Some Evolving Thoughts About Weight and Sex
I want to start by saying this: I am just talking about myself here, and what’s true for me. These issues are heavily loaded, emotionally and psychologically and politically, so I want to spell that out right from the start. I’m not evangelizing for weight loss; I’m personally finding it to be beneficial, erotically as well as in other ways, but I’ve also found it to be complicated and a whole lot of hard work, and I know that the cost- benefit analysis about it is different for everyone. I’m not talking about what’s right or true for anyone else. I’m talking about what’s right and true for me.
As regular readers of my other blog (the cleverly- named Greta Christina’s Blog) know by now, I’ve been losing weight for close to a year now, and have so far lost 50 pounds. This isn’t something I’m doing for aesthetic reasons, btw: I’m doing it primarily for health reasons (mostly a bad knee that was getting worse).
But the weight loss is having a complicated set of effects on my sexuality: on my libido, my sexual self-image, my feelings about my sexual history, my cultural politics about sex and bodies. Mostly good . . . but complicated. And I haven’t seen a lot of writing elsewhere about these effects. Most of the writing I’ve seen about weight and sex has either been your standard “Lose weight and magically fix your sex life!” jargon (which I think is bullshit), or fat-positive, body-positive, “fight body fascism and connect erotically with the body you have” activism (which I more or less support, but with a few serious caveats). I haven’t seen much writing about weight and sex from people who are controlling their weight and feel good about it . . . but who are still informed by the cultural criticism about how our society views weight and sexuality.
So, as usual, when I don’t like the news, I’m making some of my own.
•
The main effect that weight loss has had on my sexuality has been on my libido. Which has gotten cranked up to eleven, and beyond. (Not that it was exactly low-key before . . .) Being in better health, being stronger and getting more exercise, feeling more conscious of my body, feeling more comfortable and more at home in my body, being happier with how I look and how I fit into my clothes, getting more compliments and attention . . . all of this is brewing into an explosive libidinous mix that’s making me feel like I’ve been shot out of a cannon. Just walking down the street is an exquisitely erotic experience: like my skin is humming, like I’m erotically at one with the universe, like I want to stop and hump tree trunks. I feel like I’m exploding in a hundred directions at once. I feel like I want to masturbate twenty times a day.
A lot of this has to do with just being in better health. The things I’m doing to lose weight — eating a healthier diet, getting tons of exercise — have increased my physical energy, my mental health, my ability to sleep, etc . . .. all of which are increasing my libido. A lot of it, too, has to do with not being in a state of cognitive dissonance. Before I started losing weight, I was in serious denial about my health and my body and how I felt about it . . . and cognitive dissonance about your body is not a mental state that’s conducive to feeling connected with it. And some of it, I’ll acknowledge, has to do with the increased compliments and sexual attention I’ve been getting as my weight has gone down. (Although . . . well, that’s complicated. More on that in a minute.)
But a huge amount of it, I think, has to do with the simple fact that I’m paying closer attention to my body now, in overwhelmingly positive ways. (I’m not talking about being self-conscious, btw; I know that paying close attention to one’s body, in a critical and self-loathing way, can have a terrible affect on libido and sexuality. I’m not talking about that. I’m just talking about being conscious.) I think about my body way more than I ever did: how it feels, how it looks, what it wants in terms of food and exercise and sleep, how it’s changing, how it’s the same. I’m not living in my head as much as I used to: I’m inhabiting my body now, more than I ever have at any time in my life. And that means I’m inhabiting my sexuality more.
A lot more. Hoo, boy.
Which is good. More than a bit frustrating at times — my life is not currently structured to let me masturbate twenty times a day, and our societal norms do not permit the public humping of tree trunks — but good. Being intensely horny is a complicated pleasure . . . but as long as I’m getting laid fairly regularly, it is nevertheless a pleasure.
The compliments and increased attention, on the other hand . . . that’s a lot more tricky. It’s not that it sucks. Of course I like compliments and attention. Human beings are social animals, and while it might be lovely if our self-esteem came entirely from within and didn’t have any basis on the approval of peers blah blah blah, the reality is that our self-esteem doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It’s a complex, mirrors- reflecting- mirrors jumble of how others see us and how we see ourselves. So of course I like compliments and attention, and of course they make me feel better about myself.
