Self-described fat girl Tess Holliday has a message for you; #effyourbeautystandards. Unlike Richard Simmons and Jack LaLanne, who spent decades dedicated to encouraging women to get off their fat asses and pursue a goal, Tess Holliday pushes a quintessentially Millennial ethos.
And fat girls everywhere are eating it up, if you’ll pardon the pun.
An entire generation of women who are unhappy with their bodies have taken to the internet demanding the world find their double chins and cottage cheese thighs the height of beauty. The #effyourbeautystandards hashtag is a whole thing on the Twitter. Fat girls wearing bikinis are creating entire channels on Youtube and Facebook demanding that everyone find them both beautiful and brave for daring to expose their rolls.
Loey Lane is a bouncy, vapid co-ed who embraces her chubbiness on all the usual suspects of social media, while giving other fat girls beauty tips, showing off how absolutely fabulous her life of conspicuous consumption lived on Daddy’s money can be, and generally proving Millennials are callow and bereft of depth.
Lately, she’s donned the Social Justice Warrior armor over her impeccably coiffed hair and meticulously manicured nails to crusade against fat shaming in the name of body positive…something or other bullshit. I guess there are only so many videos to be made about cosmetics and overpriced underwear. All her fat acceptance videos boil down to, “Stop being so mean to fat people and love us the way we are.”
What if we simply ignore you? Would that be sufficient? Somehow, I suspect you would continue to ball like a hungry calf until you were venerated.
These women are missing some salient points.
Youth has its own beauty – Several of the women demanding men love their jelly rolls are young. In less enlightened days, we called them “tragic fat,” before focusing our attention onto a girl whose physique was more to our liking. As in, “She’d be really pretty, if she wasn’t so fat.”
What these chubby chicks fail to understand about the male procreative drive is that given the choice between young and fat or old and skinny, the biological imperative is to go for youth, since that is where to find the best chance of conception and a healthy birth. It’s an unfortunate side effect of the way God made us to find a field where our seed can find purchase.
Strip any woman half naked, and men will pay some attention. It’s just the way we are wired.
As such, men will let the young fatties believe and say pretty much anything, if they show a little skin. However, as the youth slips away, so does a man’s willingness to put up with the formerly young, but now, fat and mouthy chick. Our grandmothers understood this truth, and gave quaint advice to our mothers, such as, “Don’t get fat.”
Chubby Chasers exist – There is a segment of men who prefer bigger women. I don’t mean simply zaftig or Rubenesque. These men like manatees, but to each their own.
From the Chubby Chasers I’ve encountered, I sense an undercurrent of self-loathing and insecurity. These men tend to lack traditional masculine attributes of height, strength of build, and forceful personalities.
My suspicion is they manage their shortcoming by focusing their romantic efforts on women for whom there is less competition.
I shouldn’t ride the fat girls too hard. Lord knows, I’ve done my share of them. However, in my defense, sometimes you don’t feel like putting out much effort.
You see, I’m not much of a trophy hunter. I’m a meat hunter. Filling the freezer is my goal, so I take the first legal shot that presents itself. As a result, I’m quite familiar with the concept of “low-hanging fruit.”
That’s why you always go to her place, boys. It’s difficult and awkward to sneak out of your own apartment.
God bless these Tubby Tinas for finding their niche in life posing for cheesecake photos and becoming internet personalities. Everyone is entitled to make a living however they like. My complaint is the unmitigated gall to tell me, and the rest of their target demographic, what to think, feel, and believe.
They don’t get to decide that. I do.
There is magnificent irony that occurs to me in a cohort of women foisting their fatness on the world and demanding Victoria’s Secret models look like them. Other than the occasional lingerie purchase for romantic gift giving and the stunningly minuscule population of trannys, women are the target of women’s clothing marketing, and in an old-fashioned concept the Social Justice Warriors either have forgotten or willfully ignore, market influence informs model size.
