Society, however, does not see all fat as being equal. A man can be much, much fatter than a woman and still be viewed as comfortably within the standard deviation; most department stores carry men’s pants up to a size 42, which is the rough equivalent of a women’s size 24—a size that a woman would have to visit a specialty big-girl store or “Women’s” department to find. Men are comfortable on beaches with their beach-ball bellies hanging over their swimsuit waistbands, bronzing their fat in the sun, whereas my fat women friends struggle to find swimwear that does not feature a skirt.
So me, I’m transgendered. It means that the gender I present in the world is not congruent with the sex that I was assigned at birth; in practical terms, I mostly look like a man but have a body that some would consider physiologically female. Even though I don’t identify as a man (I am a butch, which is its own gender), I am taken for a man about two-thirds of the time. And when I am taken for a man, I am not fat.
As a man, I’m a big dude, but not outside the norm for such things. I am just barely fat enough to shop at what I call The Big Fat Tall Guy Store, and can sometimes find my size in your usual boy-upholstery emporia. Major clothing labels, like Levi Strauss, make nice things in my size, and I am never forced to wear anything that appears to have been manufactured at Mendel the Tentmaker’s House o’ Fashion. (Although those things do exist for men, too. Those terrycloth shirts with the waistbands? Oy.) I can order extra salad dressing or ice cream or anything else in a restaurant and have it arrive without comment; I can eat it in public without anyone taking a bit of notice, even if I am shoving it into my mouth while walking down a crowded street and getting crumbs all over my chest in the process. I can run for a bus or train without anyone making a snide remark.
As a big guy, I’m big enough to make miscreants or troublemakers decide to take their hostility elsewhere. As a woman, I am revolting. I am not only unattractively mannish but also grossly fat. The clothes I can fit into at the local big-girl stores tend to fit around the neck and then get bigger as they go downward, which results in a festive butch-in-a-bag look—all the rage nowhere, ever. No matter how clearly I order a Coke in a restaurant I must be on a diet, and so I get a Diet Coke—usually with a lemon floating in it accusatorily, looking up at me as if to say, “This is as good as it’s going to get, lardass.” Wait staff develop selective amnesia about my side of fries or my request for butter, and G-d help me if I get caught eating (or even shopping) in public as a woman.
list of states that don’t exist:
north & south dakota
Anonymous asked: How is it living in NY?Is NY really the greatest city in the world?I'm planning to move cause i heard so many great things about the city!
Living in NY is expensive.
You move here and hear about how expensive it is and how much people have to struggle at times and you’re all
But at the end of the month after you pay your rent you look at your bank account and go
Like seriously, your tiny ass apartment that is either located in a noisy area or you have noisy roommates or your walls are thin and you have a noisy neighbor
But I will say, the food is DOPE here
Just don’t read the Yelp reviews while you’re eating from that 24 hour place with no order minimum
It’s fun to meet people here! Most friendships you make will be like
But if your friends live in another borough…
Because the subway is either the best thing or the WORST. When it comes on time and smells okay you’re all
Or sometimes you’ll see a homeless dude jacking off and a toxic waft of human filth singes your nostril hairs and you’re like
By the way- a lot of dudes will be all up on your shit when you’re trying to go about your day like
and you just be like
And keep walking. Walking is awesome in the city. It is good for stress relief, it’s free, and it tones your legs AND gets you places! For free!
But walking in a crowd in NYC will bring out the inner murderer in you
Tourists be like
And whenever someone on the street tries to stop you..
But at least the shopping (window or otherwise) is OFF THE HOOK
But no laundry machines or dishwashers in your apartment sucks
And so often you just reflect on this expensive, inconvenient, impersonal, competitive, dirty fucking city and you go
But you don’t follow through, because bodegas on the corner and free museums and central park during the summer and outside music shows and the diversity and possibility and history and energy just make you remember why you put up with the bitch goddess that is NYC.
But remember that when you get here, no matter how you dress or talk or know the subway, EVERYONE you meet will go