I want you to imagine Derek* (name changed to protect the guilty): tall with jet black hair and just a touch of shy swagger. His voice was deep and his pants rode low, sitting on his hips (hips I would soon know well, in the biblical sense).
Before we get any further into Derek’s pants, let me back up and give you some context. Nowadays, I’m a proud fat woman who teaches people how to love their bodies, writes books about it and has a podcast where I share with thousands of people the sounds of myself eating delicious things. I also currently have a body-positive partner who unapologetically adores me with a passion and humility that warms my heart every single day.
But in this story it’s around 2006, and I’m a new and wide-eyed transplant to San Francisco. I’m in my mid-twenties. I am just starting to consider that after years of disordered eating, maybe my body is okay the way it is and I don’t need to spend every moment of my life trying to become smaller. Derek is my neighbor, though we met online. Derek responds to my ad in which I say I’m a BBW (Big Beautiful Woman) seeking someone who is “into that.”
Calling myself a BBW is new to me. It feels scary, but good — really, really good. And more than that, it feels safe somehow. Just putting it out there right away: “Yup, I’m a societal reject whose body is derided daily for others’ amusement, and if you’re not down with seeing me as an actual real human, well, then there’s the door.”
Before I started identifying myself up-front as fat in my dating profiles, I had spent hours, days, months pondering whether I wanted to be a party to upholding the worldview that the most important thing about me to a potential suitor is the size of my body. Conclusion: I resolutely did not. But by that point I had had enough terrible first dates (and I mean terrible as in they excuse themselves to go to the bathroom and never reappear type of terrible) that I decided to take the harm reduction approach. I would simply weed out the men who didn’t like fat women. I convinced myself that this was honesty. This was empowerment. And in a way, it was.
Instant chemistry
So Derek responds that he’s interested — very interested. We meet up and our chemistry is ri-dic-u-lous. I very quickly learn he’s an amazing kisser and his desire for me is undeniable. By the end of the night he’s under my shirt, and surprisingly goes for my... stomach. He starts with caressing and then moves straight into what I would call worshipping it. And I’m into it. I’m ready for a man to sexualize my entire body, not just my breasts or thighs. And he does all that too. He probably left my place at around 2 a.m. We hang out a second time, then a third time, all in the first week. And by "hang out," I mean we spend time being sexy at my house.
This is another part of my fat girl dating story: Regular old generic misogyny says that straight women don’t get to be “too demanding” too soon. You know the Three Ds? Don’t ask questions. Don’t hold him accountable. Don’t be surprised if he doesn’t call. Even slender women know these horrible rules.
Now take those rules and multiply them by somewhere between 10 and 1,000, and you’ve got the rules that many fat women face while navigating dating. So, even though Derek had asked to see me multiple times in the first week and was clearly attracted to me, I did not push to see him in daylight outside my apartment because I was worried I would come off as too needy.
Here's Derek, "just being honest" with me
After that hot-and-heavy week, Derek asked if he could come over the following Monday. We had yet another a steamy session, and were lying in bed, talking about philosophy or Tarantino or something, and holding hands.
After a pause, I gathered up my courage and asked him if we could go out next time we saw each other, maybe get coffee. After all, we didn’t just have great sexual chemistry — we had long, rollicking conversations and had talked about how much we enjoyed each other's company.
There was silence. As each moment of hesitation passed, I felt more and more like a kid who just broke a vase and was awaiting punishment, vulnerable as hell. He said something about being busy.
And then he leveled with me. “Listen,” he says, “you are my absolute ideal body type, okay? I mean absolute ideal, but if I dated you then my friends would never let me hear the end of it. Frankly, I’m sorry, but I just don’t have the balls to date you.”
Frankly I just don’t have the balls to date you.
So it wasn't a conspiracy theory
I mean, I had to hand it to Derek for explaining a mystical part of heteromasculinity that had heretofore been suspected but never, ever confirmed. Other men who were allegedly Derek’s friends would harass him if he went out with me, and in the cost-benefit analysis, they won. Not me. I had considered this sort of thing before — that men got together in a secret meeting and decided that they would use their collective bargaining power to have sex with fat girls but never date us — but had convinced myself that I was just spinning a conspiracy theory. What truly amazed me was how overt it all was — how clear the stakes were in Derek’s head.
