I'm twelve, trying on shorts for the summer. I pull on a pair, and I can tell right away they will fit. Finally, something fits! I try to zip them up, but they won't budge; a broken zipper. I call to my mother through the dressing room door: "Mom, the zipper is caught on something."

"Yeah, it's caught on your fat."


How ridiculous is it that I still remember this? I remember the wash of the denim, what store we were in, everything. Can't I allow myself to forget something just once? This one moment comes back over and over again, crystal clear, every time I try to lose weight.

So why does it matter? My mom called me fat, big deal. I was fat then, I'm fat now, and even though I am losing weight, I will remain fat (at least for a while.) My mom was always kind of mean to me, and this wasn't the first or the last time. She's said things that were more cruel, and about things that were more important to me. I need to let it die.

It's a reason to stop trying. Someone who is supposed to love you mocks you and makes you feel like being fat is inevitable. So why fight it?

I've been gradually telling a few more people about what I'm trying to accomplish. I never say, "I want to lose 75 pounds," of course, but I say that I'm going to the gym. Everyone sounds surprised. Surprised that I'm telling them, maybe, but because I like to spoil even the greatest of accomplishments, I feel that they expect me to fail. I don't think I'll fail, but that's not a guarantee. I can only keep trying, I guess. There is, of course, the failsafe that I'm paying $64 a month to belong to the gym, and I'm a frugal bitch at heart.

If you hadn't noticed, I'm in a terrible mood.

I don't feel more energized, I don't have an increased self-worth. All I have is the sense that this is going to take a very, very long time.

Tilda Swinton is an alien

I've been watching the Oscars since 1993, since I was 10 years old. (In case you were curious, I was rooting for Ralph Fiennes to win best supporting actor that year.) And every year, I eat a ton. I felt so antsy all night, not eating. It didn't help that it was boring as hell this year, although I do love Daniel Day-Lewis. I do eat out of stress sometimes, but most of the time, it's out of boredom. I'm watching a movie, why don't I have some pretzels. It's Thursday, why don't I bake some banana bread. There's a What Not to Wear marathon on TV, why don't I get a pint of ice cream. Something to do while I'm doing something else, you know?

I suppose I could have enjoyed myself and eaten whatever I wanted; Oscars only come once a year and such. I just still feel so fragile. I don't have enough trust in myself built up to carry me through the times when I just go off the wall. Which is bound to happen, because it's not like I'm never going to have ice cream again. I'm not a robot.

I'm very bad at turning off. If I'm not doing two things at once, I feel unproductive. I should lock my damn refrigerator and pick up a feather duster.

My hairdresser has dropped somewhere between 50-75 pounds. I literally was shocked into silence for a good 20 seconds when I saw her, as she looks amazing. And of course, I instantly became jealous. Because she's accomplished something I have never been able to, and that makes me jealous. Insanely jealous. It's a good thing I love what she does to my hair or else I might have to kill her.

I am trying to stay focused on how well I'm actually doing. If I don't stay focused, I can literally count the seconds on one hand that it will take me to locate a pint of ice cream and shove my face into it. What is it, 21 days to form a habit? 3 days and I'm there.

I've been thinking about losing weight my entire life. Walking downstairs to the cafeteria in 3rd grade, I thought, "Everything will be so much better when I'm thin." Getting thin is my Miss America, it was my little girl dream. By now, I've been fat for so long, I don't know how to differentiate between myself and the fat. The fat is me. I am fat. Getting thin is dying my hair blonde, wearing blue contacts, growing a foot taller.


J: Mom, Dad...I'm...fat.

M: Are you sure?

D: Yeah, honey, maybe you're just big-boned.

M: It's just baby fat. This is something we all go through. You'll grow out of it.

J: No, I'm sure. I'm fat. I've known I was fat since I was five.

D: Five? You weren't fat when you were five.

M: That was definitely baby fat.


Fat made me kind, fat made me loyal, fat made me funny. Losing weight is like dumping the first friend you made in pre-school because they're not cool anymore. You try to convince yourself this is the best thing for you both, you've grown apart. You stop returning phone calls, you put down the ice cream cone.

When I imagine myself thin, there is a beautiful body in a black dress. It's walking across a restaurant, and people turn and look. And I have no head. I can't attach my head to that body.

Fat Girl Rules:

1. Never eat in front of people.
1a. If you are forced to eat in front of people, never eat until you are full. Do not eat anything that can be viewed as unhealthy.
2. Never say you are hungry.
3. Do not wear tight clothing.
4. Do not tuck in your shirt.
5. Do not wear short skirts.
6. Do not wear strappy sandals.
7. Wear a t-shirt to the beach and to the pool.
8. Go clothes shopping alone.
9. Go grocery shopping first thing in the morning or late at night.
10. Always have a jacket with you.


You already know these rules if you're a fat girl. You know why these rules exist. No one tells you what they are, you just know. These rules got me through high school. But I'm not a kid anymore. Why do I let these rules run my life when I'm 25 years old?

I'm not fat because of my genes, because of hormones, because of my mother, because I have a slow metabolism. I'm fat because I eat the wrong things, I eat too much, and I don't like to exercise. So to get un-fat, I need to eat less, eat the right things, and get off of my couch and into the gym.

I want to be able to buy clothes off the rack. I want my size of my shirts to be a single letter. And I never want to throw out another favorite pair of jeans because of holes in the thighs.