“Feminism: the radical notion that women are people.” – Anonymous

“Feminism is a socialist, anti-family, political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians.” – Pat Robertson

Feminism. The word can rouse the twin specters of angst and animus out of even their most latent slumber. Feminist ideals are still attacked from every dominant cornerstone of America, from law and religion, to philosophy and social politics. When not under direct assault, feminism is often rolled through the mire of ridicule and humiliation – as if the concept of women as equals was a socially embarrassing fad that should be bumpersticker-ed into obscurity.

I’ve been somewhat surprised though to see a feminist v. feminist mentality at work when it comes to women’s health. Much has been made about ideas like “fat acceptance” and self-acceptance, although they are not necessarily rooted in the same ideas.

Women ages 30-60 in 2008 weigh an average of twenty pounds more than they did in 1976. Obesity related diseases, like late-onset diabetes, are on the rise. Child obesity has become an epidemic. The diet industry is multi-billion dollar failure that giddily churns out one broken promise after another in order to keep itself rolling in astronomical profits.

Those are just a few facts of fat in our society, and they can’t all be blamed on glandular disorders, slow metabolisms, or genetics. It IS the food we are consuming. It IS the way the food is made and processed, it IS our sedentary lifestyles, and this IS being sold to us daily by some of the greediest and least ethical industries in the world and their political lobbyists.

The snowballing social effects of our newly fat and largely sedentary society collide head-on with feminist principles. Not only does a new social prejudice arise from the glut that is sure to effect more women than men – “fat prejudice” – but women are left exhausted, less active, physically and psychologically damaged, unhealthy, and more prone to disease. Somehow, I don’t think this is what the early and most active of feminists had in mind when they began laying the foundation for social and legal equality.

As women, we should love ourselves – because the food industry certainly won’t. The government won’t. The diet companies only love us for our money and perpetual want for miracles. I’m no conspiracy theorist, but look at that unholy triad. Unhealthy foods created by politically savvy manufacturers get a seal of approval from the government. As Americans get fatter and fatter, the diet industry explodes in wealth, allowing for more product development, and more pharmaceuticals. The (predominately male) profiteers get richer, and the consumers (predominately female) and their families get poorer health.

Enter the new school of “fat acceptance.” Fat is beautiful, according to the new feminist creed. Fat is not a problem, but womanly, healthy, and somehow an all-natural phenomena of XX-chromosomes and estrogen.

Structurally, genetically, women are different. We are pears, apples, straight lines. Some of us have generous curves, others have hardly any curve to them at all. At our optimum best, some of us will be size sixteen, and others will be size two. However, there is a substantial difference between accepting our naturally occurring genetic attributes, and accepting the creation and sustaining of avoidable obesity.

As someone who tips the scales at far more than she should – who grew up thin and has steadily ballooned into more than a Rubenesque figure – I understand that fat acceptance seeks to soothe the souls and psyches of women like me who have, often unwittingly, been the victims of a diseased food and lifestyle culture. I also understand the feelings of defeat and shoulder-shrugging apathy, because let’s face it – change isn’t easy, and it’s certainly not comfortable for most of us. I have, like most women, felt betrayed by a body that doesn’t respond quickly to healthy lifestyle changes. The question is, do I give up? Do I let the food factories and diet industries hold sway over my life? Do I invent a new mental schema that rewires my thoughts to accept – and even nurture – my obesity?

Hell, no.

Does that make me less than a feminist? I don’t think so, and it’s sad to me that for some feminism has devolved into a practice of setting women against each other in the name of some perverse politic that demands women give up on their bodies, fall in love with their fat, and shut off their intuitive and learned knowledge in the name of “acceptance”. For whom are we really doing that? Certainly not for ourselves. We are not the ones benefiting from our lack of health and physical activity – we’re just the ones supplying the bodies and dollars for those who do benefit.

I may have once bought the “convenience” of processed, eviscerated, chemically-processed foods as sold by the food manufacturers, and then sought relief from the consequences of that “convenience” from the diet industry, but my ultimate reaction to the face and body staring back at me from the mirror is, No – this is not what I planned to look like at 46 years old, this is not how I wanted to feel, these are not diseases and problems I thought I’d have, and damnit, I’m going to heal.

I accept who I am and where I’m at, and I feel absolutely nothing akin to self-loathing. I don’t feel ashamed, or angry, or disgusted with myself. Instead, I feel protective of this body, admiring of its tolerance, and fully invested in getting it back to a state of health. “Nothing will work unless you do,” Maya Angelou once said. So I’ll work at it – like a fiend – and after a year I’ll either have a great testimonial to organic, whole foods and exercise. . .or not. I’ll either get down to a reasonable size or I won’t. I don’t expect miracles, but I do expect that I’ll sweat. A lot. If I’m still fat at the end of a year, at least my heart, my conscience, and my endurance will be better off.

