Reviews of books, articles, and poetry written by or about ssbbw/bbw
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Dating as an SSBBW
Kate Lang is a single parent who has begun blogging about her dating experiences as a BBW/SSBBW. Read an excerpt below and check out her blog [Kate Hates Dates].
Hobos, Potatoes & Oh No's - Part 3
Time to get down to the date that led me to the world of blogging. For those of you who know me, you already know the story I’m about to tell. For everyone else, the story is a little long but well worth the read, so….here you go.
It’s about 3 months after my divorce, my kids are with their dad for the weekend and my best friend Wendy and I decide to go for a girl’s night out. I show up in my brand new t-shirt (courtesy of Wendy from her recent trip to Bike Week) that says “Wanted: Meaningless Overnight Relationship.” She immediately tells me that I am crazy for wearing the shirt, that I’m just looking for trouble and to go walk around the bar so everyone can see me wearing the shirt.
Immediately this man walks over, bums a cigarette from Wendy and asks “What are you two ladies doing here alone?” Wendy declares “married” and I just sit there looking stupid. “Philippe” asks to join us and orders a pitcher of beer, for himself. Philippe proceeds to brag to us about his cars, his houses, his money and his rough and tumble days in the Brazilian army. Wendy, not afraid to let him know that she thinks he’s full of shit, throws every stereotype in the book at him and the two of them go back and forth verbally for awhile. In the meantime, Philippe starts getting “friendly” under the table and thinks that Wendy doesn’t notice. She of course, does, but I’m getting drunk, I’m grinning like a dog and frankly, don’t care.
Little while later Wendy gets up to use the restroom and Philippe starts to kiss me. Right there at the table.
Little while after that Philippe gets up to use the restroom, Wendy tells me that I shouldn’t think for one minute that she doesn’t realize what’s going on and whatever I do, DON’T BRING HIM HOME. I, of course, agree. She’s my Jiminy Cricket, my conscience, that little voice of reason in the back of my head, which I moronically, for the most times, ignore. She then tells me she’s going home and leaves. I look at Philippe and say “ready to go?” He hums and haws and makes some lame excuse about how ALL his cars are in the shop so I tell him I’ll drive.
We get to my car. He gets in. I no sooner put the car in drive before he has his pants around his ankles and is goin to town, on himself. OMG. He asks me “do you like the way it looks? I shave.” What? I let him know that I’m sure it’s lovely, but I’m driving.
We get to my house, clothes are flying off down the hallway, we get to the bedroom and get completely undressed where he then says………… “Oh.” Not like oh baby, but like oh what the hell? “Oh?” I repeat. He then says to me “you’re not a…….” “I’m not a what?” “You’re not a man?” WTF? Seriously. No, I’m not a fucking man. I FINALLY get a man to follow me home and he thinks I’M the man. Funny enough, I have a problem with this and I guess he senses this because he then says to me “Don’t worry, we can still do this.” Ummmmmmm, NO, we can’t. I tell him to get dressed so I can take him back to the bar.
Meanwhile, during this whole episode his cell phone has been ringing off the hook. I ask him if he needs to get it. He says “you don’t mind? Are you going to say anything?” No. Why would I mind? And what am I going to say, I don’t know the person on the other line. So he picks up. “Hi baby. OMG, I’m soooooo sorry. My car broke down and me and my friends are in the parking lot trying to fix it. I’ll be home as soon as I can.” All the stereotypes that Wendy was throwing at him like darts at a target start to flood back into my mind.
I thankfully, get him back to the bar, where he gets out of my car and asks me if he can have my number. HELL NO. He then asks me how he will ever find me again and I tell him if I have any luck, he never will.
Thankfully, I never have seen him again. Not that I would actually recognize him if I did.
Written and submitted by: Kate Lang
Source: Kate Hates Dates [http://katehatesdates2929.blogspot.com/]
Back to Basics
Greetings to all you patient readers of SSBBW Magazine. I am here, in the flesh – um – text once more to address you all personally. Now, I know in a lot of my recent endeavors, I’ve done a lot of meandering around the core mission statement of the magazine proper – I admit this with a humble heart, I wasn’t seeing the forest for the trees. But now something has commanded my attention that has brought me back to the heart of the matter. While browsing the web I came across a rather less-than-subtle atrocity to womankind. If I may, exhibit A:
What you see here is the victimization in progress. On the left is a recent Ralph Lauren magazine cover, featuring one of the worst photoshop-edited photos I’ve ever seen. That’s not a human – that’s Famine, the Horsewoman of the Apocalypse who forgot her black cloak. Opposite of that is the actual model herself, weighing in at 120 lbs in a size 4 dress, Filippa Hamilton. For those of you who missed the uproar in late 2009, she was fired for being, and I quote, “too fat”. This speaks volumes – not about the model – but about the fashion industry today.
