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Watch Out for Lizzo…Actually, Watch Out for ALL the Big GRRRLS by Jess Sims

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Watch Out for Lizzo…Actually, Watch Out for ALL the Big GRRRLS by Jess Sims

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Read writing from Jess Sims on Medium. Writing about the intersection of fashion, culture, and health. Supremely interested in fat, PoC, and disabled bodies in relation to the above. Author, maybe :/.

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its time to hold fat-non-black influencers accountable

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its time to hold fat-non-black influencers accountable

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It’s Time To Hold Non-Black Fat Influencers Accountable For Their Silence

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Yes, Karen et al are still uploading their quotidien Adobe Lightroom-edited selfies and non-inclusive body-positive graphics as if nothing has changed, and quite frankly, a bish is tired of it.

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Think about the last time you heard someone casually talk about losing weight in the workplace. Did you think about how it could affect the self-image of your fat co-workers? Or if your fat coworkers weren't listening, how it would affect you if you were fat? It is so normalized to talk about weight in our society that it's often hard to recognize internalized fatphobia, and rarely do we think of the affects that fatphobia has on fat people, which is why this week we sat down with Cheyenne Davis, host of the Weighted Words podcast. We talk about how health relates to fatness, representation of fat people in erotica and porn, and the portrayal of fat people in the media, among many other topics!

Cheyenne's podcast, Weighted Words: https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/weighted-words-podcast

Music is The Beauty of Maths by Meydän.

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Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/im-the-villain/support

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49. the fatness episode: 'we don't know shit about weight!'

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‎I'M THE VILLAIN: 49. The Fatness Episode: 'We Don't Know Shit About Weight!' on Apple Podcasts

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Think about the last time you heard someone casually talk about losing weight in the workplace. Did you think about how it could affect the self-image of your fat co-workers? Or if your fat coworkers weren't listening, how it would affect you if you were fat? It is so normalized to talk about weight...

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Being a fat Black woman hasn't ruined my love life - its saved it; by apriljxo

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Being a fat Black woman hasn't ruined my love life - its saved it; by apriljxo

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Romantic love has always come with its challenges for me.

Whether meeting people organically or online, I always felt that I was on the outside looking in. Like I was watching other people have seemingly successful, fruitful and fun relationships, while I sat at home swiping the night away. And as a fat, Black woman, I often felt that my physicality was the culprit.

I am statistically at a disadvantage when it comes to being successful on dating apps. Black women are considered the least sought after on these platforms, and my weight only makes me less of a candidate: according to a 2016 survey by plus-size dating app WooPlus, 71 per cent of its female users had been 'fat-shamed' on other apps.

I noticed that a lot of my smaller, caucasian and/or more socially acceptable friends found it easier to find dates, and that bothered me.

To make matters worse, the times that I have matched and connected with potential partners, it's always riddled with inappropriate comments about my body or blatant fetishisation of my skin.

I grew tired of being referred to as a 'beautiful, chocolate goddess' or being reminded that a guy 'loves BBWs' (also known as big, beautiful women) followed by several crude and sexual comments and epithets, bestowed on me without my consent.

Many may feel that taking offence to being related to a food item or being called certain terms may be excessive, but let me be clear: There is a difference between being complimented and being dehumanised and hypersexualised for someone else's pleasure and consumption.

This, unfortunately, comes with the territory for me and other individuals who share the same identity.

After reading all the statistics and growing tired of the inappropriate comments, I felt that it was time to start from scratch and rebrand myself.

Full disclosure: this wasn't fuelled by feeling unattractive. Although I have struggled with my identity - particularly my weight - in the past, I feelempowered, beautiful and desirable when I look in the mirror.

I wanted a change because I knew the way I looked was holding me back.

I set aside time to take more conservative pictures in clothing that was less revealing for my profiles, hoping to come across as more accomplished and stave off those crude messages. But they would flood in all over again, followed by self-doubt.

I would remove myself from apps for a period of time before slowly rebuilding a new profile with the false hope that creating a new persona would bring on positive responses. Wash, rinse, repeat.

With it always came the familiar feelings of being unwanted and incapable of being in love. I didn't realise how toxic 'making myself palatable for others' was. I spent a lot of time reading online dating tips and tricks, trying to find new ways to manifest my desire for a serious relationship.

Hell, I even hired a plus-size dating coach to assist me in my quest for love, who felt that my image was too casual and recommended some clothing pieces that I would never wear. Despite disagreeing with her tastes, having this 'professional opinion' only fuelled my desire to change my virtual image.

