Why isn’t my Bitmoji fat?
Bitmojis, although currently used more often by mothers, aunts, and teachers, used to be hip, cool, and a fun way of signing off emails or replying to messages. Bitmojis are small cartoon versions of yourself that act as personalized emojis. Apparently, the app is still on my phone. In a moment of boredom, I opened said app and flipped through the fun designs, ultimately fixating on, as I often do, body shape. As it turns out, my Bitmoji is thin. My Bitmoji is skinny. I, on the other hand, am not. I knowingly designed my Bitmoji to not only not be fat, but to distinctly not look like me or my body.
This isn’t a new phenomenon. If I still owned a Wii, the question would instead state: “why isn’t my Mii fat?” I have designed all personas of myself to hide this particular aspect of my body. I have lived in denial and hate to the point that I actively change the way I portray myself.
Am I fat?
I am not in a healthy enough mental state to google what qualifies as fat; seeing any numbers or ranges would simply send me into a self-hate, anxiety spiral. I, of course, think that I am fat. I compare myself to bodies and see myself as fat. When I ignore my therapist’s advice and weigh myself, the number screams “fat”. While this doesn’t necessarily mean that I am fat by all standards, why do I care? This is the real question, “why do I care?”, not “am I fat?”. This is one word, one descriptor: why have I given it such immense power?
“Don’t talk to my friend like that”, I scream.
I wrote the title before realizing this statement could go two ways. When I was younger and more naïve, I would scream this at people who called my friends “fat”. How dare they insult my friends. Now, older and slightly less naïve to the world of fatphobia and diet culture, I might yell the very same thing at a friend who said they hated their own “fat body” (still used as an insult, instead at themselves). Because how dare they use a simple physical descriptor like “fat” as an insult when it isn’t. Fat is your body type, nothing more. Fat is beautiful. Fat is sexy. Fat is healthy. Fat is strong, passionate, and fierce. None of these terms are mutually exclusive with being “fat”. I see other people who may define themselves as fat or plus size, and I have no trouble seeing their beauty.
And, yet, I can’t hear my own words.
Hypocrisy is really not fun.
Let’s name it: internalized fatphobia
Welcome to my journey of battling against internalized fatphobia. The world has taught me that fat is wrong, and if I am fat, I am wrong. I have bought into the message of my oppressors that my body weight defines my self-worth.
Do I truly believe that hating myself will allow me to be accepted into a world I don’t want and don’t believe in?
Why isn’t my Bitmoji fat? Why can’t I design something that is supposed to look like me, to actually look like me?
I want to not hate myself. I want to not hate my fat self. I am trying to not hate my fat self.
So, here’s to trying. Here’s to faking it ‘till you make it. Here’s to hearing my own words that fat is beautiful, because it is, and actually listening. Here’s to my fat bitmoji.