Categories
movie

I have a lot of feelings about Dumplin’

I saw Dumplin’ on Netflix last weekend thanks to Sarah Gailey, and I’m glad since I might never have gotten around to it otherwise.

If you don’t know about Dumplin’, it’s about a fat girl named Willowdean (Danielle MacDonald) who is the daughter of a former beauty queen (Rosie, played by Jennifer Aniston) who is still deeply embedded in the pageant circuit and culture. As you can imagine, mother and daughter have some conflicting interests. Willowdean was much closer to her Aunt Lucy (Hilliary Begley), a beautiful and vivacious fat woman who instilled in her an absolute love of Dolly Parton… and who had recently died. In an act of grief and defiance, Willowdean decides to enter this year’s beauty pageant, along with her best friend Ellen (Odeya Rush), and two girls who also definitely don’t fit the pageant scene: defiantly queer Hannah (Bex Taylor-Klaus), and Millie (Maddie Baillio) who is extremely earnest about everything and also a fat girl.

So basically I’m going to spoil everything about this movie, so just go and watch it because it’s really fucking good.

Any movie that involves fat characters, especially fat female characters, is one I approach with caution. I’ve been burned way too many times by narratives that hinge on a girl “becoming” beautiful by losing weight. Or by the fat girl being the thin girl’s accessory. Or by the fat girl being the butt of the jokes instead of the one who makes them. Add that the whole thing centers around a beauty pageant and I would have been wary about picking it up on my own.

But the thing about Dumplin’ is that it’s one of those movies that constantly defies the expectations that have been drilled into us as an audience. For example, I spent the whole movie expecting Willowdean’s love interest Bo (Luke Benward), who is a traditional white teen guy hottie, to turn on her and be using her to score points, or because he expects her to be easy, or any of the horrible stuff that normally happens to fat girl characters. And it never happens. Bo’s earnest, and good, and… well, getting in to my own feelings as a fat person, there’s an amazing scene where Willowdean asks him why the hell he would want to be with her considering how she looks. Which is one of those moments where the movie got just too fucking real. I’ve had that conversation before. I’ve felt the disbelief that even when someone says they like you for your whole self, you think that can’t possibly be true. Willowdean’s someone that’s grown up in the same fat-hating culture as the rest of us (and it’s on display in the movie in horrible, familiar ways), with the added fun of having an image-conscious, incredibly thin mother.

(A mother who eagerly blames Aunt Lucy’s death on the fact that she was fat in an argument I felt like a punch in the gut.)

The movie does that with a lot of choices, taking the unexpected route that steps around cheap inter-character drama rather than following the familiar tropes. It’s also a massive meditation on friendship, and the strength of bonds between girls. We see Willowdean and her friend Ellen grow up together, solid friends into their teens. Ellen decides to participate in the pageant earnestly, and not as a way to try to destroy it. She and Willowdean get in a pretty nasty argument about things, where Willowdean basically calls out Ellen for being thing and says that people who look like Ellen (beautiful in a conventional sense) don’t have a place in the revolution.

The easy and expected route would be for them to be at odds for the rest of the movie. Instead, Willowdean apologizes and says she misses Ellen. And Ellen accepts the apology but says she’s still too mad to talk immediately… and Willowdean respects it. Then later, they’re back to being arm and arm, facing the world together. Like holy fucking shit, give me some more friendship like that. Give me teen girls having each other’s backs, because it’s them against the world. Give me teen girls that know they have different experiences of the world and use that difference to be even closer. I’m tearing up just thinking about it, because it was beautiful.

The sort of open heart that the film has about teen girls/young women being complex people with deep inner lives really does extend outside of Ellen and Willowdean. Millie is an actual precious cinnamon roll in human form, yet she is also without a doubt the most absolutely determined and implacable character on screen. Hannah’s a fucking adorable baby queer trapped in a small town, who goes from doing everything with full, angry irony to finding her own balance of earnest participation and still absolutely being herself. Watching Hannah and Millie become friends in the background is a fucking amazing story on its own. (And I would also totally ship it.)

And even the rest of the girls in the pageant aren’t reduced to caricature even if we don’t know their stories. It’s another moment where the film could have taken the expected route, making a bunch of teenage pageant participants into raging, catty bitches, and sidesteps that. They’re welcoming, and they believe in what they’re doing. Hell, there’s a scene where Willowdean shows her talent (a magic trick) in front of everyone and I wanted to die of transmitted embarrassment because she does so badly… which is the point because at that point, she’s not taking things seriously and hasn’t practiced. But the scene is actually a thousand times more uncomfortable not because the girls in the audience are being nasty, but because they convey that they really want her to do better, and that’s so much worse.