When I truly sit back and think about it, I haven't really been in a relationship. It's still unclear to me why. Situations I enter with prospective partners always start off as promising but go nowhere fast, and end with me being ghosted after a few casual encounters.

In a recent 'situationship', however, the solution suddenly dawned on me.

My partner had his own insecurities with his weight and manhood, and this manifested in him trying to get me to lose weight with him and hold myself accountable by sending him pictures of every meal that I ate.

I pumped the brakes and stopped him dead in his tracks. Enough was enough.

I was tired of dealing with dating toxicity, and moreover, I was tired of feeling unwanted and being the saviour of my partners.

Lots of them always seemed to have an excuse, or be apprehensive, when it came to scheduling an actual date. This idea of 'I only deal with you in the sheets and never in the streets' had caused a lot of discomfort and confusion for a long time: Why was I only good enough to sleep with? Why wasn't I being taken seriously?

I continued to entertain a cycle of putting my pseudo best self forward, only to experience those same situations that I was trying to avoid.

Fed up with the lack of inclusivity on dating apps that compounded this, I wanted to save myself, heal from past wounds and take on a new attitude on love. So today, I choose myself.

In the beginning, prioritising me was a very scary process. Loneliness and insecurity crept in, and I continuously questioned how my love life would be different if I were a different size.

But I have turned my situation around by returning to my creative roots. I traded swipes for writing screenplays and Tinder for therapy. I found myself in graphic design and editorial writing, spaces where I could freely and express myself.

I have learned to accept my needs and put them first, realising that my fatness and Blackness aren't my failure, but at the very core of who I am as a person and what I stand for.

The onus isn't on me. The issue is bigger than my size itself - it's societal. Realising this has shown me that the love I seek and deserve starts with me first, and that while working through my own pain, I don't have to feel hopeless about the process.

My love life isn't where I want it to be, but I still am a firm believer in romantic love and am hopeful of experiencing it someday.

In the meantime, I have decided to focus on myself and make lasting connections that are healthy and meaningful. I joinedLVRSNFRNDS (pronounced lovers and friends), a diverse community that hosts virtual social events and open discussions surrounding love, sex and dating. Through our discussions I have met several people that share the same sentiments as I do.

I also used my frustration with dating to create a podcast where I not only give myself the space to talk about my struggles as a fat, Black woman, but also a safe communal platform for other fat-identifying folx to speak freely about topics surrounding their representation - or misrepresentation.

At the end of the day, my identity as a fat and Black woman hasn't ruined my love life - it has saved it.

I spent so much time attaching my worth to virtual strangers' perceptions of me, and so little to owning my beauty and being the bad bitch that I truly am.

Fatness and Blackness are beautiful, period. Whoever chooses not to see that is truly at a loss.

I'm watching my love life simmer on the back burner, but for now I am working on creating healthier dynamics with myself and others, remaining hopeful for and excited about what my connections will blossom into.
Last week on Love, Or Something Like It: Why I've stopped holding out for The One
Cheyenne is the creator of the award-winning Weighted Words Podcast.

SHARE YOUR LOVE STORY

MORE : I'm a Black woman who only dated white men, but Black Lives Matter has changed everything

MORE : Single people can teach us all about relationships

MORE : As a queer Muslim woman, falling in love is a political act

Rush Hour Crush - love (well, lust) is all around us

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Being a fat Black woman hasn't ruined my love life - it's saved it

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Romantic love has always come with its challenges for me. Whether meeting people organically or online, I always felt that I was on the outside looking in. Like I was watching other people have seemingly successful, fruitful and fun relationships, while I sat at home swiping the night away.

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Georgia Sky's YT!!

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Welcome to Bawdy Pop Tv where we talk everything Pop Culture! Hosted by the Bawdy Queen, Georgia Sky!

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If you've been on TikTok lately you have most likely come across the latest in a long line of "glow-up" trends. This one starts by the writing "you're not my type" over an old photo then after "16 Missed Calls" by Brent Faiyaz plays, a current and more desirable state is revealed. Like other viral transitional trends on the app, the results usually show the person now acne-free or after losing a large amount of weight. In fact, many viral videos on TikTok are weight loss before and afters disguised as a new trend or "drastic" beauty transformations that usually just involve removing facial hair and some contouring.

The concept of "glowing up" is simple - you become more conventionally attractive over a period of time and usually document it. Under different terms, it's existed throughout recent history. There was Khloe Kardashian's Revenge Body show in 2017, created to show "all those people who doubted you, who rejected you - what they're now missing". The show was a flop, but the idea of the post-break up glow-up is still extremely prevalent today, insinuating that whoever becomes more attractive after the end of a relationship somehow "wins".

