Apologies and Excuses: Eating as a Pathology

This summer I’m doing research at my college, and I’m living with two roommates. Something I’ve noticed is that I’ve been actively avoiding eating in front of them, and I think this tied into a larger theme common to many women: Food guilt.

At my college, I have worked for the past two years at a small convenience store on campus. The store is frequented by a large number of students and is an employer of many more. One of my main tasks as a student employee is to check people out at the register, which means that I get to know, or at least recognize the faces of, the people who shop at the store.

I quickly noticed a trend in which female customers would come in, bring what they deemed “unhealthy” foods (ranging from a bag of Cheetos to a bottle of Coke) to the register and make excuses, either to me or whoever they were with, about why they were purchasing such items, despite knowing how “bad” they supposedly were. Other female customers would bring a basket filled with food to the register and quickly go on about how they hadn’t eaten all day, how it was for their friends, or something similar, as if they needed to provide a reason for buying so much to eat. And there were others who I saw more often and who obviously recognized me, who would some in and say things like, “I’m sorry that I come in here all the time. You must think I’m fat for buying so much food.”

The strange part about all this is that when I was working and I encountered women saying such things, I thought it was really odd. But whenever I went to buy food at the same place, I always secretly wondered what the student cashiers thought of me and the food I was buying.

The other strange thing was that no matter how much, or what kinds of things, the male customers I saw purchased, they made excuses and apologized drastically less frequently than their female counterparts.

As I recall these experiences, all I can think about is how, for women and girls, relentless socialization has turned eating into a pathology.

From a young age, girls are taught that appearances are important to their identity. They are socialized into this in many ways, ranging from the types of compliments they receive (“You look so pretty!”) to the kinds of play things meant for people of their gender (Barbies, princess dress up clothes). This appearance-centered world that girls are socialized into is made more problematic when it’s coupled with the narrow ideal of female beauty: being flawlessly thin.

For women, eating is not merely about nutrition. It is seen as a disorder, a pathology. Women are taught to control their bodies through controlling their eating habits with the help of diet plans, low-fat food, diet soda, and other such products. If a woman eats, she is often made to feel as if she has “let herself go,” as if she does not care about her body the way she should, as if there is something wrong with her.

And so women who come to buy food at the convenience store at my college campus make excuses for their purchases have clearly internalized the messages from the greater society that say that eating is a poor reflection on them – that it is a disorder.

As a young woman who deals with this problem every day of my life, who feels extreme guilt for eating anything and who feel hyper-aware of how other perceive my eating habits, I have not been able to fully explore all the reasons and meanings behind this issue. But I do hope to write about this more in the future.


NOTE: The main idea for this post came to me after reading Reading Ads Socially by Robert Goldman. In chapter 5 of this book, Goldman writes about how advertisements contribute to the notion that if women don’t add up to the idealized image of female beauty, that they have a flaw. I thought this point fit particularly well with my experiences and the common problem of women’s messed up ideas about eating.

Kirstie Alley fat-hates herself

Hey friends! I took a break from blogging for awhile to finish my semester, but I finished all of my work this week and now (assuming things go well) have a Masters degree! Next comes the fun part of finding a job... Either way, my blogging hiatus is up!

I saw this article about Kirstie Alley and it just made me sad. The words she chooses to describe herself fat-shame not only her body, but her whole being as a person. The article quotes her as saying, "It [the scale] said 228 lbs., which is my highest weight ever. I was so much more disgusting than I thought!" She directly equates the number of her weight with herself - "I was so much more disgusting..." By seeing how much she weighed, Alley finds her personhood to be disgusting, which is just a really sad link.

People, this shouldn't need to be said, but it has to be said: You are not your weight. That random number on the scale doesn't describe you - it's just a number. You are made up of your personality, your humor, your interests, your laugh and millions of other things. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

Alley's interview includes this as well:

Q: What weight do you want to get down to?
A: I have to be below 140 to really look good. I have to work my legs like crazy. Actually, do you want my real goal? My real goal's always too low. I love the way I look at, like, 128. One time on Cheers, I weighed about 148 lbs., and they told me to lose, like, 20 lbs. Now, I'm 5'8", so at 148 lbs., I wasn't fat. But they're saying, "You know, you need to lose 20 lbs." So what does that put me at? 128. That's where I keep getting this number.

Cheers ran from '82-'93 and Alley started on the show in 1987 - 22 years ago. So she's decided on trying to look like she did 15+ years ago because someone then told her she should. I'm sorry, but that just breaks my heart. Talk about unattainable.

"Skinny Bastard" by the authors who brought you "Skinny Bitch"

I remember the first time I picked up a copy of Skinny Bitch, I was with my mom and sister in Barnes and Noble and my mom was looking at diet books for herself and my stepdad. I can't remember if it was my mom or my sister who first picked up Skinny Bitch, but I was instantly put off by the title, took a look at one page, and was completely turned off by the language used. I didn't have to read very much to realize the main tactic the book's authors was using: Fat-shaming.

Having not actually read this book, I can't say whether or not the authors included discussion of health benefits when it comes to striving for healthier eating, but to me, it seems clear that their main goal is to use shame to get people to buy their book and try to change their eating habits.

Because why rely on the information you have about the importance of eating healthy when you can scare women into buying your diet/lifestyle ideas by hanging the f-word over their heads where it can thrive on their possibly low self-esteem?

Well, Rory Freedman and Kim Barnouin, the authors of Skinny Bitch, have written a book called Skinny Bastard, which will go on sale Monday.

“Skinny Bastard” follows roughly the same outline as “Skinny Bitch,” with the language retooled to appeal to male psychology. Whereas the introduction to “Skinny Bitch” reads, “If you can’t take one more day of self-loathing, you’re ready to get skinny,” the men’s version does not assume low self-esteem: “Chances are, you haven’t done so badly, despite the few extra lbs you’re carting around. ... But don’t kid yourself, pal: A hot-bodied man is a head-turner.”

The problem with even just this small amount of text, which I feel might be symptomatic of the entire premise of this book, is that it conflates physical appearance with the epitome of achievement and of happiness. Of course, there are benefits to being sure that one eats healthily, but one could do that and also not conform to the standard of physical beauty dictated by this society.

The problem of focusing on physical appearance above all else is something that effects people of all sexes and genders, and it often does not have good outcomes. The fact that these women seem to be targeting specific genders with specialized shaming tactics is really troublesome for me. It seems to be more problematic in Skinny Bitch than it might be in Skinny Bastard (the authors added a chapter about heart disease and prostate cancer to highlight health benefits in this book), but the overarching problem of thinking one physical appearance (aka "skinny") is the "right" kind, I imagine is still there.

Granted, I have not read either of these books, but the authors really make no effort to try to conceal their methods, even on their website. If anyone has read Skinny Bitch, please feel free to leave your opinion on their tactics as a comment.

If you haven't read this book, would you buy a book with a title like Skinny Bitch?