The movie does critique pageant culture for the way it excludes fat girls and is often used to make them feel worse about themselves. The scene where Willowdean signs up for the pageant, where the women in charge make it very clear that she does not belong here with tone and expression, is exactly what you’d expect. Yet the critique comes from a place of love rather than misogyny, which is where a lot of criticism of pageants loses its way. It’s possible to criticize fat-shaming and promotion of eating disorders without denigrating the idea that some people might find embracing that branch of femininity, with its sparkling dresses, empowering.

Ultimately, Dumplin’ embraces the beauty pageant as a place that allows Millie particularly to realize her potential by singing her heart out and looking goddamn fabulous in a dress. It touches on how important events like that can be in fairly small towns–so big in a girl’s life that even twenty-some years later, it’s the biggest accomplishment that Rosie’s ever had and it’s made her dedicate herself to shepherding other girls that way. And it presents its own vision of the world as it should be, with Millie placing in the pageant to thunderous applause because she goddamn well deserves it.

Which curiously, circles back around to Aunt Lucy, whose presence never leaves the film. Rosie has hit the stage of grief where she wants to get rid of Lucy’s old possessions; Willowdean isn’t quite there yet, which is another point of friction. And she wants to find a broach of Lucy’s that looks like a bee, something she always wore. Willowdean joins the pageant on a half-formed whim when she finds some paperwork among the boxes that shows Aunt Lucy was going to do the pageant the same year Rosie did… and mysteriously dropped out. The natural assumption in that moment is that Lucy didn’t make it into the pageant because of her weight… and so Willowdean decides to do it herself, to complete her lost aunt’s dream and to also get a kind of revenge, since Willowdean believes the pageant is bullshit and wants to prove it.

What we eventually come to find is that Lucy dropped out of the pageant not because she was forced out, but because the family couldn’t afford even one suitable dress, and so she dropped out and made one for Rosie herself–the one Rosie still wears every year. And in the end, Willowdean finds her own meaning in the pageant by embracing it to the point that she gets herself disqualified by doing an unapproved and incredible magic performance. Which sure seems like something that would have made Lucy proud, while still being very Willowdean. And Rosie finds she can no longer fit into her teen pageant dress… but she goes on stage (in a borrowed dress) wearing Lucy’s broach. Both of them are letting go, and changing, and still keeping the person they loved in their life in a positive way.

All this, and you get Dolly Parton drag queens too. And a ton of great Dolly Parton songs. Maybe I should have mentioned that earlier. I just have a lot of feelings, okay?

Categories
health personal

Not being bullshitted about my weight: priceless

Okay, I’m going to talk about weight loss stuff. If you find that kind of talk triggering our you just couldn’t give less of a shit, please skip this. I just feel like I have to be open about this stuff because it helps my peace if mind.

You probably already know I’m in the midst of an ongoing fitness/weight loss/help me I don’t want to get type 2 diabetes project. The summary is I used to weigh 275 lbs, now I weigh around 192. Which is actually less than I weighed when I started power lifting in high school. So I think the project has been a resounding success, but I’ve tried to keep it rolling since this isn’t the sort of thing you just stop doing.

For about the last year, my weight has basically stayed steady, though I’ve had some nice strength gains since I started weightlifting again. I did all my weight loss with calorie counting, which has worked well for me. I generally eat 1400-1700 calories per day, which is appropriate to my weight and activity level…if I want to keep losing weight.

Which I haven’t been.

So a bit ago I got frustrated and decided to try cutting my intake further to see if I could get my weight to start dropping again. A nutritionist I talked to a couple years ago had recommended trying that. I went down to 1000-1300 calories per day. Which peeled another ten pounds off of me before I got stuck again. And then I started having dizzy spells, stopped gaining muscle strength, and lost a giant whack out of my aerobic endurance.

Plus that was just a fucking miserable amount of food to be restricted to, to be honest. I looked at it and thought I can’t maintain this, I don’t want to, I feel terrible, what’s the point if you feel terrible?

