A now month-old article published by The Telegraph admonishing Nike for its “plus size” mannequin is one of the latest examples of our unhealthy obsession with shaming fat people for—well—existing.
In an attempt to make its athletic apparel appealing to more woman, Nike unveiled a new mannequin that looks like —shock—the averaged-sized woman (because the average woman is indeed a U.S. size 16 and not a size 6 like many would have you believe). But, of course, what would the world be if someone wasn’t outraged by the idea of merely recognizing that women bigger than a size 0 might actually exercise.
If you haven’t had the chance to read it over by now, here are key points from the nearly 800-word diatribe:
Nike’s curvy model may single-handedly thwart the war on obesity; body-acceptance—if you’re fat—is likely to kill you; and anyone who doesn’t appear to fit our arbitrary definition of fitness is most definitely unhealthy.
Obviously the article misses the mark for several reasons—mainly shaming fat women for being fat and not exercising while simultaneously criticizing them when they do want to exercise (and in Nike apparel). But it also raises a question that I often think of when people feel compelled to criticize others’ weight: Why do you even care? Why do we care if a complete stranger is fat—or skinny, or muscular, or whatever else for that matter? Why is it somehow acceptable to be preoccupied with someone else’s weight? Why can’t we all just mind our own bodies?
Most critiques of overweight individuals is couched as concern for their well-being. However, most non-medical professionals are not in a position to assess a stranger’s health by merely observing them. Thus any expression of concern about their weight seems disingenuous at best and reeks of insecurity at worse.
If they are honest with themselves, most people who are uncomfortable with other people’s bodies (particularly women) are really uncomfortable with their own. And it’s not hard to understand why. From a young age, women are taught to despise their bodies. We’re bombarded with conflicting messages telling us we’re too fat or too skinny, that we need to gain weight or lose weight, and that will never be good enough until we match society’s latest personification of ideal beauty. This is intensified by the rise of social media influencers and Instagram fitness models who flaunt a physique that is almost impossible for most women to obtain in a healthy and sustainable way (although they’ll convince you that you can) and who promote—perhaps unintentionally—an unnatural preoccupation with physical appearance. I, myself, spent the better part of the last 15 years trying to be a certain weight, dress size, and body-fat percentage because I falsely believed that my worth as a human being was tied to what I looked like. And while I would never advise anyone to neglect his or her physical health, being “fit” should not come at the expense of your emotional and mental well-being.
The point is there is enough pressure on women to be and look a certain way without constant critique from total strangers. If a woman is comfortable in her own skin, who are any of us to tell her she shouldn’t be? No need to bother yourself worrying about her health—that’s what her doctor is for. My advice for anyone else “concerned” with those women with the audacity to be confident and proud of the bodies they live in is this:
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