After he left my apartment that night, I cried and cried. If I’m honest, I cried less for his harsh words and more for the loss of how good his desire for my fat body had felt. Now it was gone, and I was scared I’d never again find someone who wanted me like that.
I wish I were unique, but I'm not
I know this is a shockingly stark example of dating while fat, but I think it’s rare to find a fat woman who hasn’t had an experience that is similarly horrific. In my case, I’ve always been fat and have only dated men. It was at around the age of 5 that boys began to tell me that something was fundamentally wrong with me and my body. I’ve heard it all: that I’m disgusting, untouchable, gross. From first grade right up until the day I graduated from high school, the boys in my class told me no man would ever be seen with me, let alone marry me. And after a few years of a dozen boys saying the same things to me, I truly began to believe them.
And so I did what many fat girls in my situation have done; I started dieting. That quickly turned into long bouts of starvation that continued into my college years. The hungrier I was, the more men desired me. It was, sadly, as simple as that.
Even in the depths of my eating disorder, I never lost my chubby cheeks or my double chin. Despite all my efforts at self-destruction, I was still society’s version of fat (as well as the doctor’s.) However, when I was at my smallest and most ill I had more dates than I’d ever had in my life.
Most of the men I went out with shamelessly criticized my body. I dated men who encouraged me to lose more weight, even though I basically had subclinical anorexia. Everyone and everything around me seemed to be telling me that being fat was the problem, not these men verbally berating and judging me. It never occurred to me that there were far worse things than being fat (like, for example, dating these dirtbags). Accepting — let alone celebrating — that my body is just naturally bigger than some other people's didn’t feel like an option at that time.
By the time I met Derek, I had just started coming around to the possibility that maybe I shouldn’t restrict food anymore. Derek’s speech didn’t feel shocking because of its cruelty (I was used to that). It shook me because it felt like a new brand of rejection: Even men who don’t think fat women are gross won’t date me? I thought being transparent in my ad (“I’m a BBW”) was a way of reclaiming my body. I thought I was saying to every potential fatphobe out there: no need to apply.
Instead, I had attracted a man who wanted me to take him to the Church of My Glorious Fat Rolls (which made me feel empowered and hot as hell), but he only wanted to see me privately (which snatched that all away and left me feeling humiliating and ashamed).
This problem persisted even after Derek. Identifying as BBW meant I could weed out men who hated fat, but I was faced with a new problem — I was attracting men who had a strong desire for fat that they didn't want people to know about. I didn't know what to do. I wanted a relationship, but again and again, I encountered men who saw me as sexy, but not “relationship material.” Their behavior clearly wasn’t about a lack of desire for my body. It was about something else, something that went way beyond me and my life.
Degrading dating
Other fat women go through the same kinds of exploitative and degrading things. I want to break the silence for all of us while being clear that we have so many different kinds of experiences. Many can’t relate to my story at all — experiences of dating while fat differ vastly depending on someone’s relative size, shape, luck, privilege, and geographical location. For instance, in thin-conscious San Francisco, where I live, I feel I am a noticeably larger person at a size 18/20. In the working class suburbs of the Bay Area, where I grew up and where larger bodies are more common, my body size doesn’t stand out as much now that I’m an adult.
This is an advantage not all fat women have. I have beloved friends who live in larger bodies than mine, and there are times we’ve gone out together where they’ve been publicly fat-shamed in places I felt safe. Likewise, I once vented on Facebook about how men only wanted to hook up with me. Another fat woman replied in the comments that having access to hookups was itself a privilege that not all fat women have.
However, in working with hundreds of women (queer and straight) over the past decade, I have found that there are some overlapping realities we tend to face when it comes to dating.
What many plus-sized women face when looking for love
- One-sided Secret Relationship Syndrome. What happened with Derek (the serial sex-only clandestine hookup) is very common, especially for straight fat women and especially if they have an additional marginalized identity (like being a woman of color, disabled, transgender or lower income). Fat straight women have often told me that they feel that men see them as “easy.” I remember meeting a man at a BBW singles event and when I asked him why he was there, he said that he was tired of trying to date thin women and fat women were more grateful.
