truelove: an orange tabby cat looking down, to the left, away from the camera (Default)
An Open Letter To The Woman In Line At The Wal-Mart:

Apparently you are labouring under the notion that what you have to say is of an relevance or importance to me. So, let me clarify a few things for you:

It is not your business what I am buying. It is not your business how healthy any of it is.

It is incredibly fucking rude to suggest that, instead of the beef bouillon I have in hand to purchase as soon as a register clears, that I should purchase beef marrow bones, freeze them, and make stock from scratch because, "it would be so much cheaper." It is even fucking ruder, when I communicate my opinion of your rudeness with an angry, flat glare and a refusal to engage, to follow that up by saying "It'd be much healthier!"

I sincerely hope you heard me mocking you to my companion. I didn't have the energy to tell you to your face that you were fucking rude but god knows you need to be told.

It's not your fucking business what other people purchase, or why, or how healthy it is. Worry about your own damn business, ma'am, and the world will be a better place.

The Chick From The Wal-Mart With The Beef Bouillon And The Clothes Hangers
truelove: A woman in high heels on a chimney (witchy)
Some days I kind of want to get on top of a building with a megaphone and scream from the rooftops:

Food does not have a moral value.

It has, at most, a nutritional value. Vitamins, proteins, etc. Which are not moral choices. Nutrients are what physically keep you going; they are not moral.

You aren't an immoral person for choosing to eat something sweet. Or for choosing the low-fat dressing because you can't stand the salad without something on it. Or for choosing to have the full-fat dressing because the low-fat tastes like ass. Your choices of what foods to eat? Have no bearing on your moral character. Because food does not have a moral value.

And goddamn am I sick of how this permeates our culture. I actually particularly hate being told what a good, moral girl I am for eating... guess what? The food that I actually want to eat. Because fuck you, no. I am not a good girl. I am woman who is listening to what her body is craving and that happens to be something our fucked-up culture has decided is virtuous.

Food? Does not have a moral value.

Y'think if I did shout it from the rooftops it might make a damned difference?
truelove: A woman in high heels on a chimney (fashion)
Oh, "boyfriend jeans," let me count the ways in which I have a problem with you:

They're normal jeans that have been cuffed. Why are they not just cuffed jeans? Going from there, we identify the assumption that particular styles of clothing are only bought/worn by men. Which... is demonstrably not true! But this therefore requires that she have borrowed the clothing from a man in her life!

So we then get the assumption that the male she borrowed it from is her significant other which, oh, itself brings the twin assumptions she has an SO in the first place and that that SO is male.

And pretty much none of these are founded assumptions. At all. But they are awfully sexist and heteronormative!

Also? Back to my first point: they're fucking cuffed jeans. They are not special or new or some innovation that requires a new terminology.
truelove: an orange tabby cat looking down, to the left, away from the camera (Default)
Honest, I'll post the story behind that create-a-recipe contest one of these days.

Right now, I'm sitting here totally creeped out at the Mariah Carey music video I just watched. Putting aside the disturbing content of the song and video both, what was leaving me most creeped out was the fact that Ms. Carey is, like others, approaching the Uncanny Valley from the other side.

Seriously I was watching her going you... you look like a robot. The boobs failing to hang correctly didn't help, but mostly it was that her skin was all plasticine. I mean, not just her face. All of her skin was, and we certainly got to see a lot of it. Now, I don't know how much of that was makeup/etc. and how much of that was in post (less than would be in a still image, probably, but possibly still some of it).

But it doesn't really matter when or how it happened because I ended up with the visceral creeps. I mean I'd actually have been less creeped out if it *had* been a robot.

This is what's attractive? This is our future? I want to opt out, thanks. (Sadly, easier said than done.)
truelove: an orange tabby cat looking down, to the left, away from the camera (Default)
You know what pisses me off about the Obesity Epidemic? It's not just the fact that it's based on pure bullshit, the fact that the BMI is 16 kinds of laughable and a joke of a statistical hack1. It's not the fact that we hear endlessly about it from the media, and What You Can Do To Protect Your Children.

