The fear of fat: the real elephant in the room | Kelli Jean Drinkwater | TEDxSydney

This talk was given at a TEDx event using the TED conference format but independently organized by a local community. Learn more at http://ted.com/tedx

We live in a culture where being fat is believed to be universally bad and something to be feared. This fatphobia is keeping many of us, regardless of our size waiting to be the after photo before we truly start to live our lives. Kelli Jean Drinkwater unravels the complex relationship we all have with body size and shows how radical body politics can be the antidote to body shaming culture.

I'm here today to talk to you
about a very powerful little word,

one that people will do
almost anything to avoid becoming.

Billion-dollar industries thrive
because of the fear of it.

Those of us who undeniably are it

are left to navigate
a relentless storm surrounding it.

I'm not sure if any of you
have noticed, but I'm fat.

(Laughter)

Not the lowercase
muttered-behind-my-back kind,

or the seemingly harmless
chubby or cuddly.

I'm not even the more sophisticated
voluptuous or curvaceous kind.

Let's not sugarcoat it.

I am the capital F-A-T kind of fat.

I am the elephant in the room.

(Laughter)

When I walked out on stage,
some of you may have been thinking,

"Oh, this is going to be hilarious,

because everybody knows
that fat people are funny."

(Laughter)

Or you may have been thinking,
"Where does she get her confidence from?"

because a confident fat woman
is almost unthinkable.

The fashion-conscious members
of the audience may have been thinking

how fabulous I look
in this vestido dress

(Cheers)
(Applause)

- thank you very much!-

whereas some of you might have thought,

"Mmm, black would have been
so much more slimming."

(Laughter)

You may have wondered, consciously or not,

if I have diabetes, or a partner,
or if I eat carbs after 7pm.

(Laughter)

You may have worried
that you ate carbs after 7pm last night

(Laughter)

and that you really should renew
your gym membership.

(Laughter)

These judgments are insidious;

they can be directed
to individuals and groups.

and they can also be directed
at ourselves;

and this way of thinking
is known as "fatphobia."

Like any form of systematic oppression,
fatphobia is deeply rooted

in complex structures like capitalism,
patriarchy, and racism,

and that can make it really difficult
to see, let alone challenge.

We live in a culture where being fat
is seen as being a bad person;

lazy, greedy, unhealthy,
irresponsible, and morally suspect.

And we tend to see thinness
as being universally good;

responsible, successful, and in control
of our appetites, bodies, and lives.

We see these ideas again and again
in the media, in public health policy,

doctor's offices,
in everyday conversations

and in our own attitudes.

We may even blame fat people themselves
for the discrimination they face

because, after all, if we don't like it,
we should just lose weight.

Easy!

This anti-fat bias has become so integral,

so ingrained to how we value
ourselves and each other

that we rarely question
why we have such contempt

for people of size
and where that disdain comes from.

But we must question it

because the enormous value we place
on how we look affects every one of us.

Do we really want to live in a society

where people are denied
their basic humanity

if they don't subscribe
to some arbitrary form of "acceptable"?

So when I was six years old,

my sister used to teach ballet
to a bunch of little girls in our garage.

I was about a foot taller and a foot wider
than the most of the group.

When it came to doing
our first performance,

I was so excited about wearing
a pretty pink tu-tu.

I was going to sparkle.

As the other girls slipped easily
into their lycra and tulle creations,

not one of the tu-tus
was big enough to fit me.

I was determined not to be excluded
from the performance,

so I turned to my mother,
and loud enough for everyone to hear,

said, "Mum, I don't need a tu-tu,
I need a four-four!"

(Laughter)

Thanks, mum.

(Applause)

And although I didn't recognize it
at the time,

claiming space for myself
in that glorious four-four

was the first step towards becoming
a radical fat activist.

Now, I'm not saying
that this whole body love thing

has been an easy skip
along a glittering path of self-acceptance

since that day in class, far from it.

I soon learned that living outside
what the mainstream considers normal

can be a frustrating and isolating place.

I've spent the last 20 years unpacking
and deprogramming these messages,

and it's been quite a roller coaster.

I've been openly laughed at,
abused from passing cars,

and been told that I'm delusional.

I also receive smiles from strangers

who recognize what it takes
to walk down the street

with a spring in your step
and your head held high.

(Cheers)

Thanks.

Through it all,

that fierce little six-year-old
has stayed with me,

and she has helped me stand before you
today as an unapologetic fat person.

