No Shirt

“I’m in love with you but I can’t date you,” he said unprompted.

Unblinkingly, I stared up at him from my seat on the bench by the bonfire, waiting anxiously to hear where this was headed. He had ambushed me at our high school graduation after-party. Maybe he felt the same crushing finality of this chapter of our lives as I did, fearing that this was his last chance to set the record straight. He continued, “someone like me with someone… like you. It just wouldn’t be good for my reputation.” He danced around the subject for a few more minutes, talking in circles until we both felt dizzy; but the underlying message was there, I was too fat to date publicly.

This drunk confession from my high school crush was not easy on my impressionable, 18 year-old ears. That being said, it wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before. I had spent my whole life telling myself that I was too fat to do anything: too fat to become a competitive figure skater, too fat to go to my best friend’s pool party, too fat to squeeze into the largest size of Lululemon yoga pants that all my friends were wearing in tenth grade. I had certainly been turned down or ignored by crushes before, so why did this time feel so different?

I’ve always had a complicated relationship with my fatness. Comparable to an overbearing parent, it has always had a strong hold over the way I conduct myself, and acted as a factor in every decision I have ever made. Before saying yes to an activity, I would picture how I would look participating in said activity. Amusement parks were out of the question. What if I can’t fit the seat-belt around me? Sports were similarly removed from discussion. What if I get tired before everyone else and have to sit out? Even eating in public would be cause for concern, depending on the social environment and circumstances. What if I eat more than everyone else? What if the hot guy from fourth period sees me shoving poutine into my mouth as though I haven’t eaten in months?

All possibilities for humiliation considered, I often still manage to have an intense superiority complex. On a good day, the Alex in my head is a waif-like size zero. She has a gorgeous face, perfect body, and never settles. The presence of two opposing Alexandras in my psyche has always created problems in my dating and sex life. Imaginary Alex is extremely superficial and wants a fit, conventionally attractive man to show off on Instagram, while Real Alex knows this isn’t exactly an easy task to accomplish in her current physical state. As a result, at times my standards for potential partners can be too high. This simply adds to the already high probability of rejection and humiliation.

Nevertheless, Imaginary Alex allows for a certain degree of confidence that I wouldn’t otherwise experience on a daily basis. Unfortunately, Imaginary Alex doesn’t always make an appearance in my daily stream of consciousness.

In a world where fat is viewed as inferior, my alter ego often gives me the confidence to pursue those society considers to be “outside of my league.” However, too often this false confidence has lead to a destructive cycle of vulnerability and humiliation in which I grow close with the guy I am interested in, convince myself that he may be interested in me too, muster up the courage to ask how he feels, and ultimately get turned down.

Fortunately, most of these crushes were kind enough to let me down easily, and I am still friends with them to this day. Such demonstrations of decency is often more than one can expect from a teenage boy. These vague rejections also left the reasoning behind their lack-of-interest up to self interpretation. Therefore, while my self-deprecating mind often relegated partial blame to my fatness, it was easy enough to pretend that the majority of my rejection could be attributed to a lack of romantic connection. However, this means of self-protection was not fool proof. Each new rejection stung more than the last, despite adamant attempts to push my pain onto the back-burner.

Then came Will. Will was your typical jock/womanizer combination who was obsessed with protecting his ego. Looking back, he wasn’t even that cute. Notwithstanding—Will’s lack of physical prowess and asshole demeanor—he still managed to get all the girls to pull down their Catholic school kilts for him; myself included. Will and I ran in the same social circle since grade nine, but only became close at the beginning of grade twelve.

I started helping him with his English homework and partnering with him for projects. Eventually we started going to parties together, and then would ultimately end up sitting in his driveway until five o’clock in the morning talking about anything and everything. The more I got to know Will, the less I hated the version of himself he presented to the world. It became clear he had many of his own insecurities. It was almost like he had an Imaginary Will of his own that helped get him through the day. I quickly became infatuated with Will and was not shy about spreading this news to all of my friends. We had such a strange and intense connection that some part of me believed he liked me back.

It was only a matter of time before Will found out that I had feelings for him.

At that point, I didn’t care that he had found out, and he didn’t seem to care that I liked him. Nothing about our relationship changed. Although he didn’t show any immediate signs of wanting to pursue a relationship with me, something kept me from entirely giving up any hope of us being together. As the school year went on, I became more and more infatuated with him. In my eyes, he could do no wrong. Will constantly used me for rides to parties; I didn’t get mad. He fucked my best friend; I didn’t get mad. He told me he couldn’t date me because I was too fat and it was bad for his reputation; I still didn’t get mad.

