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Authors : Kinzel, Lesley. Product Category : Books. Binding : Paperback.
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Condition : Good. Publication Date : See details. See all 8 pre-owned listings. Buy It Now. Add to cart. Be the first to write a review About this product. About this product Synopsis How many times have you heard or said , "Do these pants make me look fat? With the "war on obesity" shining a spotlight on the prevalence of fatness, our culture has become acutely critical of big sizes and the women who wear them. But are all fat people unhealthy? Should everyone be concerned about their BMI? Is it okay to eat what you want, and declare your body off limits to public critique?
Lesley Kinzel says no to diet fads and pills, shows by example how to stop hating your body, and celebrates the possibilities of fat acceptance and smart fashion at any size. Lesley Kinzel , who co-founded and moderated the blog Fatshionista for five years, is an online celebrity in the communities of size acceptance, fashion, and women's issues. She now has her own popular blog on body politics in the media, Two Whole Cakes, which gets seventy thousand hits per month. In the age of "The Biggest Loser" and the war on obesity, we re pressured to conform to certain body standards at any cost.
Sure, everyone should eat right and get exercise, but what if you do that and you still don t fit into the clothes at the mall? In "Two Whole Cakes," Fatshionista extraordinaire Lesley Kinzel tells stories, gives advice, and challenges stereotypes about being and feeling fat. Nothing too trendy. There are a great many rules for fat-lady dressing. These rules — shared in deferential whispers, with religious fervor, and agreed upon as irrefutable truths — make the clothing available to fat people lacking in imagination and variety.
These rules make dressing a fat body often a Brobdingnagian challenge, which occasionally involves the identification of one's body shape with a piece of produce are you an apple? I am a butternut squash and the constant battle of refusing to live in wrap dresses even though everyone knows wrap dresses are incredibly flattering.
One might argue that a "flattering" ensemble is one that suits an individual in a way that makes him or her feel comfortable, confident, and generally fabulous, and underscores and shares his or her existing, internal awesomeness with the outside world. It's possible that "flattering" evokes this idea, some of the time. But just as often it translates to "that makes you look thinner," or more proportional, or otherwise makes your body look in a way that it does not ordinarily look.
Further, when we say something is unflattering, we're often trying to deliver bad news in a polite way, by deflecting blame from the body to the garment, in spite of the fact that most of us are going to secretly blame the body anyway. Women in particular are prone to directing their anger at themselves rather than at the pair of jeans that fails to fit both their hips and waist at the same time, as though the jeans' expectations must necessarily prevail over the actual dimensions of the body you've had for your entire life.
If the jeans don't fit, it must be your fault. You should change to fit them, because the jeans are in charge here. If you refuse — silly, stubborn person that you are — then you are relegating yourself to fashion struggles in perpetuity. Fashion is communication. If you cannot fit fashion, then you are left out of the conversation. Imagine you're at a dinner party with ten amazing people; they are having fascinating discussions on topics that interest you, but when you try to join in, no one listens.
They talk over you. They don't even notice you're there. This is something of what it's like to be a fashionably minded fat woman. In the interconnected worlds of fashion media and fashion design, fat women are typically presumed to be not merely incapable of style, but a direct assault on everything fashion stands for. Karl Lagerfeld, a member of fashion's old guard who currently heads up the timeless entity that is Chanel, has declared, with a characteristic lack of subtlety, "No one wants to look at fat women.
Fat people lack any kind of comparable access to stylish and well-fitting clothes, not simply because those clothes are expensive — and they are — but because they don't exist. Certainly, there are a handful of committed plus-size designers who make quality apparel out there, but the plus options are a tiny fraction of what is available to non-plus people.
In recent years, Beth Ditto, the unapologetically fat and queer lead singer of the dance-punk band Gossip, has been unexpectedly embraced by the fashion world. Even Karl Lagerfeld had her band play at an event though we can suppose he avoided looking directly at the stage the whole time. As a result, Ditto has come to serve as a rare icon of fat style; designers specially produce clothing for her, either for the stage, or for a feature in a magazine. But I think Ditto is only accepted as an iconoclast because she is seen as an aberration.
Her inclusion in the conversation does not signal the coming around of high fashion to embrace fat women as a whole; in fact, I would argue that it further ensures that won't happen, since including fats aplenty would erase the novelty that Ditto's fatness currently supplies. I suppose this is just as well because if I try to put myself, accustomed to waging straight-up war in an attempt to cultivate a personal style out of the lemons mainstream plus-size clothing manufacturers offer me, in Ditto's position, in which I might suddenly have Chanel call and offer to make me a dress, I cannot imagine my response.
Would years of rage spill out of me in a stream of vile profanity? Would I humbly blubber my thanks and send my measurements right over? I can't even imagine. See All Customer Reviews. Shop Books. Read an excerpt of this book!
Add to Wishlist. USD Sign in to Purchase Instantly. Usually ships within 1 week. About the Author Lesley Kinzel has been engaging with body politics and social justice activism for well over a decade. This is a book about many things, but it is mostly about refusing to be sorry. Your body is not a tragedy.
