Enough with the Fat Shaming!

One of the decisions I consciously made this year was not to accept contracts or work with weight loss companies. This mainly streamed from frustrations about expectations we put on our bodies and the fact that diets DO NOT FUCKING WORK PEOPLE!

The weightloss industry has been sneaky though, with them re-inventing themselves. They are now prefer to be known as players in the Wellness Industry, because they worked out that people are starting to realise that diets DO NOT FUCKING WORK.

As Australians, we spend 600 million dollars a year trying to get skinnier. And it is everywhere, from Sarah Wilson nibbling on fish skin nicked from the plate of a fellow diner to Samantha Armytage cashing in a quarter of a million bucks so we can follow her on her (not needed) weight loss journey. It sells magazines and dreams.

“Where has this rant come from Mrs. Woog?”

It has stemmed from comments from well meaning friends about Isobel Barbara Ewok Woog, who was being bullied about her size.

Isobel was having issues with her asshole. She was paying particular attention to it orally. This was hardly ideal and socially unacceptable in public. Look, what she does in her private time is her own business, but she was becoming obsessive so up to Hot Dr. Nick we went.

He gave her thorough going over and commented that she was slightly underweight. We discussed her diet. I told her what she ate and he said that it was basically like eating McDonalds everyday, as it was devoid of any nutritional value. I will not name the brand in case of litigious opportunities that might arise. Let’s just say it rhymes with My Dog.

So a new eating regime was introduced. Over time, the weight crept on. Isobel took to her new diet with gusto, much like the four potato scallops I just ate. When is the last time you had one? So fucking good.

And then came the comments.

“Isobel looks different. Has she been to the groomers?”

“Is it just me, or has Isobel stacked on the kegs?”

“Jesus Isobel! You have been in a good paddock!”

The thing about Isobel is that she understands English perfectly. So she was hurt. I would shush people as soon as I could tell they were about to mention her weight. I once called the Divine Ms M’s cat Carol a “little fatty” and I now understand why she didn’t speak to me for six weeks.

You know when you were growing up and you would go to a family gathering and Great Auntie Dulcie would suggest that you might like to lay off the cakes, that can stick with a gal.

So the next time you see a rotund Rottweiler, a plump Pomeranian, a stocky staffy or a pudgy pug, think before you say anything. Because words are weapons and sometimes it is hard not to eat ones feelings.

Has your pet ever been Fat Shamed?