Welcome to Cheaper Than Therapy, a healing newsletter for 80s babies by Shani Silver. This newsletter does not publish free content, but if you’d like to read it you can subscribe here. Thank you for enjoying the work of independent writers.
There’s a lot I can’t forgive. I’ve turned grudges into performance art at this point. My generation in particular has plenty to punch holes in walls about. For starters, we have never received an apology for the complete grooming to believe that if you’re not rail thin, you’re fat. As well as the invented idea that nothing is worse than fat, too. We haven’t seen so much as a “whoopsie” and I take umbrage. Culture-setting industries have a responsibility to the public to not abuse their influence, and selling Bridget Jones as the chubby girl a hot man fell in love with “anyway” was a goddamn felony. The ripples of these “artistic” choices live on in the guilt a gender carries for having the audacity to eat.
I identify as not skinny and not fat. That should just be fine, but it never has been, because bodies like Bridget Jones’ were described another way. I’ve lived my entire adult life in a constant state of “needing to lose 20 pounds.” Constant. Because my brain was perpetually pummeled by reminders that if you’re not thin, you won’t get what you want in life, because you won’t deserve it. Praise, attraction, and opportunities are reserved for those dedicated enough to live in a perpetual state of hunger. A completely normal, completely healthy woman’s body was demonstrated to me as a moral failure. Oh, you aren’t 115 pounds? How sad that you don’t love yourself enough to want a good life. Congratulations to the body positivity movement but it never made me feel like I was a part of it, because it never included an unwinding of the dysmorphic telephone cord choking my generation. How are we supposed to suddenly hop on board after all we were fed to believe? Also, while I’m riled up, apologize to Jessica Simpson!