In any case, I’ll still be a feminist. And I’ll still support other women who are brave enough to stand up and face adversity not only from the well-greased political machines, but from those whose misguided notions of feminism would ignore the health, well-being, and potential of women in favor of “fat advocacy.”

The anathema of feminism is not inherent in those who advocate for women’s health, but in those who would accept the crippling obesity of a populace, and then justify it with a program wherein the disease becomes a thing of beauty, and its symptoms become poetic symbols of self-love, womanhood, and solidarity.

There’s nothing beautiful or poetic about dying young when you’re the one dying.

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Dear Elisabeth,

Somehow, in all those sterling lessons I imparted as a parent, I left out this highly crucial one regarding cussing etiquette. As I watched you, my beautiful Venus daughter, trying to cuss the other day — and doing it all wrong — I realized I had failed to teach you even the rudimentary basics of proper cussing. Shame on me. What the hell was I thinking? Every well-versed and emotionally generous woman should be able to employ these colorful words properly.

Let’s start with hell which, as you may have noted above, should always be spoken as if it’s italicized. Otherwise, what’s the point? The fiery meaning of hell is subdued when it is said without the proper attending passion. What’s a hell without fire? North Dakota. So if you’re not going to give this devilish word its due, you might as well say just say Fargo for all the feeling your improper usage will evoke.

Fargo.
Hell.
Fargo.
HELL.
Feel the difference?

The word “fuck”, unfortunately, has entered the mainstream. It’s unfortunate not because it’s not a useful (and even occasionally beautiful word) but because its use among people who are not really cool enough to say it has diminished its rebellious nature. Face it — we don’t want to hear pubescent teens or Bill Gates say fuck. Never mind that they’ve done “it” — the word is rarely about “it” anymore — and it’s certainly not about wearing hideous jeans halfway down your ass, or even dominating a world market.

The word “fuck” is about being ethically outraged, or full of righteous passion, anger, or emotion. Losing a video game, or being found guilty of monopolizing, hardly qualifies as ethically outrageous or righteously passionate, angry or emotional. Uncool people, of course, don’t know these things, so they totally fuck up a perfectly good word, and sound like complete idiots when they do.

Now that I’ve shared rule #1 of the word “fuck” — that you should be cool enough and passionate enough to use it properly — let’s move on to rule #2. It’s fucking. Not fuckin’. The full ing is crucial to proper usage, which is? Let’s review — to express a state of being ethically outraged, or full of righteous passion, anger, or emotion. Without the “ing” this otherwise strong word loses much of its muscle and becomes weaker, watered-down slang.

One word that should never precede the word “fucker” is mother. It is just not cool. (However, if the pre-fix comes from outside the family, such as “ex-lover fucker”, or “sperm donor fucker” than this usage is entirely appropriate).

Oh no, here it comes. . .the oft-despised, much maligned “C” word. Like the infamous “N” word its usage should belong exclusively to those who were once the targets of the name-callers, in this case women. Women should own the “C” word with all due authority and do with it what they will. Most will choose to use it sparingly, some will choose to integrate it into safe and sane playing, and others will shriek loudly and cover their ears at the mere mention of the word. It’s best to use this vibrant, powerful word only in select, known company.

Shit. Please don’t make a habit out of saying it — any more than once or twice a day usage goes beyond earthy good humor to redneck overkill. The only cool redneck woman is in a song, and she — according to Gretchen Wilson — ain’t no high class broad. No one wants to be the pride of Dublin, TX anyway, unless they’re from Dublin and have no plans to go anywhere else in life.

Bitch. Now here’s a word that women have tried to own with pride. Meredith Brooks wrote a lovely, popular song about it, and there’s even a feminist magazine that has the word on its masthead, but the co-opting of this verbal complement to “bastard”, and especially its duality of use as a squawking, backbiting verb — “he had the nerve to bitch about it” — has left women as the renters, rather than the true owners of their favorite cuss word.

I say if you can’t really own it, give it away to those in need. Namely, men. Not just our lovely, needy gay male friends, but men in general need this word. “Bastard”, as it were, is underused and understated, and doesn’t really cover the full spectrum of male diva behavior — such as starting a war with a third world country in order to make astronomical profits for your friends, or lying to millions of unsuspecting consumers about the safety of certain products, or looting hundreds of millions of dollars from investors in order to live a lavish, if unlawful, lifestyle. Yes, Bush and Cheney are bitches. Slick lobbyists and their predominately male political allies are bitches. Dennis Kozlowski is a bitch.

See? We can give the word “bitch” away, and let them keep “bastard” while we’re at it, and suffer no ill effect. Let’s choose, instead, to own a word like Goddess, which has no negative connotations, and which truly reflects the spiritual and aesthetic beauty of women. Like you.

Love Always,

Mom

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