The Happy Hippo—A Personal Reflection on Living within the World of Pretty

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This week, a story emerged online of a Las Vegas club promoter who conversationally grilled a woman that contacted him regarding a comp (AKA free) table for a bachelorette party of 15. Before agreeing to offer her the table, he insisted that she show him pictures of the entire group of 15 women or provide their Instagram accounts. The reason: his club didn’t comp “whales” or “hippos” and, without pictures, he couldn’t be assured that each member of the party was a “9-10” on the hot scale. Because the women were from Massachusetts and “girls don’t go to the gym there.” He also advised that a group that had “scary” looking girls could enter through a specific line and, once inside, could “ditch the whales” and get seated at a table. The woman smartly screen capped the entire conversation and sent it directly to Jezebel.com.

Here’s a link if you feel like taking a gander.

I could tell you that reading this surprised me, but it didn’t. Having lived and worked in Las Vegas for many years, I know how the city works. I know Las Vegas is built on the culture of fantasy. That it exists to create an illusion people pay heavily to be immersed in. For the most part, I love the city. It pulls no punches and lays human nature on the line. Every vice of character can be out in the open. Lust. Gluttony. The city doesn’t apologize, and for that I love it. But with the colorful and exciting also comes blatant As*holery. Yes, I made up that word.  As*holery.. This promoter is a perfectexample of  As*holery., which, by the way, is something that doesn’t surprise me in general as a plus-size woman.I know, I know. You’re thinking this will be some rant from an “angry fat chick” who feels the world has wronged her. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. Yes, I believe that obesity is a health problem. But at the same time, I think that our society needs to do some SERIOUS shifting of our beliefs when it comes to perceptions of persons of size. I think it’s ludicrous that, in the eyes of some, being overweight is one of the most offensive things that a person can be. And certainly, I KNOW our culture has a long, long way to go in accepting persons of size into daily life without acceptations, guile or prejudice. But I do not walk through the world blaming anyone for anything. I am my own woman. I know that people, and their subsequent actions, are the result of the greater whole around them. And that progress takes time. And that people often dislike what they fear the most.Instead, this is going to be my story about what it has meant to be an interloper living among a World of Pretty. I am not a woman who believes that being Fat is better than being  Thin. I am a woman who believes in being your damn self, exactly as you want to be. WHO that might be may change throughout your life, and probably will. I also believe that all bodies are legitimate. And that all women are entitled to feel like valid individuals in the world. But the fact is simple—in the eyes of greater society, some people are pretty and some are not. We are divided into social classes because of this. And overweight people aren’t counted among the Pretty.

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Here’s the kicker. For most of my adult life, I have been the Only Fat Girl in a room of typically beautiful people. The feeling is surreal. Like walking into a toy store as a kid and being forced to walk the aisles with your hands in your pockets. No playing and no touching. Watching only. I’ve been allowed access into the Pretty Life and yet kept at the outside. I’ve slipped in and been absorbed, yet I’ve been totally alienated.And it has made me wonder—what is better? To be included in the World of The Pretty but never LIVING in it? Or to be outside, having never touched it, but with the chance of living an easier, deeper, more fulfilled life? I simply do not know.****For observant individuals, it doesn’t take long to realize that Beauty is an Entry Card to the game of life. Those who are deemed acceptable by others forge a path of least resistance. Doors open for them, roads bend in their path. The magical elixir of Luck + Opportunity + Circumstance seemingly comes together more frequently and without effort.It starts as children on the playground. By the time we are teenagers we are partitioned off into social groups and labeled into Hot Chicks or Funny Girls or Brainiacs or some other descriptive. In some ways, we find comfort in these grouped definitions. There is social safety in keeping to your own group. You never feel like an outsider if you’re surrounded by people you relate to. Like in the movie 

Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion

: Romy and Michelle (played by Mira Sorvino and Lisa Kudrow, respectively) reflect on their social status in school. Romy complains that they were “jokes” in school and they still are as adults. Michelle corrects her and says that she never knew that they weren’t that great in high school because they had so much fun together. That, until Romy said their lives weren’t good enough, she always thought their lives were great.

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Me circa 2003 in Vegas.