It's the fact that they call it an epidemic. The implication is, it's communicable. In pretty much every other medical context, epidemic is a term used to describe the spread of a contagious disease.

The fat's catching, folks! Run for the hills! RUN, RUN, RUN, LEST YE TOO BECOME FAT!

Even if there were a genuine health concern here -- I don't concede there is but what the hell, let's pretend there is for a moment -- this is not a particularly helpful way of viewing something that isn't a communicable disease. Framing a healthy diet and exercise in the context of precautions you can take to keep from catching Teh Fatz makes them directly comparable to washing your hands regularly and not making out with the public water fountain. And that comes off as completely fucking ridiculous. I mean, really?

And, of course, implying that obesity is, by extension of being a disease and an epidemic, contagious reinforces loathing of fat people: they're unclean, you see. Unhealthy, unclean, unsanitary. They're destroying their own health and yours too. Just by being there!

I know I'm not the only one who finds the whole farce completely fucking ludicrous. I just wish there was anyone in the middle of the circus raising a voice to point out what a farce it is. Not just the BMI, but all of it, including the hysteria. (When is hysteria ever remotely useful? Honestly.)

But that would be endorsing obesity, of course. And that would be like infecting everyone with H1N1.

1Ironically, yes, that article talks about obesity being a kiiiiiiiller. It does, however, nicely deconstruct how full of shit the BMI is and what a stupid basis it is for advice regarding management of anything.
truelove: an orange tabby cat looking down, to the left, away from the camera (Default)
Reading through some fat-positive and body acceptance related blogs right now. Stumbled over into that part of the blogosphere via a link to this lady's blog and found myself particularly enamoured of this post addressing the bullshit statistics of obesity, along with helpful photographic illustrations.

Having a lot of thoughts, not least of which is: jesus christ the unhealthy messages are embedded so fucking deeply in our culture. I actually really like how my body looks lately, and I keep going "...but I could stand to lose some weight, really," and then stopping and listening to myself and wanting to shoot myself.

When I was a teenager I was very thin; thin enough people commented on it. I had trouble staying warm, it hurt to sit on hard seats. (Well, it still does, but for different reasons.) Even when I was 16, and quit gymnastics I was still quite slender. I thought weighing yourself was bullshit, too, because I weighed 140 and people still thought I was on the thin side and chronically under-guessed my weight at least 20, if not 30 pounds.

Then puberty finished hitting me upside the head, ages 16-18, and I had a hell of a rack which in all honesty is probably where most of the 10 lbs I gained after quitting gymnastics went. I was still pretty damn slender, though. When I moved when I was 18, I gained weight again. Stress, I am sure, and probably my body filling out that last little bit.

I remember when I was thinner and stepping on the scale was a pure curiousity and I didn't give a shit whatsoever what I ate. And -- mostly I've kept that. Except how I haven't. Now I think about diets and have to actively reject that kind of thinking. Now I think about how much bullshit the BMI is in a very personal, and not abstract way.

And, you know, I think so much of it has to do with clothing and fashion. I managed not to give a shit much one way or the other when I could find clothing that fit me. But these days? Clothing and clothes-shopping tells me, you are too fat, too busty, too curvy, too hour-glassed. Too too. Stay home and hide yourself, there's nothing for you here.

And it's just about impossible not to start internalising that shit.

I've been struggling with myself to not worry about my weight, about dieting, about being slender and perfect, for my cosplay for Club Vivid at [ profile] vividcon this year. I'm cosplaying T'Pol and, and -- god knows, I know, that everyone there isn't going to give a shit that I'm probably at least fifty pounds heavier than Blalock. Except maybe me. And I'm working on that.

Right now my project is: eat healthy, nutritious foods (you know, all the ones that I actually do love), and eat at the right times. And eat enough protein. Because my energy levels are a hell of a lot more important than some fucking meaningless number.


truelove: an orange tabby cat looking down, to the left, away from the camera (Default)


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