Which comes back to something I’ve always said about losing weight…you have to be able to sustain whatever changes you make in your life. This shit isn’t something you just do for a couple of months and then decide it’s good enough. You have to even out at a place where you’re happy and can do it long term. Life is short. Eat the fucking cake.

So I went back to my old intake. As one might expect, I regained the last ten pounds with almost frightening speed. But now I’m back to gaining strength and I can once more run/ride for an hour or more and not feel like total shit, so I count that as worth it.

Yet all the calculations I did kept telling me hey, at 1400-1700 you should be losing weight. So I went ahead and made an appointment with a new doctor who specializes in weight management. Because why not, what’s the worst that could happen? A doctor could tell me I’m fat and need to eat less and make me feel like shit. Been there, done that.

Long lead up on this story I know. But I feel like I hit the jackpot.

This new doctor asked me about my physical activity and what I normally eat. She asked me about my family history, if I had thyroid problems, etc. And this is what just blew me away when all was said and done. She told me:

“We’re going to try a few things, like analyzing your BMR and body fat. But I need you to be at peace with where you are since you are already healthy. Genetics are a big part of this, and I need you to have a realistic goal and be okay with it.”

If you’ve never been the fat kid, then you have no idea how it felt to hear that. It was like a fucking choir of angels singing from heaven. (And she loved my joke that, well, that sucks, but in the pre-modern world I would have been set.)

Because this is the shit you get, even from doctors a lot of the time, this idea that you should be able to hit a certain weight on the scale that correlates nicely with your height, and if you haven’t it’s because you aren’t trying hard enough. Entire fucking industries are built on this lie that if you don’t look like a film star, it is your own fault, and it’s entirely within your power to change that…if you just buy into their product.

Well, that’s not the way it works. And just hearing a doctor tell me for once that she wanted me to be realistic and be okay with myself almost made me cry. That never happens. You tell yourself constantly that you’re are okay the way you are, that this is just how you’re put together. But having someone else confirm it for you feels like pure magic being injected into your heart.

I wish I could bottle this woman and send her to every chubby kid (and grownup with an inner chubby kid) in the world. Sometimes there isn’t anything you can do, and you have to be okay with that. You have to be happy with you.

Now the hard part is, as always, going to be hearing her beautiful voice over the constant background drone that says I just don’t want it enough.

Yeah, well you know, when I was a kid I wanted to be a unicorn too.

Categories
feminism rants things that are hard to write

Stop calling me a "real woman"

Because you know what that implies? Are there really femmebots out there, complete with boob guns that make up the category of “not real” women? Are there girls made out of plastic? Is there a test you have to take, or are there government regulations sort of like they have for beef that mean we get tagged as real women, right next to the stamp stating we’re organic, because hey we’re composed of carbon-containing molecules?

It’s a bullshit term. It always struck me wrong when I went to Lane Bryant and was rewarded with “real woman dollars” for shopping. But the wrongness burst into ugly life when I re-watched the episode of Project Runway where one of the designers is a giant toolbag to a plus-size lady. The utter patronizing tone in which its delivered and that it’s obvious he’s using it in place of “fat” because he’s trying to weasel out of being eviscerated for being an asshole is even more insulting.

You’re not fooling anyone. We shouldn’t need some kind of smirking consolation prize for wearing clothing that’s bigger than a 16. We already know we’re real. We exist. It’s a sad disguise for the fact that often plus-size clothing feels like cultural punishment by setting set us in an adversarial position to women who wear “normal” sizes. Perhaps if we’re too busy trying to look down our noses at each other, we’ll miss the evil truth that we’re being compelled to attack people who should be our allies in this struggle, divided falsely along superficial lines.

Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe it’s just a pathetic attempt to make us feel better about ourselves. Hey, you’re large and are apparently considered unworthy to wear anything other than black smocks (it’s slimming, you know) but you’re a real woman. As if realness is determined by mass rather than an authenticity of spirit. 

Being a woman isn’t a contest that some of us have to lose. There is a full spectrum of women to which we all belong, an infinite continuum of what it means to “look like a woman,” and no part of that spectrum should be defined as inherently superior. Doing that (and then gleefully jumping over a cliff with the invention of photoshop) is what got us into this mess in the first place.

I’m tired of the implication that my struggle to accept myself has to come at the detriment of other women.

Real women are fat. Real women are thin. Real women come in all colors and shapes and identities, and sometimes we have curves, and sometimes we don’t but damnit we’re all real women.

And we’re all really beautiful.