I am the fat girl with the Hot Friends. I say that without any guile or animosity, purely factually. I have often had beautiful friends and been surrounded by those people that society has placed the Laurels of Hotness on. From the time I was in college, and even to this day, it has simply worked out that way.Before heading off to the first fraternity party of my college years, my boyfriend, under the guise of protecting and caring for me, warned me that I needed to be careful. He said, “Guys always know the ugly girls have the hottest friends” and that I should guard myself against any man who approached me at a party.Stop your vomit reflex. I can hear you gagging. The audacity and pure manipulation of such a comment is palpable. Yet, at the age of 17, I accepted the comment and took it under advisement. Don’t you just want to SMACK me? Thinking back, I should have smacked myself and dumped him on the spot. But I didn’t. It took me two more years before I let him go.I had a wonderful collegiate experience. Full of typically clichéd good kids, smart theater and music students who created worlds of artistic amazingness. I laughed and cried and went to parties just like everyone else. But I never had a boyfriend. I never went on a single date. I settled into a group of TRULY amazing friends—we’re a threesome who are still close to this day. Those friends just happened to be really beautiful. I saw them as silly, vibrant, caring women who had no problem farting and laughing. But I will never forget the day that someone told me I lived in “the Hot House.” It was a comment made in jest by one of my male friends, but I read between the lines. My roomies were hot and everyone knew it. They were desired, and I was the funny one without a boyfriend.

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At 24 I packed up and moved cross country alone to Las Vegas. I had a dream that I could live a more creative and interesting life than what I was living in NYC, so I set out to make my own path. I learned how to shove my toes into the cracks of open doors until I could fling them open, and talked my way into jobs in entertainment public relations and marketing. Here I was exposed to life behind the velvet rope. To guest lists and bottle service. I was associated with industry 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 in it. It wasn’t until I worked an industry mixer one night that I looked around the room and realized I was the only plus-size woman working in Las Vegas entertainment public relations and marketing. No joke. The absolute only one.I became aware that I had gained entry into a world that, according to social rules and regulations, I didn’t belong in. My good looking friends appeared to be my entry. They legitimized my size and erased my stigma. One hot friend wasn’t enough, but to be surrounded by a Sea of Hotness made me acceptable.The thing was . . . I didn’t care. I felt great about who I was. I was having fun. I felt strong and powerful.I knew I was pre-judged by people, but that never stopped me. I never stood in the corner and waited for permission, or for someone to decide I was worthy. I simply showed them who I was and never gave them the chance to tell me I didn’t belong. I fought harder. I worked smarter. I owned my space without any hesitation. In those few years I gained tremendous self-awareness and learned a great deal about my strength as a woman and as a professional.Yet, at the same time, I was always aware that others were experiencing things at a level I was not. I was surrounded by people who dated and loved, yet I did not date and love myself. I was invited to and included in parties and gatherings but engaged very little once I was there. Sometimes I noticed people looking past me during conversations, blindly nodding and smiling. Giving me their half-attention. Bringing me along for the ride but not sitting next to me on the roller coaster. I was respected and adopted. People asked my opinion and took my counsel. At the same time I was a Lone Wolf within the pack.How did I slip in? How did I pull off a big switcheroo? It was clear I was getting away with something other larger women simply weren’t, but I didn’t know why. Was it just that I had enough confidence to make others not CARE about my physical presence?Or was I living obliviously? Like the Emperor walking around naked in his suit of imaginary clothes. Did my sense of self cause me not to see others’ reactions and treatment of me? Or did I see those reactions and just not care because of my strong self-awareness?I look back on those years with nothing but fondness. At the same time, I know I experienced professional successes while others lived personal ones. In a sea of friends getting married, I celebrated milestones in my work.

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Another classic shot. I was really into crimping my hair...