This happened at the tail end of last year so – in short – it’s still happening around the world today. This is how they treat the models that they digitally hack body parts off of – their bread and butter. There’s a word for women who look like that: dead. And the sad reality is the western world today sports the highest anorexia and bulimia levels – worse off today than they ever have been before now. Little girls are told to play with Barbie dolls – portrayals of a woman who, if she were a real woman, would find herself unable to walk on two feet. As they get older, they then get inundated by Disney Princesses (some of the more atrociously unrealistic depictions of the female form in human history) and the bug-eyes Bratz dolls – and the less said of those, the better.
It wasn’t like this back in the 1800’s or, really, in the western world ever so, what happened? Honestly, we don’t know. No one really does. My best-guess scenario would be something like this, based on what we do know: at the turn of the century, the Industrial Revolution gave birth to a new media form – advertising. It never really existed as we know it now before then and figuring out what sold products was a simple enough process. If they repeated something enough – in this case “Buy our product or your life is meaningless” – eventually, it would be picked up on and believed. Around the same time, thin, energetic, boyish girls – the Flappers – became the hot item. Advertising ate it up and, in my opinion, never looked back. Skinny, boyish women sold the products 100 years ago and ever since, advertising has told women, “you must look like this to be beautiful” and told men, “you want your women to look like this”. Advertising then became omnipresent and the diagnosis is horrifyingly clear in regards to what the “mainstream” media has latched onto. I could point more specific fingers but, in this PC day and age, I don’t doubt my theory would be censored, but now’s not the time for the blame game.
This isn’t the models’ fault and I’m not trying to convey that skinny women are evil or beneath mention – that’s not my point. Rather, the ones doing the photo-manipulation and preying on the insecurities of women are the evil ones. They take a digital cleaver to the human frame and destroy it – ripping it asunder and reconstructing it in a horrifying, grotesque parody of nature and beauty, setting it upon a pedestal and proclaiming the skeleton with lipstick is a sex symbol. It’s like the Fabrication Machine from the movie “9” – tearing apart and reassembling what it wants without regards to the pain it causes others.
So, to avoid more instances like the above, what do we do? Our greatest weapons are already within reach – pocketbook and pen alike. It’s a simple and effective premise: stop feeding the beast. Don’t buy from stores that don’t carry your sizes or good styles in your sizes. Turn away from stores that turned away from you first and don’t give them a single solitary cent of your hard-earned money. Second, write letters of sincere thanks and appreciation for the people who make and supply the wonderful garments you do wear. Start a petition to get major stores carrying fashions in your sizes. This isn’t anything new; after all, you don’t need me to tell you this.
“Jeffrey,” I hear some of the cynics in the crowd saying who, for some reason, insist on using my full name when “Jeff” is perfectly fine by me, “As a male, you’ve not undergone the same prejudices we have. In fact, you probably aided in their propagation,” Well, that’s not entirely fair. True, I’ve done dumb things in the past, but as a means of making it up to you, I invite all you ladies to contribute your questions about men, the size discrimination in the world, the size-acceptance movement, anything. Next month, I’ll field any and all questions you send my way as means of bridging the gaps between the male and female mindset – all the questions you’ve wanted to ask but were too embarrassed to. This is my way of opening to door to you – e-mail them to email@example.com, post them on the forum on our Facebook page or submit a note here.
I look forward to hearing from you all and if not, I’ll instead bring forward a new-find of a show that celebrates women of all sizes! See you then!
Written by: Jeff M.
|"Remember God's bounty in the year. String the pearls of His favor. Hide the dark parts, except so far as they are breaking out in light! Give this one day to thanks, to joy, to gratitude!"
~Henry Ward Beecher
|"Your silent tents of green
We deck with fragrant flowers;
Yours has the suffering been,
The memory shall be ours."
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow