You’re not overweight. You’re beautiful.
Recently, I’ve found myself feeling quite sensitive about my weight. A friend (who I love and I’m sure didn’t mean to hurt me), laughed over a pint and told me I was overweight; waiting for me to find a suitably arch rebuttal. Normally I can take a joke, but it stung as it confirmed my quiet, dark fears. I’m sure he’d rightly attest he was only engaging in banter, but all jokes have to have some element of truth to be inspired. So there must be truth in it, no? I must be overweight. For the record, I’m 67KG.
The other day a group of fellow gay friends guffawed as someone told us their perfect man was merely, ‘one with no fat!’. Again, laughter ensues and yet I find myself looking away unable to share the joke as I breathe in and cross my arms to hide the little belly I have.
As I look at Instagram and any other number of social media apps, I see sculpted torsos with thousands of ‘likes’. And yet, the kind friend with the wicked smile and great sense of humour only receives a handful of these potent little emojis. All the signs are the world has decided not to follow this person because they’re not beautiful. They’re not fuckable.
The other night, I sat with a good friend and met others who said how well I was looking. The reason, was because I was happy at the time, but in all honesty, the last few months I have found myself eating a meal a day which often comprised of chicken breast with some salad and little else. I felt tired, under nourished, but gleefully watched my weight drop on the scales because in my mind, every KG lost was another step towards beauty and I suppose, ultimately love. Naively believing this is what I must do so I can subscribe to my all loving, all liking LGBTQ+ community based on what I can observe from their behaviour online.
I discussed some of this with my friend Michael J. Ferns last night, who as he often does, gave me some succinct, wise words beyond his years.
He asked me, of all the people in my life who I like to be near, how often do I attribute their size to how much I loved them? How much is someone’s weight really linked to how beautiful I see them? The answer is obviously, not at all. Here two friends sit, because they want to be with each other because of shared passions, careers, humour and ultimately, to quietly be ourselves without fear of attack or having to perform. And not once did I breathe in when I was with him.
As I think on his words, I realise the saddest and most destructive aspiration/habit I’ve watched younger generations naively invest in as I grow older, is the narcissistic pursuit to be or maintain a superficial, unsustainable aesthetic of a social media profile and equate that to happiness, success or a bearing on reality. I honestly worry how many will survive (yes, survive) later life building an identity so dependent on the distant validation of others.
And perhaps, these jokes, which I took so personally, were based on truth, but not about me, but their fear of what they may become themselves. That one day they won’t be looked at. Perhaps they don’t appreciate the qualities that really make a human beautiful, like my friend who knew after a rough few weeks, I needed his company, not a thumbs up on some tedious Insta post. Perhaps we are all lacking the perspective that only comes from being with a real friend who can help balance common sense with fantasy.
Man cannot live on ‘likes’ alone. Neither can he live on grilled chicken breast and salad. Shut the fuck up about anyone’s weight, because it comes from a desire to objectify others, and that’s toxic. And reveals how much of your life is sat alone addicted to looking at strangers on social media and hoping they’ll notice you too, without ever enjoying meaningful time with them.
Mental health in this country is thankfully well discussed, but support is dangerously limited without money. Many will sit on their apps looking for some magic advice in a 30 second Instagram reel as a substitute. And between these fridge magnet nuggets of advice is a sea of those screaming for attention and often receiving it because they’ve achieved some gladiatorial physique, but at what cost? Who wants to be a gladiator? Perhaps the Instagram audience delights in the same sacrifice they offer today as the the Roman audiences did in the past? Perhaps we are the lions. And is this the best we can offer as a model for happiness and stability?
So the next time you post something, say something or even ‘like’ something. Ask yourself why, who are you doing it for, and does it help anyone, or are you part of the problem which you yourself are fearful of. And please, if you have the urge to comment on someone’s weight, whether that be an encouraging tap of their stomach, or maybe you want to congratulate someone on how skinny they appear; know it is none of your business and your comment could unlock months of private misery or worse.
When planning your diet, remember evenings filled with social media are poison compared to the nourishing reality of spending time with a friend, eating something delicious, talking about your hopes (and fears) and then coming home to put your scales in the bin.