But at the same time, the compliments and increased attention I’ve gotten as I’ve lost weight have been a seriously mixed blessing. When people get really effusive about how amazing I look now, a big part of me is resentfully thinking, “So what did you think of me when I was fat? You think I look amazing now — did you think I looked disgusting then?” The line between feeling flattered by compliments and feeling defensive and pissy about them is razor-thin. Especially from people who knew me before I lost the weight . . . and only started paying sexual attention to me afterwards. (Some people — especially gay men, for some reason — do have the knack of paying good, tactful compliments to people who are losing weight. If you want to pay a compliment to someone who’s losing weight, you can’t go wrong with, “You look really good, really healthy — have you been working out?”)
The thing is, though? I honestly don’t know how much of this increased attention is because my body is now a type that more people find attractive . . . and how much of it is because I feel more attractive, and more libidinous. There is nothing hotter than someone who feels good about themselves, someone who loves their body and their sexuality. And there is nothing less hot than someone who, as a Facebook friend put it, is “slouching and sulking as if they are simultaneously angry at the world and apologizing for existing.” Am I getting more attention now because a lot more people prefer thinner women to fat women? Or is it because I’m walking down the street radiating sexual joy and looking like I want to hump tree trunks? I suspect it’s some of both. I really wish I could tease them out. It would give me a better sense of when to get pissy about compliments, and when to just let them in already. (People who meet me for the first time now, since I’ve lost the weight, have no idea what an advantage they have: they don’t have to deal with my hair-trigger, “So what did you think I was before — chopped liver?” defensiveness.)
And I do realize that this pissy defensiveness isn’t entirely fair. I mean, I have preferences myself about what body types I do and don’t find attractive. Most of them aren’t absolute deal-breakers . . . but it’s not like they don’t exist. So it’s a little unfair for me to expect other people not to have their own preferences.
It’s a delicate balance. How do we critique overly rigid cultural ideals of sexual attractiveness . . . while still acknowledging people’s right to be attracted to whoever they’re attracted to? How do we ask people to question and critique their — our — desires, to look carefully at the ways that a sexist, consumerist, celebrity- obsessed culture shapes our libidos . . . while still acknowledging that people don’t really have control over who we do and don’t have the hots for?
I don’t know. It’s a mess. And of course I know that the “effusive compliment” people mean well. I know that in our culture, “You look like you’ve lost weight!” is almost universally considered a compliment. And my weight loss project has, in fact, involved a lot of hard work . . . so when people get really effusive about how great I look now, I try to hear it as praise for the accomplishment, not as an insult to how I looked before.
But that’s hard. Especially since the “You looked like such a fat slob before!” implication of “You look so much better now!” plays right into another part of what’s making this process sexually complicated — the disconnect I’m feeling with my sexual history.
A huge amount of my libido right now is focused on the changes my body is going through, and the ways it’s different from what it was before. Which is understandable: things that are in flux get more attention than things that are in relative stasis. But this has had the unfortunate effect of making me feel weirdly disconnected from my body and my sexuality of the past. My willingness to accept how unhappy I used to be with my body, and how much in denial/ cognitive dissonance I was about it, is making it hard to remember that I did, in fact, like my body at least some of the time when I was fat, and that at least some people found that body attractive, and that I did get a substantial amount of sexual pleasure from it.
I know that this disconnectedness is totally irrational. I know that fat bodies can be happily experienced as sexual, both from the inside and the outside. There are, for instance, plenty of fat people who I see as intensely sexual and would do in a hot second. And I know that it’s seriously counter-productive. I was a fat woman for years — years in which I lived out some of the most powerful and formative aspects of my sexuality, and years in which I had some of the best sex of my life. I know that I have to find a way to inhabit my current sexual body, and at the same time make peace with my old one. (If anyone has any suggestions or experience about this, btw, I’m all ears. This is a tough one.)
And while I mostly feel happier and less self-conscious about my body than I used to, there are still aspects of my body and my appearance that I’m not thrilled about. It’s been weird to accept the fact that even when I reach my target weight, I’m still not going to be the cultural ideal of female attractiveness, and I never will be. And while I’ve been letting go of a lot of my old body dislikes, I’ve also been picking up one or two new ones. (Let me tell you about loose skin sometime.) Losing weight doesn’t mean dropping the battle against body fascism — either externally or internally.
I don’t know. It’s a mess. A mess that on the whole I feel good about, but a mess nonetheless.
Thoughts?
This entry was posted on Wednesday, 17 March 2010 at 11:42 am and is filed under Culture. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
on Wednesday, 17 March 2010 at 2:06 pm BB wrote:
You’ve managed to lose a bunch of weight. And you seem happy. This sends a signal that you’re accomplishing something you wanted, and are getting a body type that you prefer.
Given this, a compliment is as much a recognition of your success as it is a comment that you ought conform to the desires of others.