The glow-up makeover has existed in countless forms on the big screen. Think back to the 2001 classic Princess Diaries, where Anne Hathaway was suddenly transformed into being beautiful (despite the fact that she already is conventionally attractive) by simply waxing her eyebrows, straightening her hair, and taking off her glasses. Then there's shows like The Biggest Loser or the controversial Nip Tuck, where the whole source of entertainment is people losing weight or getting a nose job.

Why are we so obsessed with the idea of "glowing up"?

While shows like America's Next Top Model are no longer able to encourage unkind transformations on air, the glow-up has found modern relevance on social media. A place we already know is harmful to teenagers' mental health. So why are we still obsessed with "glowing up"? Kirsten Oelklaus, Co-Founder and Program Director, Bellatore Recovery says the idea of change often comes as a result of feeling out of control. "It is not uncommon for individuals struggling with body image and self-esteem issues to feel validated when they can measure change in their worth through numbers - clothing sizes and numbers on the scale," she told Vogue. "Unfortunately, this path forces the person to continue to seek additional change, reinforcing the frame that they are never enough."

Oelklaus says that the premise of the glow-up is about the before being unworthy of love and attention, and the after being "good enough". "This also reinforces a major misconception many have been trying to move away from in our culture, that measures of weight and size are a reflection of someone's health and happiness," she says. This, says Oelklaus, communicates to someone who is in a larger body or struggles with acne that they're not good enough unless they conform and change.

Read more: "I'm A Body Positive Influencer... But I Hate My Body"

Is there a way to break this self-destructive cycle?

Oelklaus would like to see more "glow-up" videos grounded in activities and environments where people are healthy and happy. For example, dancing, paddleboarding, or sitting in nature in contrast to hiding their body or wearing clothes that aren't authentic to them. Some creators on TikTok have hopped on the current trend by showing themselves now more comfortable and happy in their non-binary identity after coming out. But is it possible to keep the toxic before and after format, without most people resorting to blatant fatphobia? Georgia Sky ( known as Bawdy Queen), an LA-based actress and creator who aligns with the fat acceptance and body acceptance movements, says these trends are a reflection of our current society, which is "just fatphobic and views plus size people horribly".

When Adele lost weight recently, the internet discussed how she "got hot", despite the fact that she's always been attractive. "It's harmful mentally. I see about 10 before and after videos a day and it starts to weigh down on me," says Sky. "I question myself, my body, my value, and it makes me feel like I'm not doing enough." Sky says she has no issue with weight loss journey videos but sees the problem as tying them to the idea of improving. "To glow-up means growth. I think about who I was in high school and who I am now and I definitely had a glow-up," she says. "I lacked confidence, I didn't speak up for myself and I always tried to hide, so now I refer a 'glow-up' to someone finding who they are and being that unapologetically."

For 26-year-old cultural worker Maya Finoh, glow-up videos, like other elements of beauty culture, are inherently political. "The fact that having lighter skin, being thin, and having little to no body hair are all characteristics of being a "classic beauty" is directly related to Western European colonisation of the Global South," they say. "I will say that with the rise of newer social media apps there has been a slight shift in beauty standards so that now the " Instagram face " is heavily pushed for - a racially ambiguous, but still lighter-skinned, person whose features are an amalgamation of various ethnicities but are still rooted in eurocentrism."

Finoh thinks "glow-up" culture should be put to bed for good, firstly because it's a term from Black American vernacular that's been co-opted by non-Black people. The irony is that many non-black creators now use the term to perpetuate beauty ideals rooted in anti-Blackness. "At the end of the day, glow-up culture ultimately celebrates the "achievement" of a more conventional attractiveness and I would like to see us permanently stop attaching morality to bodies just because of how they look."

2022 is about seizing control of beauty narratives and focusing on positivity

For Finoh, the only "glow-up" worth acknowledging in is seeing people engage in the glowing up of their personalities, values, and beliefs. "Glow-up into an anti-racist, please," they say. "What physical appearance doesn't show is the mental or emotional state that someone is in: you can glow-up on the outside but not grow internally at all." Unfortunately, in an image-driven society riddled with biases, to "glow-up" physically is to access more social currency and privilege. The issue is that only a few people can access it and (like all elements of comparison culture) it always comes at a cost.

