I get it.
I totally get it.
Aspiring writer
writes blog about an unverifiable text from an unidentifiable man.
Blog goes viral, receiving the kind of attention that marketing folk
throw cash at by the fistful. Then - oh look! - it turns out that she
has a book to sell. How convenient.
I totally
understand why some called the blog
“obvious nonsense” and
“zeitgeisty
clickbait”. Some offered open
admiration at my effective promotion of
myself and my writing – I
wrote for
The
Stylist and Standard
Issue in the week after the blog
went viral (more
plugging).
According to one
publication, further evidence of the fallacy I created is found in
that I am “extremely media savvy” and “know how to handle
journalists”. Read: I have the social skills and vocabulary to be
able to respond to a direct question without crying, hyperventilating
or overuse of the words “like”, “literally” or “basically”.
Of course there
is the indisputable fact that “no man would ever write that after
just one date”. A friend of mine stumbled upon a Reddit thread
about me (she made me promise not to ever search for it, so I
haven't). Apparently one helpful MRA (men's rights activist) ran
“Simon's” letter through an online “gender guesser” which
concluded that – yes! - the writer of the letter is, in fact,
female. Dammit. I would have gotten away with it too, if I'd spelt
“hun” properly.
As I say, I can
understand healthy cynicism. Especially because I can't prove that I
really did receive THAT text from a man I went on just one date with.
I can't verify that it's true without revealing his identity, and
that of this thirteen-year-old daughter – something I'll never,
ever do. I know I received that message. A few of my close friends
have seen it. My publishers have seen it. And the producers of the
national TV show I was on last week have seen it, on the insistence
of their lawyers. There's not much more I can offer, I'm afraid. I
could print a screen grab, but I could easily have faked one, so I'm
not going to bother.
So. Let's assume
I'm lying. Let's assume that I am an
all-knowing-evil-marketing-genius,
who's just been biding her time as a café manager until
the right moment to draw attention to a
12-month-old
crowdfunding campaign for a book which
is entirely unrelated to the blog
which she
JUST KNEW would be read by 220,000
people worldwide. An
evil-marketing
genius who has to ask her Instagram followers how
to receive
direct
messages, and who
didn't know she'd been given the nod of
approval by Zooey
Deschannel until three days after the fact. Let's
do that. Let's assume that all of the
above is more likely
than a man sending a woman he barely knows an abusive message.
Because that's
what happened.
By
imposing
his views about my body upon me uninvited, that
man tried to manipulate me. To control me. To assert power over me
using the most effective weapon he had in his arsenal – the power
of shame. His
message wasn't
just
about telling
me there would be no second date.
Sending that meticulously-crafted,
400 word message which twists
and turns
between such tenderness (“baby....honey...I
adore you”)
and such stark
brutality
(“I
don't want to be lying there next to you, and you asking me why I'm
not hard”)
was
an
act of cruelty. It said
“I could love you thiiiiiiiiiiiis much...if only you were slightly
different”.
It's
a widely-used strategy of dominance used
by some
individuals
to corrode the
self esteem of
their partners
until they are utterly, utterly powerless. And
this strategy will continue to be used, very effectively, by
individuals and by corporations out to profit from our insecurities,
until we challenge it, until we stop being ashamed of our bodies
because
we're too fat, too thin, too short, too scarred, or too different.
“I
just felt like folding into myself and never coming out again.”
“He
said I looked fat in our wedding photos. He'd say “Just trying to
help, babe” I was a size 10 (UK)”
“...during
our time together he manipulated me into believing the way he was
treating me was my fault. That it was because I was ugly and
undesirable. He had me to believe that I was being treated in
accordance with my worth and that other boyfriends didn’t do these
things to their girlfriends simply because they looked a damn sight
better than I did. I tried to change the way I looked so things would
stop. At 5 ft 5, I was a healthy 8 ½ stone when I met him. I’ve
lost a hell of a lot of weight since then. An unhealthy amount.”
“Have
you ever thought about committing suicide? The reason I ask is
because I have. I wonder if I just DIE, would I save myself the 'name
calling' 'bullying' and other forms of offensive language and action.
Am I crazy to think that?”
These
are a
few extracts
from the thousands of messages, comments and emails I've received
from women and men from all over the world. Thousands of voices
saying “me too”. I've received too many
messages from women and men battling anorexia, bulimia, and addiction
to overexercise. I've also heard from too many women and men who are
so paralysed by shame because they are overweight or obese, that they
don't know what to do other than hide themselves away and eat, and
eat, and eat, and eat. In both extremes these people discuss learning
this behaviour from parents, older siblings, boyfriends, girlfriends,
best friends. Each of these people cites an occasion where they were
bullied and shamed for the way their body looked – sometimes from
the ages of 7, 9, 13 - long before their illnesses took hold. I've
received messages from too many people who are afraid to go for that
job, that date, that holiday, because they're ashamed of their
bodies. I've received too many messages from men saying they're
afraid to start a relationship with a girl they really like, because
she's bigger than them and they're worried what their mates will
think. I've heard too many catfishing stories (from both sides, both
equally heartbreaking). I've received too many messages from 12 year
old girls, expressing displeasure, disgust and concern about what
their bodies look like now, and what they may look like in the
future.
So.
Let's assume I'm lying. But if that's your main concern, you're
focussing on the wrong issue. And if you think there IS no issue,
after reading these comments and others comments my blog, on my
facebook page, on my instagram pictures – you're either very lucky,
or very ignorant.
So.
Here comes another plug.
We
need to have a frank and honest conversation about our bodies – our
relationship with our own, and with other people's.
We
need prominent, positive examples of all the different ways a healthy
body can look.
We
need to remove the poison from the statement “I'm overweight” to
inspire the one in four of us who are overweight (myself included) to
make healthy, lasting changes.
We
need to invest in developing positive body image in our young people,
so that when they feel vulnerable and insecure, they have the tools
to withstand and recover from any underhanded shaming tactics.
We
need to do all of the above with integrity, compassion and (Heaven
forbid) humour.
I'm
launching a campaign to raise awareness of the effects of bodyshaming
and to encourage readers to aim for health and happiness, whatever
their shape or size. It's an ambitious project, which is why I will
be seeking advice from dieticians, nutritionists, psychologists and
health and fitness experts, as well talking to gamers, comedians,
models, soldiers, triathletes, Mums, Dads and others who are all in
different stages in their journeys towards health and happiness.
Speaking
of which, the campaign is called Healthy. Happy. Hot.
Because if you aim for the first two, the third takes care of itself.
You can support
the campaign by pledging for the book at Unbound.
