Fat.
Such a small word, to have such power. The mere mention of it can make grown women cringe. Oh, yes, we've read all about "The Beauty Myth", and noted the impossibility of the mass media's "ideal female form" as portrayed in countless movies, t.v. programs and advertisements. Sometimes we try to come up with less uncomfortable descriptions: "I'm Rubenesque. I'm softig. I'm famine-advantaged." But semantics don't help, because the words are not really the problem. The problem is our attitude about the reality the words describe. That attitude persists, and attaches itself to whatever words we chose to use to describe the concept of exceeding the "ideal female form" in any dimension.
Where did this "thin ideal" that so dictates our lives come from? The Renaissance painter Peter Paul Rubens loved the ample form of women we would call fat today, and glorified that form in his paintings. Even Marilyn Monroe, celebrated as the "ideal female form" only 40 years ago, would be called fat today. Obviously, the definition of the "ideal female form" is transitory. It is merely the image currently presented as "beautiful" by the media of the day.
Now the question becomes, where does the mass media get these images they present as "ideal" today? I look around my home town, and I see women who mostly look like me. A couple of extra bulges here, a little sag there, a little extra girth all around. And my home town is not unusual. Not more than 10% of the population look like the models we see on runways and in ads. A higher percentage, but still far less than half, might look like the t.v. stars we invite into our homes nightly. Where are all these thin people that populate movieland and t.v. land?
I have a theory. There is a city somewhere in this country where all those thin people live. In this city, the streets are filled with thin people. Their personal trainers and shoppers and makeup artists hover about, ready to dash in and do battle with a shiny nose or an untucked blouse at a moment's notice. They do allow a few token non-thin people to live there: Camyrn Manheim, Kathy Najimy, S. Epatha Merkerson, and the like -- but only if they don't loiter about in broad daylight. And that's not all. In this city, all the houses are freshly painted, all the lawns impeccably manicured, all the shrubs exquisitely sculpted. At night, roving gangs of interior decorators break into homes, rearranging the furniture and scattering tastefully coordinated throw pillows around, painting the walls in the latest colors and hanging tastefully coordinated art on them. The media, in a vast conspiracy to sell more diet foods, lawn fertilizer and designer furniture, use this city for all their movie and t.v. sets, and pretend that it's "normal."
Next page: Well, maybe not...