My Earlobes Still Feel Fat

Today is my 28th birthday.  That seems both really old and really familiar, due to my habit of saying I'm older than I am for a couple of months before my birthday makes it so.  Anyway, whether I'm old, young, or a 'spring chicken', as my BF calls me when I lament our age difference every year on his birthday (he just turned 25), I'm definitely exhausted.  The past couple of months have been manic: I started a new position at work, at essentially the exact same time that book publicity began in earnest, which meant interviews and photo shoots* and writing and tweeting and generally being much more involved in the world than usual, and on top of that came personal dramas and Thanksgiving and Christmas shopping and the general year-end pressures we all face every year around this time.   Suffice it to say, my body and my heart and especially my brain are all knackered. So all I want for my birthday is a break, and for once in my life I'm doing my bes

I've been thinking a lot about the gym lately, and not just because my body is falling apart and I know that lethargy is helping it along – the gym has been on my mind in part because of this article , in which Lindy West claims that to be a fat person at the gym takes courage.  Not only do fat gym-goers have to fight their own (possible) sluggishness, they also have to be prepared to defy the judgment of other gym-goers, who (West claims) look at their fat colleagues as motivational at best and disgusting at worst. I have to admit, I feel this way at certain gyms – usually disgusting rather than motivation, though – and it's one of the reasons I don't belong to a gym here in London (the other reason being that I straight-up can't afford it).  It's hard to find gyms where normal people make up the majority; almost every gym near me (Virgin, LA Fitness, etc) is very expensive and caters to a clientele that's image-obsessed, as a rule.  I'm hard-pressed to f

I just watched an hour and a half long TV show on BBC called ' I Want to Change My Body ', which follows 30 young people who have different things about their bodies that they want to change, from their weight (obviously, since that's usually the #1 complaint), to their boobs or noses or skin or receding hairlines.  It basically validated what I've become more and more sure of in the past ten years: that nearly everyone has issues about something to do with his/her appearance, and a lot of us are tormented enough to take extreme measures (define extreme any way you like: surgery, juice fasts, obsessive makeup use) to try to 'fix' ourselves. The show was fascinating, of course (I'm convinced that learning about people's deepest insecurities is far more voyeuristically stimulating than watching them have sex), but it was also really sad to watch.  I feel like our society is getting more image-obsessive and more neurotic by the year – I'm certainly n

Ever since the book got picked up, I've found myself having to explain 'what it's about' to people on a regular basis (and yet I still haven't come up with a good one-liner, and inevitably end up mumbling my way through mentions of weight loss, surgery, and mental health / neuroses).  Most women get the point of the book pretty quickly, and often begin telling me their own stories or the stories of people (mostly women) they know who've struggled with weight or body image, but the men often glaze over a bit and kind of nod and smile – if the men in question happen to work in publishing, they might make a comment about marketability, but generally they just nod and let me do the talking.  I very rarely get any sort of instant relating of personal stories. Based on this divide in reactions to my own experience, it would be easy to assume that men don't have body image issues, or at the very least they don't have bad enough issues for it to affect their l

Many many apologies for my protracted silence...I seem to be extending a lot of those lately: to readers of my baking blog ; to my Twitter followers; to my long-suffering agent and even longer-suffering publicist; to friends and family; even to my personal, handwritten journal (yes, I know that's a silly, romantic thing for a memoir-writer and blogger to have, but I am nothing if not romantic about handwritten things).  Seriously, I just had to 'update' my journal – yes, as if it were a person who's been at the edge of her seat waiting for news – after a whole year of nothing.  If that doesn't tell you how busy/distracted I've been, nothing else will get it across. In the time since I last posted, a lot has happened, but the most important things are that I finished editing/proofing the book (which is now available for pre-order – ZOMG) and that I started a new job (at the same company), which is much more involved and the beginning of which also happened to

I just had a little breakdown over my body, the kind that's bad enough to make me cry, but not bad enough to completely incapacitate me.  And when I got up, wiped off my face, and set about bustling to take my mind off my thunder thighs, I realized it had been a pretty long time since I'd cried over my size. I don't mean that I've been particularly happy with my body lately – on the contrary, I've been far too inactive, physically, and far too lax about snacking and such, and as a result I've been feeling a bit like a blob.  But I've been too busy to dwell on it, really.  I'm working a lot , and thinking about the book process, and trying to be more social and spend more time with my boyfriend (we had a period of not seeing each other much and it was hard on our relationship), and I just haven't had time to indulge my negative thoughts much.  I mean, I've had them, a lot of them, but then something else has come up and I've had to re-focus.

Last night, after I posted about the BBC Horizons program on obesity, I got an email from a reader who needed help understanding the gastric bypass surgery and what it might be able to do for her.  She had been emotionally overeating for thirteen years, since suffering a devastating loss, and she wanted to know if the GB could really change her desires for junk food, as the BBC program suggested.  In case anyone else wants a more detailed response on this, I've posted my response here: Hi, I've found that the gastric bypass has altered my desire for crap food, but I would say it mostly has to do with behavioral conditioning – every time I eat something very rich or sweet, I get really sick, and after a while I started feeling sick just smelling certain things.  Kind of like when someone gets really drunk on rum and never touches it again.  So it's effective, but not very nice, and I have to admit there are always going to be times when your desire for a food is s

A friend of mine emailed me last night, suggesting I watch the latest episode of BBC 2's 'Horizon', because it dealt with the issue of Gastric Bypass.  But when I started watching it this evening, I realized that really, it deals mostly with obesity – how and why it exists, and what we should do about it – and Gastric Bypass plays a large part in the last third of the program. In all honesty, as I started watching, my immediate reaction was rage and righteous indignation.  Gabriel Weston, the thin, blond, female surgeon who hosts the show announces at the very beginning that for her entire life (including the ten years in which she's been practicing medicine) she has operated under the 'assumption [...] that I am the size I am because of my character'.  Now, not only is that a particularly smug way of putting it, there is a serious problem with the underlying message: that fat people are fat simply because they are lazy and eat too much.  They don't have

 If you follow me on Twitter , you'll already know how obsessed I've been recently with a show called Say Yes to the Dress, which is a reality show that follows brides-to-be who are looking for the perfect dress at Kleinfeld's bridal salon in NYC.  I got into the show when I was living with my parents in San Francisco a few years ago, and spending a lot of my free time Tivo-ing reruns of What Not to Wear and other TLC shows (like I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant – NOT recommended for anyone even slightly suggestible).  I'm already a bit dress-obsessed, in general, and I have a weakness for reality TV (the NYTimes says that's okay!), so one episode was all it took to hook me.  I love seeing the different styles of dresses, comparing how they look on different body types, gasping at the incredibly poor taste some brides have and the stunning dresses others choose.  I love tearing up when the dads start to cry and yelling at the entourages when they opine too strongl

Happy New Year!  I've had a lot going on these past couple of months, and I'm currently getting down to business on the first big set of edits for my book, but I just had to pop in to share my thoughts on a couple of articles that have been stirring my blood lately. First, this article from the New York Times, about a new study proving that our bodies actually conspire against us to hold onto fat we desperately want to lose, and that people who have lost weight before actually burn fewer calories doing the exact same activity as they would have burned had they never been overweight (sorry if that didn't make sense, just read the article).  I read it while I was on holiday in Rome, stuffing my face and telling myself that all the walking on cobblestones would work off the carbonara and the lasagne and the fried artichokes, and I must say I found it both fascinating and seriously depressing.  The description of the lifestyle a person needs to lead just to keep off a signif