Fatten that Boule

Coco took it upon herself to try and fatten me up.

 When we first started dating I was still breastfeeding and starving on the dietary restrictions that S required. I was smaller than I had been since puberty, always cold, and had a hungry kid leeching the majority of my life force out my titties all day and night. 

When I wasn’t nursing anymore, I could eat dairy again, and had some body autonomy, food was still hard. Learned disordered behaviours and attitudes around food overlapped with neurodivergence in ways that made it tricky at every step of the way. I can get easily over stimulated in grocery stores, meal plans can feel prescriptive and inflexible, recipes require a level of off the page recall that my dyscalcula doesn’t cooperate with, textures can be all wrong at the wrong temperatures, I wouldn’t notice hunger until it was eating my brain at which point problem solving is out, limited cooking and clean up spoons would mean trying to make something that worked for everyone, which also left food utilitarian and without excitement. 

In the 6 years we were together I had been on and off of hormones a few times, plus having 4 complicated gender surgeries. I’m a shapeshifter, but often if my pants stopped staying up, that was a pretty clear indication that my stress had been too high and my food intake too low. She loved my ass, but took extra pride in it when with her help I grew into a size 10, and then 12. She would call my ass her little boule and revel in holding it in her lap when I was the little spoon. One of the very last hobbies she let go of was trying to feed us. She took great pleasure in it, and sometimes, when she was sick, I would have to be in the kitchen learning from her what was happening, cause she would run out of steam before it would be plate ready and I made sure we would get the food, and that she could cook as much as she could, cause it brought her such joy. 

I attended mindful erotic grief this week and when asking my body what it needed, it needed a big bowl of black bean and gochujang udon with veggies, poached egg and nuts. She would have loved it. I loved it. My body loved it. Taking some time to be with hunger, pleasurable food, love and grief drew my attention to something undeniable. I realized that my pants weren’t fitting anymore. I had finally filled them. Including some tights that had been hers and underwear that still had paint stains on it from painting her old apartment like a houseboy gogo painter. I realized that I needed to size up and had no time to waste as I had been absent from my body and not noticing the discomfort growing until it had become unbearable. 

So this week was all about getting myself new pants. Luckily, I still had a nice store credit at Fat Sisters from consigning a bunch of Coco’s stuff. The sisters are so lovely and create such a brilliant shopping experience, which I have witnessed when bringing other folks there to shop, but today was my turn. They congratulated me on growing into the size I was looking for, were super supportive of my confident knowing what does and doesn’t appeal to me, and even got a little bit emotional with me when I said how proud Coco would have been to be able to buy me my first batch of big boy pants. (and I will note that the sisters are also super rad about gender stuff and offer a very affirming approach towards folks finding clothes that work well without forcing any style into a strict gender box)

There are so many messed up ideas about body, shape, size, health, gender and fashion. The industry is not set up to offer dignity or choice to larger bodies. I see this more so for my loved ones who live in bodies larger than mine. I am still a size that offers some limited options in regular stores (including boxer briefs as shown) as well as plus size specific spots like Fat Sisters. Small fat, skinny fat, barely fat, whatever words people might choose to use for themselves around this size is fine, any of those could be fine for me, but I am also so fucking proud of this ass and that it’s finally fat enough to shop in an XL and up store. I’m so glad that such a store exists here and is so rad. While I am raving about that, I would be remiss to not mention the Fat Market YYC , a pop up market starting in Calgary this weekend with it’s first event, the softest launch. Summer is a friend of the family for many years and I am proud of all the work she has put into this market. If you are in Calgary, check it out.

 I want to take a moment to thank not just Coco for her undying support in the project of fattening the boule, but also to my food accountability squads that send food pictures to each other, friends and neighbours who have been a part of keeping food here, easy and interesting, partners over many years who helped me learn more about the politics of bodies and size as well as how to cultivate a relationship of pleasure with food and existing in beautiful, soft, full curves. Loving fat bodies helps me more easily love my own body through changes that our culture tells us should feel problematic. I resist this culture, and it’s counterpart of celebrating weight loss, when I know that for many of us, being smaller is not an indicator of health, rather the exact opposite. 

Today I am celebrating booty abundance.