A person that simply refuses
to subscribe to the dominant narrative

about how I should move
through the world in this body of mine.

And I'm not alone.

I am part of an international community
of people who choose to,

rather than passively accepting
that our bodies are

and probably always will be big,

we actively choose to flourish
in these bodies as they are today;

people who honor our strength

and work with not against
our perceived limitations;

people who value health
as something much more holistic

than a number on an outdated BMI chart.

Instead, we value mental health,
self-worth, and how we feel in our bodies

as vital aspects
to our overall well-being;

people who refuse to believe

that living in these fat bodies
is a barrier to anything, really.

There are doctors, academics, and bloggers
who have written countless volumes

on the many facets
of this complex subject.

There are "fatshionistas" who reclaimed
their bodies and their beauty

by wearing "fat-kinis" and crop-tops

exposing the flesh
that we're all taught to hide.

There are fat athletes who run marathons,
teach yoga, or do kickboxing,

all done with the middle finger
firmly held up to the status quo.

(Laughter)

These people have taught me

that radical body politics is the antidote
to our body-shaming culture.

But to be clear, I'm not saying

that people shouldn't change their bodies
if that's what they want to do.

Reclaiming yourself can be
one of the most gorgeous acts

of self-love and can look
like a million different things:

from hairstyles, to tattoos,
to body contouring, to hormones,

to surgery, and yes, even weight loss.

It's simple:

it's your body, and you decide
what's best to do with it.

My way of engaging in activism
is by doing all the things

that we fatties aren't supposed to do,
and there's a lot of them;

inviting other people to join me
and then making art about it.

The common thread
through most of this work

has been reclaiming spaces

that are often prohibitive
to bigger bodies

from the catwalk to club shows

from public swimming pools
to prominent dance stages.

Reclaiming spaces en masse
is not only a powerful artistic statement

but a radical community building approach.

This was so true of Aquaporko

(Laughter)

the fat femme synchronized swim team
I started with a group of friends

in Sydney.

(Laughter)

The impact of seeing
a bunch of defiant, fat women

in flowery swimming caps and bathers

throwing their legs
in the air without a care

should not be underestimated.

(Laughter)

Throughout my career, I have learned
that fat bodies are inherently political,

and unapologetic fat bodies
can blow people's minds.

When director Kate Champion

of acclaimed dance theater company
Force Majeure

asked me to be the artistic associate
on a work featuring all fat dancers,

I literally jumped at the opportunity.

And I mean, literally.

(Laughter)

Nothing to Lose is a work made
in collaboration with performers of size

who drew from their lived experiences

to create a work as varied
and authentic as we all are.

It was as far from ballet
as you could imagine.

The very idea of a fat dance work
by such a prestigious company

was, to put it mildly, controversial

because nothing like it had ever been done
on mainstream dance stages before

anywhere in the world.

People were skeptical.

"What do you mean 'fat dancers'?"

"Like size-10, size-12 kind of fat?"

(Laughter)

"Where did they do their dance training?"

"Are they going to have the stamina
for a full-length production?"

But despite the skepticism,

Nothing to Lose became
a sellout hit of Sydney Festival.

We received rave reviews,
toured, won awards,

and were written about
in over 27 languages.

These incredible images
of our cast were seen worldwide.

I've lost count of how many times
people of all sizes have told me

that the show has changed their lives,

how it helped them shift
their relationship

to their own and other people's bodies,

and how it made them
confront their own bias.

But of course,

work that pushes people's buttons
is not without its detractors.

I have been told
that I'm glorifying obesity;

I have received violent death threats
and abuse for daring to make work

that centers fat people's
bodies and lives

and treats us as worthwhile human beings
with valuable stories to tell.

I've even been called,
"The ISIS of the obesity epidemic."

(Laughter)

a comment so absurd that it is funny

(Laughter)

but it also speaks to the panic,

the literal terror
that the fear of fat can evoke.

It is this fear that's feeding
the diet industry,

which is keeping so many of us
from making peace with their own bodies,

for waiting to be the after photo
before we truly start to live our lives.

Because the real elephant
in the room here is fatphobia.

Fat activism refuses to indulge this fear

by advocating for self-determination
and respect for all of us.

We can shift society's reluctance
to embrace diversity

and start to celebrate the myriad
of ways there are to have a body.

Thank you.

(Applause)