Zuzu at Feministe noticed a perverse new article on Details, an occasionally homoerotic men’s rag, which includes a picture of the bottom half of a pig’s body, in heels, as an illustration to an article that supposedly praises “curvy” stars such as Gretchen Mol and Scarlett Johansson, among other things. Salon’s broadsheet is echoing Zuzu’s frustration:
…the “Fatties” label and reference to the photo gallery as a “smorgasbord,” and of course the pig in heels, simply confirms the high esteem in which Details’ editors hold women who don’t starve themselves.
As a woman who used to be extremely thin, and as someone who veers from enjoying my curves and the occasional ice cream sundae to crying hysterically in front of the mirror at night and wishing I could chop my hips off and feed myself to cannibals, I AM SO BLOODY TIRED OF THIS.
Can’t I just go a day, or an hour, without being bombarded by messages in the media about what I “should” look like? Can shallow men’s magazines stop having a laugh at the expense of those of us who do not snort cocaine for breakfast just to fit into those jeans from GAP Kids (and let’s be real here, there are plenty of normal, small people out there, but Kate Bosworth is not “naturally” skinny as one Broadsheet commenter claims; she was healthy and hot in “Blue Crush” and has since dwindled down to the point of resembling a couture-clad pogo-stick)?
Why is that the minute I travel outside of America I do not feel the need to flatten my hips? Why is it that I don’t feel the need to diet myself into oblivion when I’m in Ukraine? And hey, I’m not even considered overweight. I’m basically at my healthiest weight, and yet somehow I am not at peace.
I can only imagine what a size 12 woman would feel whilst looking at an article like that, but I’m guessing that all those asswipes in Broadsheet’s comment-section telling her to be a good fucking sport would probably fail to amuse her.
This is beside the fact that most of the women considered “fat” by the editors of Details are only really large in the bosom. Or is Liz Taylor in her heyday reall “fat”? And does that mean that the new “fat” is pretty much anything above a size 0?
How odd and discouraging and catty. Look at the VENUS painting at the top of this blog. Venus, the goddess of love, ring any bells? The editors of Details would call her a bloody porker and tell her to go see Dr. 90210 for a tummy-tuck. Yuck.
P.S. One reader on Pandagon said something that made me feel very anxious and sad: “This is the kind of stuff that scares me as the father of a daughter.” This stuff is bad enough when you’re 22, but a whole lot worse when you’re 12.