In my most liked photo on Instagram I'm skinny.

Extract from the article by Irantzu Varela for the book '(h)amor 8 gordo' (Continta Me Tienes, 2023).

March 29, 2023

IRANTZU VARELA

Mrs. Milton

I don't like getting naked anymore.
I used to love it.
I knew that the moment the person I was about to have sex with saw my whole body for the first time was a bit of a shock. I used to think, "I know," all cocky. And I'd take off my clothes with the theatricality of a seasoned cabaret performer.

But now I don't want to get naked for the first time.
In fact, it's been years since I've gotten naked in front of anyone for the first time.
In the last few years, at least four, I've only gotten naked in front of people who had already seen me naked. Because in the last few years, at least four, I've only slept with people I'd already slept with before.
Before the weight gain. At least twenty pounds.

A few months ago, after several years and many pounds, I undressed in front of the body I've slept with the most, and I apologized for gaining weight.
There were no complaints, no looks of shock or disgust, just lust, desire, saliva, hands, and skin mingling. And my new, enormous breasts seemed like an acceptable perk, in return. But I apologized.
And I know I was more focused on the flesh than the skin.
I also know I haven't touched other skin in recent years because I can't forget the flesh that fills my own.

I don't know a single woman whose body is marked as female that likes itself as it is. Because of the insatiable insecurity, the comatose self-esteem, and the cruel and petty self-perception to which patriarchy condemns us all.

But being fat is something else.

It's seeing yourself and not recognizing yourself.
It's postponing your own life.
It's constantly planning a short-term transformation where your body conforms to Instagram photos and your mother's dreams so you can finally start living. It's yearning for "this summer, yes," "at that party, yes," "on that date, yes," and living in a near-future dystopia where you're not fat and therefore deserve to truly live, not in the fleeting state we fat people live in. It's losing weight to live the life you deserve. To achieve the body those around you deserve.

They tell you it's your own doing. That you're beautiful just the way you are. That you're no worse off than before. That your curves suit you.
They say this to you, people who would kill to be like you. They say it from bodies that will never be like yours, and they'd better hope so.

When you relate to the world from a fat body, you are stateless in many spaces.

A table isn't your place, because you'll never eat peacefully there. That's why you're fat. Because you don't eat peacefully. Because you eat out of anxiety, or eating gives you anxiety, or not having enough food gives you anxiety, or eating more than others gives you anxiety, or you were only thin when you were anxious. Or people get anxious watching you eat, because you don't eat enough to be so fat, or because you eat a lot, considering how fat you are.
Table, bad.

A fitting room isn't your place, because you'll never be able to look at yourself in the mirror in peace. Because you're fat. Because the clothing industry has decided the size and shape of the bodies it's going to make clothes for, and you have to try to fit in, squeeze in, squeeze yourself in. And inside the fitting room, you have to glance at yourself with a mixture of pity and disgust at a mirror that shows you what everyone else sees, which is horrible.
Fitting room, bad.

A doctor's office isn't the place for you, because they'll never see you as healthy, but they'll never see you as sick either. Because you're fat. Because your body falls outside their standards, and they'll only try to correct it so it fits, or so you'll be overwhelmed with guilt, with self-loathing, with that unhealthy garbage bag you inhabit.
Medicine, evil.

A family isn't your place, because they'll never see you as you truly are, only as flesh and blood. Because you're fat. And your fat shows that you weren't taught not to eat enough to be a domesticated woman. You prefer eating to pleasing others, so they've done something wrong with you.
Family, bad.

The bed isn't your place, because you don't fit. Because you're fat. Your body makes noises and creases and presses and thrusts and bounces, and you imagine it's disgusting. You feel grateful and ridiculous, clumsy and gigantic. You're afraid of hurting yourself.
Sex, bad.

(h)amor 8 gordo (Continta Me Tienes, 2023) is a compilation of voices that, from different bodies and diverse experiences, approach the oppression, harm, and various forms of fatphobia, both explicit and implicit, that they have individually and collectively experienced inflicted upon their/our bodies. It is coordinated by Mexican activist Tatiana Romero , perra prieta y sudaka, and features contributions from Irantzu Varela, Lucrecia Masson, Alicia Santurde, Enrique Aparicio, Komando Gordix, Tess Hache, Marta Plaza, Gabriela Contreras, Liz Misterio, and Tatiana Romero.

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