If Victoria’s Secret and other women’s clothing sellers thought they could plump up the bottom line by pumping up the models, they would.
Women like to see their potential clothing purchases on skinny models for the same reason men prefer truck ads featuring farmers, lumberjacks, and roughnecks.
It has to do with how we see ourselves and what we aspire to be. Rather than put in the hard work to achieve a goal, the fat acceptance crowd finds it easier to give up on difficult goals and demand that the world rotate around them.
Having grown up as a chubby kid and afflicted by teenagers of my own, I can attest that children are cruel creatures, with teenage girls being the worst. They are like chickens; vicious and dumb.
But, here’s a secret of life. It doesn’t get any better. The nasty twat who called you fat in high school will still be pulling that shit on her deathbed. The asshat in football tryouts who finished the forty-yard dash backward for no better reason than to humiliate me is still a prick two decades later.
He was still a jerk after I tackled him in practice hard enough to give him a concussion and got benched for the next game for intentionally stepping on him as I got up. You would have thought he learned a lesson from me hurting him every chance I got, but he didn’t.
Every time one of my kids whines about a classmate, a teacher, or life in general battering them, I include the advice that life doesn’t get any easier and now is the time to learn how to deal with people’s bullshit, lest they become a typical Millennial Liberal bitching about the unfairness of the world.
Don’t think I’m picking on fat girls. They meet the OEM requirements, and quite truthfully, they seem to try harder. I point to my first wife, as case in point, but due to the restraining order and my conditions of release, I’m prohibited from saying anything further.
Men are fairly simple creatures, willing to overlook cellulite when compensated for. We don’t use a checklist; we use a balance scale. Tip it in favor, and we keep her. However, pileup morbidly obese, overly demanding, and generally bitchy, and there is a lot to overcome.
Being fat isn’t an accomplishment. It’s a resignation.
While the likes of Tess Holliday and Loey Lane are busy demanding the moon rotate around them, Amy Schumer, a marginally funny comedienne benefiting out of all proportion to her talent because people like to hear girls curse and tell dirty stories, and Lena Dunham, who, if memory serves, is more notorious for sexually abusing her younger sister than famous for anything she ever created, are busy challenging beauty standards by appealing in ridiculous poses in various states of undress.
Exactly how sitting Indian-style, naked on a toilet eating cake off a plate strategically placed over the nether regions challenges beauty standards is beyond me, but Portagees aren’t known for our deep thinking skills. It’s probably something subliminal.
Hopefully, the photoshoot was not in a working bathroom with a functional toilet. Otherwise, I’m turned off to cake forever…and middle-aged, androgynous women with boy haircuts. Some things are just too far, even for me.
Amy Schumer’s photo in the Pirelli calendar had less to do with her not conforming to beauty standards than with poor photography. Was the photographer taken aside and told, “Look. We get that you can do some amazing stuff to make an average girl look great, but we’re making a Social Justice statement here, so…
“Don’t put any thought into poses, lighting, props, expression. Make it look like a ten-year-old took the photos on Christmas morning with the new camera he got as a gift.”
And then they call it brave.
Morbidly obese women on a fetish photo shoot, chubby attention seekers on Youtube, and professional jokesters aren’t brave. At best, they are working an angle to further their career, which I can totally get behind.
Yeah for capitalism!
At worst, they are (to subsume the William Wordsworth poem) the Unhappy Warriors of the Social Justice movement.
Not satisfied to enjoy the fruits of their labor titillating self-loathing men, blurting obscenities while standing between a crowd of strangers and a brick wall, or revealing the most horrifying details of predatory, child sexual abuse perpetrated on her younger sibling, these fucked up bitches project their neuroses on the rest of society, and tell us that we have to change.
Doctor, heal thyself.
Thank you to every one of my readers for coming back week after week. The content on this website is free to access, but does take resources to produce. Please visit my Patreon account to see what I have in the works for the homestead and consider becoming a supporter, which gets you content, behind the scenes access, and goodies not available on the main site.