Confessions of a Newly Realized Duff

Hi. My name is Sarah. I’m 30-something years old… And I’m a DUFF.Never heard that expression? Duff  = Designated Ugly Fat Friend. It’s a recent addition to pop culture lexicon. Like fleek. Or Bae. It’s a cruel and alienating expression. Designed to perpetuate the idea that some of us are worth more than others. The first time I heard it the word zipped past me, unphased.  The next time? It made me think. As a woman of size who has “beautiful” friends, I started to wonder… Have I been a DUFF all these years and never known it? And, if I was a DUFF, would my reality be different? Did I even care?For the most part, I’ve gone through life believing I was no different than the company I kept. My friends were my friends because of who we were—not what we looked like. But looking back, were there clues that pinpointed my DUFF-dom status?To examine this case study, I present four examples from my past.

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Case Point 1 – The College Boyfriend 

When I was a newly launched college freshman, my (older) boyfriend sent me to my first fraternity party with a warning.  “Guys always know the ugly girls have the hottest friends.”  Whaaaat? The pure manipulation of such a comment is palpable. Yet, at that tender age, I accepted it. I should’ve dumped him on the spot, but I didn’t. It took me two more years. His warning, however, I never forgot.

Was this my introduction into DUFF-dom? 

Is this photographic evidence of my collegiate Duff-dom?

Case Point 2 – The House of the Hotties

Despite an auspicious beginning, I had a wonderful collegiate experience. Full of typically clichéd intelligent, theater and music students who were “good kids” that wore a lot of overalls.  I settled into a group of TRULY amazing girlfriends who just happened to be beautiful. I saw them as silly, vibrant women who had no problem farting and laughing. But I will never forget the day that a guy friend—let’s call him Dan-- told me I lived in “the Hot House.” He made the comment in jest but I read between the lines. My roomies were hot and everyone knew it. They were desired, and I was the funny one along for the ride. 

Was THAT a sign of my DUFF Flag Flying?

Case Point 3 – Viva Las Veg-Duf

At 24 I moved to Las Vegas, set out to make my own path. I shoved my toes into the cracks of doors and flung them wide open. Despite looking different, I felt strong and powerful. I knew I was pre-judged but that never stopped me. I never stood in the corner and waited for permission, for someone to decide I was worthy. I talked my way into jobs in entertainment public relations and marketing. Here I lived life behind the velvet rope. Guest lists, bottle service and industry privilege. I was associated with people who were beautiful and desirable, and I was ingratiated into their world.  I never once questioned if I fit in. I simply made a place for myself. It wasn’t until one night at an industry mixer that I looked around the room and realized that I was the only plus-size woman working in Las Vegas entertainment PR. No joke. The absolute only one. 

Wait… Hold on---- Was I the DUFF OF LAS VEGAS? (gasp) 

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Here I am at 25 in all my "DUFF Glory" enjoying a night out on the town-- clearly feeling limited by my lack of good looks and the burden of my extra weight.

I showed people who I was, never giving them the chance to tell me I didn't belong. I fought harder and I worked smarter. I owned my space. In those few years I gained tremendous self-awareness about who i was as a woman and professional. But was I oblivious to how the world perceived me?

Case Point 4 – The Modelizers

I have spent the last few years working within the plus-fashion industry. I’ve become close to some incredibly beautiful plus-size models and industry folks.  When they tower over me with their 5’11”, curvaceous bodies and full-lipped pouty smiles, I don’t think I’m any worse then they are because I stand a paltry 5’4”, unblessed to have their natural stunning looks… Then I remember the guy I met on line who on our second date blatantly hit on my friend, asked for an introduction, then declared he never liked me anyway. Or the countless men I encounter in the world of online dating who, when seeing a picture of me with those I love, exclaim a little TOO enthusiastically, “wow, your friends are HOOOOT!”

 Was this the Duff Evidence I was searching for?

I called Dan the other day—my House of the Hotties friend- and we had a long chat. He confirmed to me what I suspected all along. The idea of a DUFF is simply a tool.“The thing is, Sapora,” he explained, “is that all that had less to do with you and more to do with ME.  That was a way for my 19-year-old self to put my sh*t out there and justify it with a label. Because, sometimes that’s what people do to survive. They label others. Because without those labels, they can’t figure themselves out.”

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Just another picture of me looking "really unhappy" because I'm such a DUFF I can hardly stand existing in the same vicinity as my tall, beautiful friend. *yawn*

Ding ding ding!  The truth I’ve believed all along, confirmed. “DUFF” is less about me, and more about…. Other people’s sh*t.People come in all shapes, sizes and colors.  I don’t think there is harm in recognizing our differences. I refuse to live in a world where acknowledging our differences is so taboo that it makes us desire some homogenous ideal of Beauty.  I hate the eggshells we walk on when describing one another. Like women of size who you can’t mutter the word “fat” around, even though it’s just a descriptor.  (It’s a word, people, just a word!) Physical descriptors are just that---- observations.  Descriptors don’t determine our worth. It’s what we do with them that can get us into trouble.

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Perhaps one of the most un-DUFFiest women in Hollywood these days wore this shirt about a month ago. And broke the internet. Not as much as her sister bootie did, but just enough for people to wonder, was Kylie Jenner trying to be a body positive advocate?

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Yup. Here's that DUFF again. Comfortable in her own skin? Nahh. Smile? Totally faked. Wearing red because, like, that's totally the color you wear when you want to "blend in" with your surroundings.

People are different.

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In every circle of friends there should be differences—those differences make us irreplaceable. Where we go awry is when we brandish our differences like hands of poker. When one person holds up the distorted mirror in order to give themself a better shape.  When differences become the scapegoat that helps others to cope. Calling anyone a DUFF speaks more about the person flinging the term around than the potential DUFF in question.Weighing all this, there is only one conclusion I can draw.  Call me a DUFF if you will. I can’t stop you. And, I assure you, it won’t stop me.  I know who I am. Who you are, and how you see me, has nothing to do with me… And everything to do with you.