Skinny shaming


After seeing like 1000 text posts about skinny shaming (mostly in retaliation to Anaconda) I wanted to weigh in on the subject. It’s no surprise that people get bullied for being skinny. When I was growing up I was made to feel ashamed of my body because I didn’t have hips/thighs/breasts of a “real woman” and I considered myself disgusting because I wasn’t desirable to men (which is another problem entirely).

But my personal experiences are not comparable to fat shaming in the slightest, and here is why: Everywhere you turn, magazine covers, tv commercials, ads on the internet, all project this idea that skinny is best. I can go into a store and pick something out and know it will fit without stressing about what parts of me I need to shrink. I can weigh in on this subject while remaining safely in a body that is much more widely accepted as the standard of beauty.

Here is where I need to remove personal experience from something that happens on a much bigger and more harmful scale. My personal experiences do not negate the fact that fat shaming has absolutely tarnished the way women perceive their bodies. And while I don’t think fat shaming should be battled with negative opinions on skinny bodies, people really need to stop complaining about Minaj’s lyrics. I hear people make rude, unintelligent, fat jokes almost every single day, so ffs I can deal with one song saying “fuck the skinny bitches” if it helps other women feel like their bodies are being celebrated.

Stop feeling offended over one song that didn’t cater to you (while the rest of the world continues to), because we all deserve equal and fair representation, and we all deserve to love ourselves.

as someone who was super skinny as a kid and teen (to the point where my grade 6 teacher made me stay in at lunch so she could supervise me eating b/c she thought i was anorexic) and then became fat as an adult, i can say that life is way easier as a skinny minny. sure, i had people making comments about how skinny i was, my nickname was shrimp because i was small, i had to shop in the kids department, and people tried to police what i was eating, but it’s nothing compared to the judgement and difficulty i face being plus-size.

this is rambling and there’s not really a point, i just wanted to share that i’ve been on both sides of this argument, and people policed my body either way, but living in this society is definitely harder as a chubby girl.

especially since i’m right at the point where im too big for “straight-size”d stores, but too little for plus-size stores. living that life in the 12-14 & XL/1X & 32/33 range

My favourite stores are stores with cats. Here’s little Nietzsche cuddling with his miniature teddy at my new favourite bookstore 💤🐈📕

My favourite stores are stores with cats. Here’s little Nietzsche cuddling with his miniature teddy at my new favourite bookstore 💤🐈📕


3yo: “Knock-knock.”
4yo: “Who’s there?”
3yo: “Knock-knock.”
4yo: “Who’s there?”
3yo: “….”
4yo: “Who’s there?”
3yo: “….”
4yo: “WHO’S THERE?!?!”
3yo: “Banana peel.”



"He has autism. I’m really surprised he was playing with you."

This happens sometimes at work, and I’m never sure how to react. A parent (or other adult) will come up to me after I’ve been playing with their child, and point out that the child’s current behavior is really unusual for them.

Sometimes it’s young kids who just seem overwhelmed by their surroundings, and we’ll just sit together for a little bit. I’ll talk about things—their shoes, the weather, the character on their shirt—for little while, and then listen when they start talking. If they start talking—often, they don’t,and that’s okay.

Sometimes it’s a copycat game. They’ll hide from me, and I’ll hide from them. They peek out, and I peek out. They put their hands up, and I put my hands up. When they realize that everything I do is copying them, their actions get more intentional, silly, fun.

Last week there was a young man in our new Thomas the Tank Engine gallery. I talked with him for a minute, and it was immediately clear that he a.) loved trains, and b.) hated eye contact. So I stopped trying to make eye contact, and we played in parallel, not facing each other, but talking about trains, Thomas, the toys he had at home.

And it happened again, the grown-up coming up afterwards and confessing “He’s autistic, he doesn’t usually talk to people.”

And I smiled and said, “Well, it seems like he’s having fun,” because I didn’t know what else to say. And it did seem that way, and that’s great.

But I never know how to react when parents say that to me. They always seem pleased, grateful, even, and I guess they must mean it as a compliment. And if I made their day brighter, and (more importantly) their child’s day brighter, good. That’s wonderful, and it’s what I try to do with everyone who comes to the museum.

But it’s also weird, because—it’s what I do with everyone who comes to the museum. I’m not a therapist, I’m not a specialist, I’m not some mysterious Autism Whisperer. I just try to connect with kids and make their days better. I don’t have special tactics for “dealing with” autistic kids. I don’t even work in an environment where autistic kids are identified as such, except by their parents, after the fact.

So I’m literally treating these children as I would any other human: with cheer, and with kindness, with gentleness, silliness, understanding.

So when the adult says to me, “he never plays this way!” I worry.

Because I am not an extraordinary person. I am not doing anything special—just paying attention to the child, offering lighthearted interaction, responding to their needs and desires as best as I understand them. It’s how I approach every child I work with—hell, it’s how I try to approach every person I know.

So when I hear, “He never plays like this!”

I don’t really know what to say. But I hope with all my heart that its not because he’s never treated like this.

I don’t have source citations, but there are apparently studies they have done where, instead of trying to teach autistic kids to do better at faking being non-autistic so they can “socialize” in a way that seems “normal” to non-autistic people, they teach the non-autistic kids to be more responsive to the sensory and other needs of the autistic child.  And the result was that suddenly this autistic kid started being much more interactive.  All they needed was, not social training, but for others around them to be interactive with them first.

I wish more teachers, parents, etc. were aware of this and adapted accordingly.