His actions aside, it wouldn’t be fair to blame my insecurities surrounding sex and relationships entirely on Will. My insecurities have been deeply ingrained in my psyche since childhood. However, the accumulation of these recurring experiences continued to reinforce my negative thoughts. Although I am well aware of society’s perception of fat people, such reminders serve as a recurring slap in the face.

Fat prejudice is often thinly disguised as concern for the health of the population. Of course, excessive weight gain can be unhealthy, but so are smoking, drinking, or taking drugs—all of which are glamorized by the media. Fatness becomes the outlier in this myriad of “unhealthy practices” because it is considered to be an eyesore. Fatness makes people uncomfortable. The social standards surrounding health and beauty unconsciously shape individual biases to the extent that even I, an actual fat person, can admit to preferring my partners to being conventionally attractive.

I’m not going to rattle on and on about the large amount of unlearning that we have to do as a society because, because you’ve heard it all before. If you’re not attracted to fat people, reading an essay about the damaging effects of the “skinny > fat” mindset isn’t going to change your mind, and that’s okay. It wouldn’t be realistic to expect everyone to suddenly find all fat people attractive. However, it is important to understand that my experience isn’t unique. Fat people are frequently made to feel as though they don’t deserve love, and must suppress their sexuality until they attain a body deemed acceptable by society. During the rare instances in which a fat person’s sexuality is celebrated, it is often viewed as a fetish, reducing fat people to an object used merely for sexual satisfaction.

While it is certainly easy to play the victim and wallow in self pity, I know that I am not purely a victim of circumstance. My particular weight gain was preventable and is absolutely my fault. I also hold the power to lose weight whenever I want. However, knowing these facts doesn’t make my journey to self-acceptance easier.

Finally, the years of continually being turned down caught up to me. The feelings of embarrassment I experienced after being told that I’m not good enough were unparalleled. The phrase “I see you as a friend” is now enough to send Imaginary Alex into an immediate and long hibernation. With each new rejection, the voice inside my head was quick to humble me, “how could you think that HE would fuck YOU?” It began to feel as though I would never find someone who was able to look past my weight and appreciate the rest of what makes me beautiful. I even began to question why I so desperately longed for a relationship. Was it simply for validation?

When I finally did begin to have sex in my twenties, it was not without conflict. Much to the chagrin of my current boyfriend, I spent the first year of our sexual relationship having sex with my shirt on.

“Will you take your shirt off?” he finally requested meekly. I stopped fucking him as soon as I processed what he had asked. He seemed as nervous to make the request as I did about exposing myself. For a full thirty seconds I pondered the request before taking a deep breath and obliging. While my compliance was met with enthusiasm, with each passing second I tried desperately to shrink further and further into myself. Suddenly the fact that I was on top, completely exposed, was horrifying. He had seen every part of my body before, but never all at once. I had always kept our encounters tightly controlled by keeping on a single item of clothing or using a strategically placed blanket to hide an undesired body part. I was always constantly thinking about how my entire body looked in any given position.

What if he can see my stomach hanging out when he fucks me from behind?

What if my tits look saggy when I’m on top?

What if I suffocate him with my thighs when he goes down on me?

What if the sight of my entire disgusting body all at once is too overwhelming and he leaves me?

It’s hard to feel sexy when you don’t believe it yourself. My boyfriend has always been amazing at showering me with compliments. Notwithstanding these attempts to comfort me, I can never seem to shake the thought that he doesn’t find me attractive. I’m constantly questioning his motives for being with me. Does he have a fat fetish? Does he lack the confidence to go out and find someone of equal physical stature? While I am aware that it’s not fair to project my own insecurities onto my boyfriend, at times I’m not able to stop myself. An even bigger fear is that my thoughts will ultimately create a self-fulfilling prophecy, causing my partner to grow tired of my drama and leave me as a result. People will only take so much of your bullshit until you have to own your trauma and take responsibility for your healing.  

If I had been told at 16 that I would fuck three people by the age of 22 without losing any weight first, I would have never believed it. The healing process is slow and never fully guaranteed, but it is necessary. It took me twenty-two years to feel comfortable enough in my body in order to share it with someone else. Everyone’s healing process is unique, just as everyone’s reasons for acceptance are different, but if you want to get there, you can make it happen.

I’m nowhere near at ease with my body yet, but hey, I can fuck without a shirt on.