Body-shaming is arguably the last socially-acceptable form of discrimination. ‘Fat is wrong, and it’s your fault’ is the message screamed at us by the media – from the 'Women Who Eat on Tubes' tumblr to Katie Hopkins’ recent revelation that she’s gained four stone in order to 'prove' that losing weight is all about choice. It's easy to shrug and think that a bit of mickey-taking never hurt anyone, that it doesn't count as ‘real’ abuse - but the judgements levelled at women based on what they look like, and specifically, the amount of physical space they take up, are relentless. The ideal is slim, pert and lean. Shy yet vivacious, seductively shrouded but always accessible. Deviation from this ideal is accepted fodder for ridicule, hatred and disgust.
Food is no longer seen as a basic resource for survival, or even something to enjoy preparing and consuming. It is now inextricably linked to body image, how we see ourselves and our emotions and mood. This is incredibly harmful, as anyone with daughters will tell you. I think lots of us are scared of talking about it with our kids, because - whether you've got toddlers who are still working out what tastes they like and dislike, or teenagers who are constantly inundated with diet fads - nobody wants to ‘make food an issue’ round their dinner table. But it's too important not to.
The body shaming experiences I had as a child and adolescent undoubtedly contribute to how vehemently anti-body-shaming I am today. Like when I was seven, in the bath at my friend's house, and her mum told me I was fat because my ribs didn't show. Or how my grandmother always said “you'll not need any dinner now” if anyone dared snack on anything. Or the time another friend’s mum told me I was greedy for putting too many sweets in my paper bag at the corner shop. Like when I did the Atkins diet and thought that eating a piece of bread would literally tip the scale. Like the period when I knew nothing about who I was, but everything about lipolysis/ketosis and why one was a good state for the body to be in for losing weight.
None of these incidents were isolated, and they weren't really anyone’s fault. This demonisation of women and food – and, shock horror, women in the act of eating - has been seen as normal for as long as I can remember. I was 13 when Baby Spice was universally decried as unworthy of Spice Girl status because she was ‘fat’, at a UK size 10. Fortunately, we were told, it was just ‘puppy fat’ and thus temporary. Phew.
For some of us, there seems to be more food available than ever. The cheapest food is the worst for us, yet wrapped in the shiniest and most attractive packaging, so that my children cry when I tell them we're not buying it. Despite the ubiquity and appeal of these products, however, we’re bombarded with messages that we must avoid them. The way we market food to women and girls both glorifies it and condemns it as sinful – think of red velvet cupcakes and those where chocolate is an indulgence, a special treat to enjoy in secret.
The way we routinely demonise certain foods – saturated fat, sugar, white bread, pasta, processed meat – means that everything falls into two polarised categories of ‘good’ and ‘bad’. Despite the fact that no food in itself is inherently bad for us, we have normalised this narrative of opposites, attaching a corresponding moral value to food in the process. The yearly binge/fast rhetoric of New Year, sold to us by magazines in the form of temporary solutions to holiday ‘overindulgences’, has become an accepted part of the female calendar. Society tells us that we are what we eat. Fat is bad. Hideous, embarrassing, clumsy and uncouth. If you're tempted by something from the ‘bad’ column, you've fallen. Our perspective on food and its purpose has been skewed. We let society dictate the way women feed themselves. And our kids are learning from us.
I still have a lot of un-learning to do myself. Did you experience anything similar when you were growing up? A well-meaning relative telling you to ‘save some room for your dinner’? We need to change the discourse around food, so that the way our children feel about their bodies is different.
When I see my 14-month-old girl throwing her body into every new experience with joy, without the shackles of how society says she should feel about her body, it feels right – and this is the way all women and girls deserve to be.