—
I also feel like the cognitive dissonance is a big subtext in a lot of the fat acceptance things I’ve read. There are really two conflicting stances that people seem to take:
“I prefer this aesthetic so I choose to be this way,”
and
“Weight loss is impossible for most people, fatness should be treated as a difficult-to-control medical issue.”
A thing is a choice, or it isn’t. If someone’s arguing that their obesity is the result of an aesthetic decision, and should be respected as such. But, it’s hard to justify much special protections based on controllable, aesthetic decisions.
If they’re arguing that it’s a medical issue, then special protections follow. But, then it seems very strange to argue that it’s wrong for people to have aesthetic preferences. Strong body odor can be caused by certain medical problems. But, no one seriously defends the idea that we ought be attracted to people, regardless of their smell.
I can certainly see an argument that some level of fat is too stigmatized, and that thinness is overemphasized in beauty. But, even if this is the case, it seems reasonable to compliment someone who has lost 50 pounds, especially if that person isn’t in danger of being unhealthily thin.
on Wednesday, 17 March 2010 at 4:08 pm Greta Christina wrote:
BB, that’s an excellent way of putting the cognitive dissonance about the fat acceptance movement. (One of the cognitive dissonances, anyway. Another is the one about health: “Being fat is no more unhealthy than not being fat,” and “Weight loss is impossible for most people, fatness should be treated as a difficult-to-control medical issue.”)
As for the compliments: I really don’t mind them most of the time. It’s when they get really, really effusive, and really focused on how much better I look now than I used to, that they start to bug me. (”You look great!” is fine; “You look so much better!” is annoying.)
on Wednesday, 17 March 2010 at 5:33 pm Nate wrote:
Congrats.
I used to be really skinny, but I’ve packed on some muscle mass that makes me a happier person. I got into weights thinking that I could get huge and ripped up. Alas, my body type will not allow me to be anything like a pro body builder.
I’ve accepted this, and now it’s more about being healthy and happy. Stick with what makes you happy :)
on Wednesday, 17 March 2010 at 8:05 pm David Harmon wrote:
I know that in our culture, “You look like you’ve lost weight!” is almost universally considered a compliment.
Heh. That reminds me of when my barber used to tell me after the shearing, “Oh, now you look so much younger!” and I replied “I’m not old enough to want to look younger!”
on Thursday, 18 March 2010 at 2:47 am Monica C. wrote:
I have been working on losing weight for a few months now (and eagerly following what you have to say about it
on Thursday, 18 March 2010 at 8:19 am Mark wrote:
Thank you for this article. I am 2 weeks from being laid off. When I first heard about it I was pretty depressed. I have a mortgage, family to feed and kids needing college funds. Last night I read an article that stressed the positives about being laid off (at least for a few months) and getting in shape - losing the love handles - was a big one. Then today is your excellent article reminding me that recovering from a sedentary deskjob and with finally the time (and energy) to do something about my weight can have such a positive impact on the way I feel.
All of the doctors always spout the “you must lose weight” at you until you want to eat just to spite them, but hearing someone with a brain (and libido) talk frankly about how it changes the way you feel is liberating and it sounds so promising. Please keep posting any thoughts you feel comfortable in sharing.
on Thursday, 18 March 2010 at 9:06 am Keely wrote:
This is kind of only tangentially related, but oh well…
I’ve never been very overweight, just the typical “could stand to lose a few pounds,” “freshman 15 that never went away,” thing. I have sometimes felt grossly overweight, but I’ve gradually come to accept that while I am happier with my body at 135-140 than 150lbs, I’m never going to be 120 and healthy. Just not my body type… I have wide hips, big thighs, and huge boobs… and did even when I was swimming 3 hours a day in high school. It’s not going anywhere.
What I struggle with is that while I’ve come to accept that, I’m still around plenty of people that have different standards for beauty.
The hardest situation for me is that I have been
on Thursday, 18 March 2010 at 10:13 am Apples and Porsches » Blog Archive » Wholestyle on the Web wrote:
[…] The Blowfish Blog: Some Evolving Thoughts about Weight and Sex Greta shares her personal experience as the changes in her body effect her sex life […]
on Thursday, 18 March 2010 at 2:30 pm tall penguin wrote:
Great post. These are complex issues and I’m glad to have a forum to discuss them.
I’ve always been at the thinner end of the spectrum. I’ve gained ten pounds over this past Winter and while it feels odd to have the extra weight on me, I’m enjoying the sensuality I feel in having larger breasts than I’ve ever had before. Also, I’ve always had a strong libido but being a little chunkier and more voluptuous is turning me on in ways I hadn’t anticipated. I actually feel more feminine with the extra weight, and feel more inclined to want to experience sex with a woman (which I’ve never done) just to explore this femininity more fully. It’s as though I’ve become aroused by my own body to such a degree that I’m curious about exploring the beauty of another woman’s body.