The last few years of my life have been spent working deep within the plus-size fashion industry. I have worked with, and befriended, some incredibly beautiful and established plus-size models, bloggers and industry folks. I have made a home within this marginalized society group. Regardless of the fact that over 60% of American women wear a size 14 or over--- hold on let me say that again : 60% of women—we are still considered a fringe group. Even within the plus community there is a microcosm. I’ve noticed the divisive line between sociologically acceptable plus-size women and those too big, or shaped a certain way to be embraced by the community. Flat stomach. Hourglass curves. Small (or non-existant) double chin. The culture of “fat on fat” hate among women is pervasive and inescapable at times. If you think examples of  As*holery are limited only to men condemning overweight women, I invite you to peruse the social media wilderness. The feminine race can be inexplicably cruel to its own, calling out body parts, shaming larger women wearing tight clothing. It goes on and on. Sometimes I brave this world. I put aside my own insecurities and share pictures of myself with the intended hope of providing SOME relatable model for the larger plus-size woman. For the most part, I have been lucky. I’ve escaped the nasty criticism but, I know if I peeled back the layers or dug a little deeper I’d find it…****I am in my mid-thirties now. I’ve seen and been a part of SO much cool stuff in life. Yet, I’ve never experienced some of it as deeply as others. I am unmarried, for example, and haven’t been presented with the chance to start my own family. I am not even sure this is something I want, but regardless it still hasn’t been an option for me. Is part of this because of my choice to be the Only Fat Girl in a room full of Pretty People? If I had traveled in the circle that society had told me I belonged in, would my life have been easier? Would my life have been fuller?I’ll tell you the 100% honest truth. I really don’t know.Taking a more predictable path, a safer one, a less daring one, is never a less VALID one. You are not guaranteed any sense of peace and happiness if you “fit in,” though you may certainly find peace and happiness more easily. For me, I can tell you “predictable” has never been the answer. I like the brave. I like the journey. I like challenging myself. And I really like making the world say YES to me when its gut reaction is a resounding NO. I derive a personal sense of satisfaction from shattering perception and punching through the myriad of glass ceilings that life has placed above me. And maybe, just maybe, I’ve made things harder on myself in the process. Maybe in needing the wide open possibility, the access that comes without limits, I’ve limited my chances of finding the things I ultimately seek.So back to this whole Hippo and Whale thing. Back to the  As*holery.. I am not mad at you, Mr. Promoter Man. I feel bad for you. By spewing such hyper-defined Us vs. Them labels, you make it pretty clear to me that you base YOUR sense of self so clearly on your association with the nightclub you feel is the EPITOME of all things Pretty. That peddling Pretty People and determining who is worthy and who is not makes your worth in itself. You sell association to people, when it is really what you are selling to yourself. What are you without it? Would the pretty people pay attention to you if you didn’t have the access? What would happen to you if you were forced to interact with a room full of Hippos and Whales?So I guess I am a hippo. Or a whale. I’m not sure which one that makes me. I prefer to think of myself as a dolphin. Or maybe a goat. Goats seem kinda awesome. Stinky, but awesome. Regardless, I see the label you want to place on me, Mr. Promoter. But not because it’s how I feel about myself—more so because it’s how you clearly need to feel about me in order to feel BETTER about yourself.  I also think its… Bul*sh*t. Yes, another technical word. Bul*sh*t.To my fellow hippos and whales: It sucks that we live in a culture that, for the most part, really doesn’t dig us. It isn’t easy showing up to the party when you know you may not get asked to dance. The decks are stacked against women of size in many ways. And then to have to deal with  As*holery.? I get it. I ask you, however, to ignore it. Go on about your life like you deserve the same Access to Cool that every Pretty Person in life has. Is that a little naive? Some might say so. I say it’s the only way things will ever change. Brave the club. Wear the clothes. Do what you can to blur the lines. Yes, it’s totally ok to get mad at how people, like Mr Promoter, want to label and marginalize this. But not any single one of us can change the game. We cannot reshape society by ourselves.

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Spending our time hating and being angry is just… Energy we could be spending on ourselves instead. If we started treating ourselves as if we were unstoppable beings, with the same (lack of) limitations as others, eventually others will see us that way. It will take time. A LOT of time. But it WILL happen.The only way people will start looking us in the eye is if we keep PUTTING ourselves in front of them to begin with. The only way  As*holery. Promoters will ever stop d*cking us out is if we believe we are just the same as EVERY other person in that club.As for me, I am going to keep focusing my energy on living life the way I want to, and what feels authentic to me. Taking the risks, being open to change, looking people in the eye and saying YES I CAN when they throw me a sideways glance. I’ve decided to devote energy to making positive change within the plus-size community and to do what I can to inspire and help other women to become fully self-empowered and aware women. I can only have faith that, while journeying every day a step closer to my true self, that my personal life will catch up with me where I need it to be. And when it does… You can bet I’ll be taking a group of 20 women to Vegas for a bachelorette party and NOBODY will stop us from having the time of our life that we deserve.