That's not right! So what does it mean? Continues… Excerpted from "Two Whole Cakes" by. Excerpted by permission of Feminist Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Precise, insightful, heartbreaking, and page turning. Ripening: Selected Work Second Edition. This first and only comprehensive collection of the literary achievement of Meridel Le Sueur includes But wait! It's impossible not to know. All over the media, fatness is heralded as a major health crisis, a mounting threat to the American way of life. Hell, it's the end of human civilization. Even our children are fat! It is unthinkable.
In a contemporary reworking of ancient combat in which the crowd cheers for the lions, fat people are tormented by screaming fitness trainers on national television and people tune in by the millions to watch with unrestrained delight as offensive bodies are elevated from fat sin to starving, dehydrated sainthood. Like modern-day gladiators, these combatants battle fiercely not with an external enemy, but with themselves. This is no longer just an "obesity epidemic" as defined by those who'd seek to pathologize and condemn our bodies.
It is a fat rampage. And some fat people are responding in kind. Fat people are finding their voices, standing up, speaking out, and taking back their bodies. This book is a transmission from that battlefield. It is a product of ten years of discussions, arguments, and revelations taking place in and around body acceptance and social justice movements.
It is an analysis of intersectional identities and the complex realities of survival as a self-accepting person in a world that loathes self-acceptance. It is my story. It is also the story of many others who have fought for recognition and respect, and the right to live in their own bodies according to their own desires. It is memoir, conversation, cultural critique, and self-acceptance instruction manual. According to the dubious measurements of the body mass index BMI scale, I am morbidly obese. To put it more succinctly, I am death fat. I am superduper really-for-real mad fat.
I am the kind of fat where doctors are friendly until they get me on a scale, and then after that they get very quiet. Oh, I imagine them thinking, I didn't realize you were that fat. I am the kind of fat that occasionally outsizes plus-size shops. Furthermore, I adore cooking and refuse to keep anything less than real butter in my house. I eat very little meat but not for moral or ideological reasons; I just dislike preparing it. My diet consists primarily of fresh vegetables and whole grains, and I have a serious weakness for good cheese. I keep a jar of bacon fat in my refrigerator and I occasionally use it to cook big leafy greens, because big leafy greens do best with a bit of bacon fat.
I exercise; I have a gym membership and I use it. I take the stairs at work five or six times a day, but only because I am too impatient to wait for the elevator. By the tests and non-BMI numbers doctors use to measure such things, I am healthy. I have a partner who unconditionally supports my self-acceptance, while struggling with his own. I have a decidedly not-fat family that is mostly supportive of my choices and realities except for the very occasional lapse into the "but I'm just worried about your health" rhetoric.
I have been fat in varying degrees my whole life. Though I've lost and regained many a pound, I've never lost enough weight to feel a glimmer of what it might be like to be thin. I've never lost enough weight to come close to being not fat. Never enough to shop in not-fat stores. Never enough that I wouldn't occasionally hear "fat bitch" hollered at me from a moving car when walking alone, on a city street, or in a parking lot. Never enough that a doctor's ever said I was of a normal weight.
Never enough that I didn't, even for a second, feel like I wasn't fat anymore. Now some folks will read this and think, oh, how sad. But there's no sadness here. I am, plainly, morbidly obese. Death fat. I say this without judgment and without disdain. I say it not with an eager ring of reclamation, nor with self-loathing and fear.
It just is. I live fully in this real and complicated world. There exists a social justice movement focused on criticizing our conventional wisdom about bodies and fat, and on changing our culture to create space where a diversity of bodies is respected and normalized.
Two Whole Cakes: How to Stop Dieting and Learn to Love Your Body (Unabridged) on Apple Books
Different folks call this ideology by different names — fat activism, fat acceptance, fat liberation, fat advocacy. The common ground we all stand upon is the desire for fat bodies — and all bodies, no matter their circumstances — to be seen as worthy of dignity and respect. Fat politics is a movement of criticism and questions, not authority and groupthink. Its purpose ought to be noisy inquiry into what our culture tells us about bodies.
Its purpose is not to replace one set of monolithic rules with another. We want fatness to be disentangled from its association with moral decrepitude, and for fat bodies to be understood as valid — not temporary, not disposable, and not loathsome. This is important.
Two Whole Cakes: How to Stop Dieting and Learn to Love Your Body (Unabridged)
This is something you should know before we go any further. Speak it aloud if it helps. Write it down. Tell someone, "My body is not a tragedy. Tragedy may yet befall it, or may have already done so, but your body is not the things that happen to it, the things that are forced upon it, or even its failures to perform to certain standards. Your body simply is. The tragedy is the effort required to build a loving relationship — or at least one of tacit acceptance — with your body. In a more perfect world, this connection would take place organically, but any such connection built in our early years is rapidly undone as we learn to criticize and dissociate from our bodies.
Then we must spend our remaining years trying to rebuild that relationship. This world is filled with bodies — in droves, shoulder to shoulder, leaning into and against the crush of daily life — and all of them are different.
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We're taught that our differences are a weakness, our downfall, and that striving for sameness is the path to happiness and success. Humanity is diverse, wonderfully so, and the everlasting battle of fighting our bodies, of fighting ourselves, damages us. Every day we wake up in our bodies, and we begin to tell our stories.