The biggest loser

On September 29, 2011, American journalist Michael Kinsley wrote a scathing column on why New Jersey Governor Chris Christie shouldn’t be president due to his obesity. His argument primarily banked on the notion that a good leader shouldn’t be judged on policies alone, but also on behavior and character—a clear reference to the politician’s publicly scrutinized weight problem.

If you’re anything like me, a wandering techno-vagabond constantly scouring the internet for new flesh to feed on, then chances are you’ve come upon something of that nature in recent months.

The viral video of one Nicole Arbour blatantly shaming ‘fat’ people (and that’s putting it lightly) has been making the rounds on Facebook for quite some time now. For those who haven’t seen it yet, the main premise of the video was that everything needed to be done for ‘fat’ people to slim down—bullying and condescending remarks were supposedly okay if it helped achieve this goal. The collective opinion of friends who shared it to their timelines were somewhat divided. While others deemed it tasteless and rude, some actually applauded Arbour’s blunt and unapologetic demeanor.

To each his own, I guess. Different strokes for different folks. But as someone who used to be a guinea pig of sorts for different types of weight-related ridicule, I find it necessary for me to shed light on the other side of this issue.

I used to be a juggernaut back in high school. At my heaviest, which was around my junior year, I weighed at around 260 pounds. Standing at around 5’9” then, my BMI would’ve clocked in at around 38.4. That’s already Class II Obesity—extremely unhealthy. Heart disease and stroke were just around the corner.

At that point, I became the subject of constant banter within my circle of friends. It was all very tongue-in-cheek at first. I was ‘Shaq’ during basketball games, ‘Majin Buu’ inside the classroom. I was also often romantically (not to mention involuntarily) linked to the ‘heaviest’ girls in campus, much to my dissatisfaction. I didn’t mind it. After all, what are friends for if not for those types of antics?

But as time passed, the initial comical jabs didn’t seem so comical anymore.
The sudden shouts of “Baboy!” albeit jokingly, as I passed by my friends’ classrooms began to take on more serious connotations. I even started comparing myself to my guy batch mates who had girlfriends—those that weren’t forced on them as a joke. Staring at mirrors and weighing scales became more habitual to the point that it became an obsession, especially in the latter’s case. I shied away from photographs because all I could see were distorted images of an already distorted person, relatively speaking.

Being fat wasn’t just a physical state anymore. It had also become a mental state.

If we lived in a perfect world, then ‘fat’ would just be that. Fat. Without any attached notions or whatsoever. But sadly, that type of world has yet to arrive. When you’re fat, you’re also lazy, gluttonous, and ugly, even when you’re not.

What made this whole fiasco worse was that my clique didn’t see the mockery as something that should be taken with utmost seriousness. In fact, I once overheard a close friend of mine talking about my profuse sweating to another group of students. “I don’t want to sit next to him anymore. He smells awful; ang taba kasi eh,” she uttered in disgust.

You probably know where this is going. Given the superficiality of high school, it was imperative that I slim down. I tried everything from eating one meal a day to doing suicide drills at the basketball court at night. Whenever the scales failed to tip in my favor, literally, I felt all the more like a loser. When the scale’s readings did eventually change, my mindset remained the same: infuriated, dejected, and traumatized.

This wasn’t an isolated case, mind you. Everyone I knew who were of substantial weight also became exposed to the same brand of bullying. I had a nice old teacher once who walked with a slight limp because of the burden that her weight was putting on her legs. Instead of empathizing with her situation, people blatantly disrespected her. Her unconventional manner of walking became highly requested of the class clowns.

So, where is all this leading?  I’m not saying that we should romanticize obesity. I’m a rational person and I know very well the repercussions it has on one’s health. It’s just that I sincerely believe that this ‘tough love’ approach advocated by people who’ve probably never been in such a situation before is pure idiocy. To use such condescending remarks to a fat person in the hopes that they’ll see the silver lining in it is preposterous. It totally denies the emotional, mental, and psychological aspects in play.

There’s a reason why people undergoing weight loss keep posting selfies of their progress. It’s not a testament to their newfound fitness-induced arrogance. Rather, it’s their way of acknowledging a new beginning, free of social mockery and harassment. They’ve finally ‘come out of the closet’, to borrow the LGBT term.

As sentimental as this may sound, ‘fat’ people know they’re fat. They go about their day with the thought of it constantly fresh in their minds. Some have warmed up to the idea of their own body image, and that’s good. But there is still a large majority that remains tormented by scornful remarks about their personal appearance. I was one of those people. I could’ve easily forgotten all that negativity and ridden off into the sunset with all the pounds that I’ve lost since then. But the mere fact that those memories still amble in my mind every now and then means that this issue—fat-shaming—isn’t one to be taken lightly.­