- Coupled without benefits. This is inverse of friends with benefits. Many fat women I've spoken to wind up in full-blown, multi-year relationships (often with thin people) that have a level of intimacy normally reserved for long-term relationships, only without the sex. These “romantic friendships” can also be exploitative, slowly taking up more and more time, energy and other resources (like money or housing). Fat women are targets because people know they can take advantage of the fact that we experience acute romantic discrimination. Because dating a fat person is so shameful in our culture, the initiating party may also be actively in denial that they are in a relationship with a fat person that goes far beyond the boundaries of a normal friendship. Typically, after spending months or even years engaging daily about very personal matters, the fat woman is met with shock when she shares that she has intimate feelings. When that happens, she feels not only the pain of rejection but also disorienting confusion about her ability to decipher when someone is interested in her.
- Speeding toward sex. I think this is common in straight dating generally, but there’s additional pressure for fat women to have sex or be sexual during the get-to-know-you stage.
- We may not feel deserving of good relationships. Fat women are often taught that our bodies are less valuable and less attractive. If we internalize this view, this means we approach dating with “hat in hand,” more concerned with being liked than checking in to see how we feel about the person. The opposite is also true: Anticipating rejection may make us less open, less vulnerable and more quick to throw in the towel but less quick to get back out there. In the end, we wind up with less than we need from relationships.
- We have added obstacles in dating. On top of regular first-date jitters, fat women may also be juggling anxiety about how comfortable a tiny bar tool will be and whether they’ll be able to find an outfit that helps them feel confident. Many fat women feel less comfortable in public because of fear of fatphobic behavior. That’s just a lot of stress.
Breaking up with diet culture
Even though it was only me and Derek in my bedroom that night he gave me the no-balls speech, we actually weren’t there alone. Derek couldn’t have done what he did the way he did without the support of diet culture. One of the biggest challenges I think fat women face is not just the abusive, dismissive behavior we experience, but the fact that it’s considered normal — funny, even. When I was single, I knew my date’s friends may think it’s totally fine to make fun of him for being attracted to me, that my partner’s parents may think it’s totally acceptable to think I’m unworthy of a relationship with their child, that fashion brands believe it’s totally normal not to make date night clothes for someone my size.
Stigma — as much as individual actors — is to blame here. If fatphobia didn’t exist, this behavior would be seen as wrong, plain and simple. Fatphobia is so ingrained, common and pervasive that many of us don't even realize we have these beliefs: that fat people deserve less respect, dignity, and love. It’s easy to feel aghast and angry at Derek, but it’s much more difficult to ask yourself: Would I date a fat person? Would I be just as supportive of my child, niece or nephew dating a fat person as a thin one?
Derek is in my rear view mirror now, and so is the idea that I need to change my body. Nowadays I still live in San Francisco with two Netherland Dwarf bunnies (named after two of my favorite fat icons, John Candy and country singer LuLu Roman) and my boyfriend of two years, Andrew. Every time I call him, he picks up the phone with a “Hey, good lookin’!” I knew Andrew was different when I noticed he never, ever spoke about other people’s bodies. I’d never met a man who didn’t take cheap shots at others. He had this reverence for other people’s humanity that completely floored me.
And when we began having sex, which I initiated after almost two months of seeing each other, he could sense the parts of my body that held lingering insecurity and gently gave them a little extra attention. He compliments me at least a dozen times a day, and I’ve gotten into the habit of doing the same for him. He truly sees me, and I want to be seen.
Boundaries, self-acceptance and feeling safe in my body
In the years following Derek, I evolved and learned, set boundaries and mostly just tried not to lose hope because I wanted love more than anything. Probably the biggest shift happened when I decided I had a new rule: zero tolerance for food or body criticism. I would end things immediately if my date said something negative about how I ate or looked. That was a game changer!
Then, later on, I began to question my own unconscious bias and bigotry. Fatphobia (and racism too, because I’m a woman of color) had made me feel less-than, and I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I tried to compensate by pursuing wealthy men with so-called impressive resumes. But I realized that I never felt comfortable in those relationships. They didn’t criticize my body or how I ate, but they never really accepted or liked that I was weird, loud and loved wearing neon. So I decided it was time to just go with my gut: “If it feels good and safe in my body to be with a person, that is what matters the most.”
I wish I could take credit for coming up with some amazing secret that led me to this beautiful relationship with a loving fat-positive man, but I think to offer some multi-step secret sauce would be an insult to me and to other fat people. Because we don’t need more dating secrets.
We need a culture that is committed to ending fatphobia — in dating and everywhere else — once and for all.
