My Earlobes Still Feel Fat

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...

I have something to confess: I haven't worked out in a while.   And by a while, I mean at least a couple of months.  And by worked out, I mean anything besides walking around at a leisurely pace (that includes super low-key yoga/pilates). Amazingly, I'm smaller/lighter right now than I was back in the spring, when I was much better about exercising (well, I say it's surprising, but I guess it's been the case 90% of the last ten years, so I don't know why I continue to be surprised), but nonetheless I've been feeling sluggish and soft lately, and last week I decided to get back on the horse. A friend of mine on facebook has been doing a Jillian Michaels* workout, and she's been posting a lot about how exhausted it makes her and how much it hurts – my kind of workout, when I really want to get stuck in.  I messaged her and we chatted back and forth about the video, and based on her review ("it kills, but it's only half an hour and it isn't bo...

These days, curves are infinitely preferable to straight up-and-down body types.  Or so we're told.  But we're also told that said curves have to be wee and firm, taut and high, perfectly rounded and impeccably proportioned.  So all those curvy chicks out there, flaunting their J-Lo asses and Christina Hendricks breasts (DROOOL), and ostensibly shattering the myth of Twiggy, serve less to comfort me than as an even higher standard of sex appeal which I'll never reach. As a result, I often feel disappointed when I buy a dress I think looks great on me, only to see it on the model (or mannequin), with her (its) perfect, bounce-a-quarter-off-that-ass curves and realize that the dress only looks great on me in comparison to other items in my closet.  From a more objective, overall, survey-the-world sort of view, it looks just ok, mostly due to my many lumps and bumps, and my massive hips. BUT.  This past weekend, I was in New York with the bf, and he insisted on...

That old Upper East Side adage has been running through my mind all week. Ever since I got my visa to go back to London and started counting down the days I had left of fresh, delicious California cuisine. I recently got to within a couple pounds of my goal (well, not my goal weight, but my goal of getting below a certain hated number), and now I’m struggling with a very difficult decision: to eat or not to eat? I have an opportunity here. I could be below the dreaded number by the time I leave for London, if I’m willing to give up all badness and only eat healthy, low-calorie foods like vegetables sans olive oil and salads with no cheese or nuts. But then I would be sacrificing my last week of yumtastic treats like Trader Joes Mini Peanut Butter Cups and delicious grilled asparagus with olive oil and steak, glorious steak! Maybe the choice would be easier if I had a point of reference, but I’ve never been thin, so I have no idea how it feels. What I do know is that a lot of thing...

This is how I look today: No makeup, moderate VPL, okay hair, sunburned nose. But every time I looked in the mirror this morning I felt pretty good. I’m not saying I saw no flaws; I saw a few, and I even identified them aloud to myself. But then I immediately identified the good stuff, and I made sure I ended on that positive note. And, lo and behold, at least half of the men I passed on the way to the park this afternoon took a second look. A few even smiled at me! So maybe I look better than I give myself credit for, but I have a feeling it has more to do with that little extra swing in my hips, and that easy smile on my lips. Maybe confidence really is key. Or maybe it’s just that Frowny McWorryalot is kind of unattractive. Noted, men of London. Thanks for the smiles today. PS For anyone who actually reads these things, let it be known that I have integrated pilates into my workout routine and decided not to be so hard on myself. Fuck sticktoitiveness, I'd rather just b...