Fat

There. I said it. The “F” word. Or at least one of them.

In her recent article for The New York Times Magazine, Daphne Merkin assigns “F-word” status to “flesh.” But what she’s really talking about is fat. And our obsession with it.

Our obsession with carving away the fat. Our “collective fear” of gaining weight. Our disgust with women who choose to bear their flesh.

She remarks how interesting it is that we wax nostalgic for days gone by — days when Joan from Mad Men was seen as a sex goddess and Marilyn’s curves were envied– and yet we’d never in a million years approve of someone carrying that look today.

She’s right. And I’m completely 100% guilty of being part of that “collective fear.”

I’m probably one of the more fairly healthy obsessors. I do watch what I eat, but moreso to prevent unwanted belly rumbles and trips to the bathroom. But, I still frown at the leftover belly fat from three pregnancies; the cottage cheese thighs I inherited from my grandmother; and my disproportionately round ass. I don’t see those features as luscious curves. I see them as warning signs.

When speaking of wellness, we’re often careful these days to take into consideration emotional wellness. True, obesity statistics are climbing to outrageous heights, but so are eating disorders and mental illness related to body image.

What the F are we supposed to do?

How do we bitch about obesity, but be compassionate and understanding of various body types? How do we get people to care about the fat on their body without making it so they obsess to the point of mental illness? How do we instill a message of nutrition and healthy diet into our children without creating a generation of children suffering from new, mutated versions of eating disorders?

F if I know.

But I do know it’s something we can’t ignore for much longer.