I’m completely intrigued by these changes and am curious to see where they lead me.
on Friday, 19 March 2010 at 7:12 am Ai wrote:
At the end of the day, what’s important, IMHO, is your happiness.
I’ve been losing weight because of treatment for my type 2 diabetes. I do admit to being overweight, but until I was diagnosed, I didn’t have any real incentive to do so because it wasn’t important and wasn’t part of my priorities for my happiness. With my diagnosis, my lover and I decided that, together, we would make sure that I fight the disease so that I could, you know, be around for the next 20 years. In the process, I’ve lost weight as a byproduct of my regimen.
It has made me happier because I have more energy and I feel better, which I can trace to my weight loss, but does that doesn’t mean I *wasn’t* happy when I was heavier, nor does it mean that knowing back then what I know now that I’d take the necessary steps to get to where I am today. My happiness wasn’t and still isn’t bound in my weight: it’s bound in the knowledge that I’m trying, desperately, to make sure that I can live every moment I can with someone that drives me insanely happy. Does that make sense?
on Friday, 19 March 2010 at 11:38 am a sane person wrote:
I have been really overweight my whole life, and I didn’t mind it. I insisted that I feel good about myself, even though I know it’s not really healthy. I insisted that I feel good to defy everyone who believes that my body is not beautiful. Even though, I don’t really feel good. I also have a knee that bothers me, and I’m sometimes afraid as to how my weight might influence my health. But a part of me really, really doesn’t want to loose weight just because I have so often been told “You have a pretty face, you’d be attractive if you were thin.” I fucking hate when people say that. It makes me feel really ugly. It makes me want to be fat just to show them I won’t let them make me feel ugly for the way I look, even though they do.
Last year I started exercising and I lost about 30 pounds in five months. Everyone was so full of compliments about how great it is that I’m loosing weight and getting into shape. But they made me angry. I took the new positive comments about my looks to mean that I looked bad before and that made me feel bad about who I was before. And the fact that I felt bad made me feel angry because why should I feel bad about how I look? I don’t believe anyone should have the right to judge me on how I look or to believe that, just because I’m not the type that the society in general finds attractive, I’m ugly. So I stopped exercising and slowly put back on most of the pounds. But what I noticed is that I don’t feel as good as when I exercised. I had much more energy before, I spent more time outdoors and I spent more time socialising with people (I forced myself to go out at all times, just so that I wouldn’t be at home where I might be tempted to eat and sit in front of the computer for hours, and going out was good). My libido didn’t increase so much, but my desire for everything else did: to socialize, to do things, to go hiking (even though I hate hiking because I can’t talk and climb uphill at the same time, I get out of breath :D).
So I’m going to have to start exercising again, because that obviously makes me feel better. And I know it’s a healthier lifestyle and much better for me as a person. But I also know I’ll feel bad for all the “positive” comments I’ll be getting. Why can’t people just ignore how I look and not make any comments at all?
Anyway, I just wanted to say I enjoyed your article, you touched on a lot of things that trouble me about loosing weight and how I or those around me react to it. And I hope you’ll feel good about your new body and find a way to reconcile it with your old self. :)
on Sunday, 28 March 2010 at 2:52 pm Caddy C wrote:
“When people get really effusive about how amazing I look now, a big part of me is resentfully thinking, “So what did you think of me when I was fat? You think I look amazing now — did you think I looked disgusting then?” The line between feeling flattered by compliments and feeling defensive and pissy about them is razor-thin. Especially from people who knew me before I lost the weight . . . and only started paying sexual attention to me afterwards. ”
THIS!
I had a very similar experience, actually. I went through the process of losing weight over a couple of years and ended up losing about 80 pounds overall. It has been a really funky process, and even though I’m much more healthy now than I was … it’s complicated.
I got so many more compliments after I started losing weight. It was nice, but seemed back-handed at the same time. I worked in a customer-service job where I was interacting with a lot of the same people (mostly older white & Hispanic men and women). So when they started paying attention to me in a way that was obviously sexual, it was way weird. Most of the compliments were very flattering and considerate. Some of them were downright lustful and totally creepy.
But there’s always that thought in my head - wait, so what did you think of me before? Was I just not there? Did I just not register to you? In a way, that’s totally ok, because I really don’t want to be thought of in that way to the people I’m helping as part of my job. But it also makes me kindof sad to think that it took a threshold of, what? 10 pounds, 20 pounds? for them to notice me at all.