[i sheepishly accept the label of BEAR]
i wish i knew the pain of objectification, of being reduced to a lustful caricature in some guy’s wet daydreams.
i’ve never been looked up and down, fawned over, lusted after—
certainly not as a closeted chubby teen, but not as an out college student either.
even my ex boyfriend of nearly four years was conservative with compliments. i can remember only a few times when i felt the rush of being the object of his carnal desires—
just a few little moments when i was actually told how sexy i was, how desired i was… how Wanted.
i can’t relate to so many of the posts which flood my lgbt algorithms—
young adult gays talking about all the messages they get on grindr,
the frustration of dealing with broken promises when a hookup bails on them,
the exhaustion of flirting and being flirted with by flaky anonymous strangers who leave them disappointed and wanting more…
their grievances would be a dream to me.
they go on dates?
they go out to clubs?
they get hit on?
they actually get messages on the apps?
it’s a foreign reality.
why must it be a fetish to love me?
to desire my body?
why must i feel such shame and guilt for having preferences—
especially when they’d be deemed “out of my league”?
why must i do the work of unlearning the self loathing and phobia so deeply and purposely ingrained against my beautiful fat body?
my preferences have expanded,
as i peel back the layers of trauma and try to heal the wounds upon my rolls of flesh.
if i’m honest, of course, i do still have “a type”
—but i see the beauty in others who look like me.
i can feel desire.
i can see their folds and sagging limbs and plump features—
MY features—
and feel love and warmth—and yes, lust.
but still i have preferences,
and still i have guilt,
and still i have so much pain at not truly belonging to my own community.
i know there is nuance. i know there is grey.
those things exist in every case,
but here and now, i posit that my pain is real and valid!—despite any nuance provided by someone else’s walk of life.
here and now,
as i scroll past yet another painfully beautiful man,
i think about how social media is melting our brains and bombarding us with the toxicity of constant comparison,
but mostly i just wonder why it must be a fetish to love me.
a great friend once told me that to be attracted to anyone is to fetishize them, to some extent. to be the object of attraction is to be fetishized yourself.
i absolutely believe there is truth to that, and it’s a sentiment that has helped me greatly.
but again—
i fight this sick desire,
this jealousy
towards those men whose comments and DMs are flooded with thirsty 20- and 30-somethings hoping to be noticed.
to grow up fat and gay does some wild things to the human psyche.
(disordered eating, self harm, self loathing, dissociation)
looks are not everything.
body positivity and body neutrality should be the goals of our collective consciousness.
and yet…
i think i would still like the chance to be objectified—
every fat, hairy, wonderfully imperfect inch of me.
