can’t quite comprehend, particularly since the same standards don’t apply to men. Having said that, PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS, BOYS! Let me make my case before you masculinist studies folks pimp slap me about the face with gender stereotypes and allegations of sexism. (Maybe I should also take a moment to state here that I’ve got nothing against men. I have a really cute dad and a brother who punches me and makes fun of me and dances like a diva bitch when inebriated just as any good brother should. And, since I’m going to be talking a good deal about weight, let me also say I respect people of all shapes and size. All God’s creatures and whatnot.)

                                                                                                                                     

So, first let’s consider Jack Black. He's a musically riotous comedian who voices the cutest panda ever to grace the animated screen and is married to Tanya Hayden – a woman so beautiful even I would consider abstaining from male genitalia and absconding with her. However, Jack Black is not only actually married to a knock out, but Hollywood would also have us believe (rightly so) that he’s perfectly capable of attracting Kate Winslet AND Shannyn Sossamon (i.e.The Holiday) despite his fairly rotund figure. Yes, that’s Kate Winslet, whose naked and glorious body most of us will always picture draped in pearls while Leonardo DiCaprio attempts to draw her and simultaneously keep his eyes from bugging out of his skull. And Shannyn Sossamon who was also cast as the love interest opposite of both Josh Hartnett and Heath Ledger (alav hashalom) respectively – two equally beautiful men of rigid jaws and pectorals so hard they could crack walnuts. Don’t get me wrong; Jack Black is just about adorable. Either Kate or Shannyn would be lucky to catch a guy whose accomplishments in life include giving voice to a kung fu-loving bear whose father is, rather suspiciously, a duck. That’s a man for the ages right there.

Oh, and we can’t forget Jason Segel. Who doesn’t love him as Marshal? NO ONE. Everyone loves him. He’s perfect. Every heterosexual girl (and maybe a few of my lesbian and bisexual brethren) knows that Jason Segel is, without a doubt, ridiculously precious. He sings, he writes, he acts – he’s a freaking renaissance man. He single-handedly made the Muppets cool again. Seriously, come on. My pants pretty much dissolve just thinking about it. And, the truth is, no one gives a rat’s ass if he’s milky white and soft around the middle. We all willingly buy him as a reasonable counterpart to Alyson Hannigan’s Lily, Kristen Bell’s Sarah Marshall, Mila Kunis’ Rachel, Amy Adams’ Mary, and Emily Blunt’s Violet. And why? Because he’s smart and funny and handsome and he looks like he could cuddle the lit major angst right out of me. In all fairness, I must admit studio execs did advise him to lose weight in order to play the role of Tom opposite Emily Blunt in The Five-Year Engagement. However, I must also point out that he already had a strong history as a leading man who could conceivably attract gorgeous women and he wrote the damn movie, so I’m assuming he was a shoe-in regardless of the extra tummy love. Plus, in reality, he’s dating Michelle Williams. So there’s that.

Need more proof, you say? Okay: Kevin James got Leah Remini, Bill Cosby bagged Phylicia Rashād, even Phil Griffin (a moron of epic proportions) managed to snag Lois – and he’s a goddamn cartoon. Face the facts, kids: guys of all shapes and sizes can score pretty girls with smarts and humor alone. Except in Phil’s case. Apparently Seth MacFarlane knows some incredibly open-minded women.

My point is, as a culture, we’re willing to accept the notion that some men just happen to be bigger than others, and it doesn't seem to faze us. Of course men are capable of securing partners because their looks (as fraught with social convention as the idea of “looks” may be) are second to brains, wit, brawn, humor, bravery, etc. BUT, the moment lady parts enter the picture, weight suddenly becomes a Big Damn Deal.

Let’s think about this realistically. Could, say, Melissa McCarthy reasonably be cast next to Ryan Gosling? Would America not have a fucking COW at the idea of her climbing into bed at night with the subject of every “Hey Girl” meme floating around Pinterest? As a society, we nearly had conniption fit when she was cast as Molly in Mike & Molly alongside Billy Gardell (also a man of a few extra pounds). Don’t believe me? Think this is just the ranting of a girl who’s eaten one too many bowls of spaghetti in her life? I direct you to "Should 'Fatties' Get a Room? (Even on TV?)" written by Marie Claire’s ever-so-witty Maura Kelly, who stated on the magazine’s blog that she’d find herself "grossed out if I had to watch two characters with rolls and rolls of fat kissing each other." 

Well dear God. 

Imagine if Molly’s fella were a six footer with a body like a Rodin statue. Kelly (and the Marie Claire staff that stood behind her in support) might actually have to give up television altogether. Or at least keep a bowl handy for all the puking they’d be doing. And God knows what would happen if any girl in any American sitcom or movie were to mention the hole that wears in the inside leg of her jeans because her thighs rub together. Because she's a woman. With woman parts. Kelly's poor fluff-filled head might spin right off her shoulders. Because, as we all know, a round woman (or, in this case, any woman with body fat of any sort) is about as sexy as a sea urchin – even when she’s sexing up another “fatty.” 

