sysop (Daneel): they/them. Time Lord (allegedly). Titles accumulated: calvinball theologian; the CS Lewis of tron fic; "most likely to get weird about metaphysics"; tronblr's resident Cyrus apologist; etc. I write the fiction equivalent of futurepop.
y'okay can we stop pretending yet. like can we all acknowledge that eating disorders are chic again, and it's going to kill someone.
and like. do we have to keep gently phrasing things to protect naturally-thin people's feelings. in my life it has never been fashionable to be fat. "fat" is still a bad word. there has never been institutional power pushing people to gain weight; no trillion-dollar industry to "fix" skinny people. a larger body type has never been over-represented in models, influencers, celebrities. sure, people might say "i'm worried for your health," but they do it with respect and gentleness, like they're talking to a scared deer.
every single fucking time i talk about this, i have to be so careful with what i say, in case i offend even one skinny person. it is just true that skinny people have social capital across many cultures. there is a reason you almost never hear someone say "i wish i was fat," but you will constantly see people say "I wish i was thin." and yet inevitably some skinny person will tell me: i thought you wanted body positivity. it is the same fucking attitude as when a cis man says "when you say men have power, well, i've been bullied for being a man. i thought you believe in mental health awareness. don't you know men have a higher suicide rate?"
two things can be true at once: your experience being bullied for being thin was terrible. and people with larger bodies probably have it worse.
i have been big and small. i know many other people who have been big and small. trust what i'm about to tell you: being small is much easier. the world is kinder to you. people treat you better. honestly, this pattern occurs pretty much regardless of gender - my guy friends have confided that they'd rather be bullied for being thin than be bullied for being fat. if you're skinny, the pressure might be to gain weight, sure, but it's often to do so in a way that keeps you skinny - to gain muscle, specifically.
thinness is seen as innate and natural, genetic. whereas carrying any fat - that is a moral failing. it is assumed to be related to your character, your personality. i have seen people equate it to discipline, to hygiene. that bias is why we need to talk about this.
of course i want nobody to make a comment about anyone's bodies. and i think that hyper-thinness and an obsession with weight loss and a recession and a rise of conservative values... all of this is very fucking concerning. we are watching a return of "pro-ana" content, reframed as choice feminism, "health-conscious" behavior, "looksmaxxing". it's fucking terrifying.
"So when I talk about you to new people, what do you want me to say?"
They're sitting on the floor of Henry's bedroom, sorting out all the tapes and records he'd unpacked too fast and thrown on the shelf. Henry looks up from the pile, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Well, on Sunday, after church, I'm gonna have to introduce you to a bunch of people." Gene shrugs. "So am I saying, 'this is my son, Henry', or am I being nonspecific, like, 'my oldest', or something else?"
"Well, what have you been doing?"
"Hasn't come up yet."
"Oh. Yeah." Henry's eyes dart around the room. All the half-unpacked boxes; the posters they'd carefully taken down from his room in the old house; the new desk. Avoiding the one box in the corner. "I didn't know it was gonna be a big deal."
"It's not." An immediate answer. Suddenly and painfully aware of the sorting Henry and Lucy will be doing later, all the clothes he outgrew last year. Things they're going to keep for Jason, down the line, and things they'll donate to the church, come Sunday afternoon. "Your mom and I just don't want to do it wrong. That's all."
"Uh... I don't know."
"That's okay. You can think about it. We've still got a few days. --When we're done with this, we should probably make sure your dress clothes are unpacked. Probably need to wash them."
"Ugh. I hate those pants."
"You can wear jeans if you want. I am. Just, y'know, something without garage vomit on them."
Henry turns a tape over in his hands, putting it in the pile to his left. So that's where Gene's missing Clash tapes went. "...Is it okay if I change my mind about it, later?"
"Yeah. What's not okay is that you stole my tape. Give it here." Sure enough. "I'll make you a copy of it tonight."
"Sorry, I forgot I had it."
"Yeah, yeah. I knew that box felt light. How many more are we gonna find?"
Henry's grin answers that question on its own.
"But I mean that, y'know. You're not gonna figure everything out in two months. Takes digging. That's not a bad thing."
"It's not?"
"Nah. Nobody figures themselves out in two months. I'm pushing forty and still working on that, are you kidding?"
"Huh." Henry gets that look -- processing, accepting. "--Is it weird? This whole thing, I mean."
Oh. Well.
"It's got a learning curve," Gene admits. "But you don't need to worry about it."
"Well, I just..."
"I know. But that's on me and your mom. Not you. You just keep doing what you're doing." He reaches over and ruffles Henry's hair. Can't make it worse. "You need a haircut. You wanna go do that tomorrow?"
"...Yeah." Not exactly convincing, but he gets points for trying. "It's not that bad."
"You look like an unshaved yak, kid."
"I do not." Henry pauses, blinks. "...Do yaks get shaved?"
"When you're avoiding other things. Like laundry, or calling your grandma..."
He means your mom's parents, and they both know it.
"Have you and Mom told Grandma and Grandpa yet?"
"No. Not until you tell us to."
"Okay." Nods slowly. "How do you think they're gonna take it?"
"I don't know."
Half true, but only in the same sense that he doesn't know exactly where Lucy or Jason or Katie are, right now. Just that they're in the house. No specifics. Just the general vicinity.
And Henry knows that well enough. Trying to keep it off his face, but... well, he's fifteen. It's a work in progress. "At least we're not going to their church."
"Yeah. That's, uh... That's why we're not doing that."
One reason of many.
"Have you told your parents yet?"
"Nope. Not them, either." That, at least, will go a lot better. "Your mom and I aren't telling anybody until you're ready."
"Has that been weird?"
"You get used to it. It's all about context, right?" Gene shrugs. "If I can figure out how to use a text editor, I can figure out how to change how I talk about you when we're not at home. Command mode or insert mode. Son mode or daughter mode. Same thing."
Henry gets that grin -- the one that's a little too big for his face, like he's never quite going to grow into it. "That's so dumb."
"Maybe. But it's true."
"I should probably tell them before Sunday."
"I'll talk to them."
"No, I think I wanna do it."
"Really?" It makes some amount of sense, now that he's said it -- Henry's always been closer to Gene's parents than to Lucy's -- but Gene had been assuming he'd have some "here's what's going on; this is what these words mean" conversations first, just like last time around. "Alright. Well, we're going over there tomorrow night, and I think it's just gonna be us. I'll call and make sure. Let them know we've got good news."
"...Good news?"
"Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?"
After all, this is the happiest Gene's ever seen him. Hell of a lot better than he was doing a year ago.
