It makes me sick. Call me judgemental. Call me awful. I don’t care. It sickens me when morbid obesity is labeled “plus-size” and treated as something one should take pride in and celebrate… the woman below is a plus-size model. I use that term very, very loosely.
The level of stomach fat she has puts her health in mortal peril. Her weight hurts her knees, her joints, and a ton of fat has accumulated around internal organs, making her even more unhealthy inside than she appears outside. Look as she lifts up her hair with a ham-sized, pudding-shaped arm. It jiggles. Everything about her jiggles — if she ever loses the weight, God bless her, she’ll have enough skin left to flap around like a flying rat. Is this sexy, is this healthy? No. No, it isn’t. Nor is it in any way, shape or form “liberating” or “empowering”, anymore than alcoholism or a drug addiction is empowering.
What you’re seeing here is a woman who is dying. She may live another decade, or two, even three. But health problems keep growing. Something wicked is brewing inside her. Diabetes. Possible issues with her heart, her vital organs… and no, it isn’t attractive. It isn’t pleasant on the eyes. Sweat and crumbs of food get lost between rolls of fat. Washing becomes harder and harder the fatter one becomes, and these people, out in public on a hot day, they reek.
Am I an evil patriarchal privileged male chauvinist who wants her to fit so she can please my wicked “male gaze”? No. No, I just don’t want her to die early and promote a lifestyle that drives other people into an early grave. And going through life looking like a hippo is not a good idea. Also, full disclosure… it’s hard to watch. On multiple levels. You wanted my opinion? Here it is.
No comments:
Post a Comment