But what am I thinking? No (good looking) guy in his right mind would want to be with a girl like Melissa McCarthy, right? Especially not since she’s sustained a successful career for 10+ years, won an Emmy, and given birth to two children. That would just be insane. She ought to feel lucky that a fellow "fatty" would deign to fictitiously marry her.  

Am I starting to sound bitter? Eh, I’ll own it. I am bitter. 

As a nearly twenty five year old woman, I can honestly say I very rarely feel pretty. Not in a “I need you to tell me I’m beautiful or I’m going to cry and make everyone uncomfortable” kind of way, but in a “It never occurred to me I might be” way. I learned from an early age (i.e. magazines, books, movies, TV, general pop culture media) that there were some things I couldn't wear without receiving sideways glances, some men I wasn't supposed to date, and some people I just shouldn't presume to hang out with because I simply wasn't pretty enough. Not that I've ever figured out what "enough" actually is. Maybe there’s a scale somewhere I missed on the way to the bread aisle. Maybe this is all some super secret beauty industry plot to bring down competitors (ahem, Dunkin Donuts). Whatever the reason, I've known it as a matter of fact for most – if not all – of my life. I'm not pretty enough. And do you want to know why, ladies and gentleman? Because I've never been small.

(Well, that’s not strictly true. I was born 5 lb. 6 oz. But those were probably the glory days in terms of my waist line.)

This is not a desire for sympathy. I'm not planning to hurl myself from my apartment window (which, from the third floor, wouldn't do much anyway). I like myself. I’m five feet tall, I have fiery red curls, I wear sweet hipster glasses, and I can rock a cardigan better than any librarian you know. But guess what? I’m not a size 2. And that's okay. There’s nothing wrong with being thin, of course. My sister is beautifully tall and svelte. She’s basically a poster for a 1920s jazz club come to life. One of my dearest friends is built like a walking, breathing Barbie, and she’s perfectly lovely (even though I’m so jealous of her legs I want to shank her every time I see her). But, not me. I’ve got the blood of hearty Irish peasant women running through my veins. I was never meant to be a slim girl. I was built to breed and repopulate the earth – and, judging by the size of my hips, I’m working on becoming a one-woman, baby-making USO. Since I started puberty, I haven’t been smaller than 130 lbs (a size 10 for me). That’s not to say I’m not conscious about what I eat or that I don’t exercise. My ass still hurts from the Brazilian Butt Workout video my roommate’s got me doing. (As a side note, I never realized how truly invaluable my ass really was until it hurt to put on pants.) And believe me when I say I sweat with the force of thirty linebackers on my 3-4 weekly cardio sessions. Sure, I like a pasta dish, and I ain’t ever gonna turn down a potato, but it’s not as if I sit around my house shoving my face full of Tastykakes (which is my prerogative if I so desire). My skinny sister, on the other hand, has been known to murder a dozen cupcakes in a single sitting. But she's skinny, and I'm not. Them's the facts; it’s DNA. I simply don’t get small. My body just won't have it, guys. And, for whatever reason, I’m supposed to believe that my genetics are somehow in the wrong.

It’s especially difficult as a twenty-something woman to convince myself that I’m not actually some alien creature my parents plucked out of the black lagoon given that my cultural role models are Kristen Stewart and number of other very hungry looking girls in tiny dresses. I mean, I know the script. I’m supposed to be dating, partying, breaking up, having copious amounts of rigorous sex and looking fabulous in trendy clothes while I do it all. (Well, except perhaps the sex.) But ya know what? I feel ridiculous in trendy clothes. You want to know why? Because they’re made for tiny girls. Now, I realize tiny girls can’t walk around covered solely in the foliage of Biblical lore. They get cold, those skinny minnies. They need threads too. But, really, when will American clothing companies figure out that they can’t put a striped maxi dress on a five foot tall girl with D cups. THEY JUST CAN’T. I end up looking like the world’s shortest parachute. Believe me when I say it’s not cute. Not even a little. Because, in reality, some girls weigh more than others. And I happen to be one of those girls. 

And that’s okay. Because, contrary to popular assumption, women do actually come in a variety of different shapes. Just like men. And the even more astonishing part is that it’s perfectly acceptable for men (and other women, for that matter) to be attracted to skinny girls, to medium girls, and to large girls. Bigger women, smaller women, average women – they’re perfectly normal and beautiful just the way they are.

Now I must ask this: why, as a girl with one completed degree and another one the way, with an assortment of other talents ranging from singing show tunes to rearing the most adorable felines on the planet, with an eclectic taste in film and music, with a heart as big as a grand canyon, should I feel compelled to defend myself because my butt happens to be bigger than Emma Stone’s?

I shouldn’t. Because some girls are bigger than others. 

All original content copyright Kimberly Turner, 2013-2013.