With eating disorders on the rise in a pandemic where, despite living through a global health crisis, people on the internet have constantly berated others to come out of lockdown a "better version of themselves" (aka lose weight), it's time to leave before and after culture in 2021 and start embracing non-linear transformations. From the formation of a beautiful new friendship to the act of learning something new, growth itself is not the issue but the idea that we're constantly running towards this better, more ideal fixed end state that doesn't exist. As Finoh puts it, "social media is an extension of the world," and it's currently telling us we can always be better. Perhaps it's the toxic beauty ideals in place that need the true "glow-up" after all.

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It's Time To Leave Toxic "Glow-Up" Culture Behind In 2021

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Frequent TikTok users will be familiar with the latest in a long line of "glow-up" trends. Vogue asks whether the phrase is simply a harmless "beauty transformation" or a more toxic reinforcement of the idea that you're not good enough.

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"The disabled and elderly are the most likely to die from this virus." I closed my eyes and beat back the desire to scream-cry at the news before me. It was March 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic had reached America, and the pandemic of Ableist Media was in full swing.

I am in a unique position. I am both disabled and a professional communicator. Not only have I spent my entire life dissecting every conversation I've had or will have out of anxiety, but I have also decided to make a career out of it. In college I began taking media studies where my professors allowed me the opportunity to evaluate disability. I soon came to realise not only were disability stereotypes pervasive, but they often dictated how people would treat and react to me - and how much they would think my life was worth.

When it comes to ableism, non-disabled people are fairly predictable and uncreative. So, watching as the media repeated over and over that the "healthy" had nothing to fear from the virus, my stomach was pitted with dread. We would never be free of COVID-19.

While non-disabled people were willing to relax at the misguided belief that only the elderly and disabled would be affected by COVID, disabled people predicted it early: the coronavirus pandemic would be a mass disabling event.

"Healthy" people were expected to recover from the virus after 14 days, but weeks after the virus hit the US, reports began flowing in of "otherwise healthy" and "relatively young people" needing double lung transplants, amputations, kidney transplants, dialysis and oxygen.

Non-disabled people only saw the potential outcomes of the virus as either life or death - they didn't account for the grey. Disabled people live in the grey. Even after the virus has left the system and patients are in "recovery," about one in three COVID-19 patients experience long-term symptoms and disability. They live in the grey now with us too.

It took time before what's now known as Long Covid was even recognised. Though, in recent years, disabled people have increasingly been able to tell our own stories to the masses, disabled people still struggle to be believed as reliable narrators of our own experiences. News media still takes a paternalistic approach in covering disability stories and non-disabled people in close proximity to disabled people are more likely to be given platforms to speak about how our disabilities affect them rather than the disabled person in their lives.

Non-disabled people only saw the potential outcomes of the virus as either life or death - they didn't account for the gray.

Just this month, the Washington Post published a piece by Amber Ferguson titled, "Unpaid Caregivers: How America Treats Women Caring for Paralyzed Partners." On Twitter, Ferguson shared that she'd spent "nearly a year" reporting on the struggles of women caring for paralysed partners, with no mention of how the disabled partners are managing their own disabilities or what danger they may be in should their non-disabled partners choose to abandon them. Instead, they are nameless props, photographed next to their non-disabled wives whose names and ages are listed prominently in the captions. It's the non-disabled wives' story, after all.

This framing and erasure of disabled people's lives in a story about America's disregard for the disabled is not unique to the Washington Post. Most ableist news would lead you to believe that disabled lives are burdens on the economy; our murders, though tragic, are understandable; our existence, disposable, and our deaths merciful. This narrow view of disability is only offset by the saccharine stories presenting people with disabilities as inspirational-an attempt at finding value in disabled bodyminds in a capitalistic society that ascribes none otherwise.

I remember the first time I noted this type of ableism in the news. In 2016, 14-year-old Jerika Bolen had decided to cease treatment for spinal muscular atrophy type 2 and end her life. I was angry. I couldn't understand why. I have since come to understand that I wasn't necessarily angry at Bolen - I could never make that decision for anyone else, nor judge her for doing so. No, I was not angry with her, I was angry at the news media production that took place surrounding her story. Sombre coverage was quickly undercut by a sense of...fanfare.

Her last wish was to have a prom. Aptly titled "J's Last Dance," hundreds, many of whom did not know her, but who were "inspired by her story" showed up. As the Post Crescent reported: "The size of the crowd and the constant flow of guests stepping over to grab selfies got to be too much for Jerika on a few occasions." Bolen herself noted that she was somewhat perplexed regarding the phenomenon. "It's kind of scary because I don't know what they're looking up to me for."

I remember watching the coverage terrified of the implication of the country's fascination with Bolen's story. On the one hand, I was well aware that I had no right to have an opinion on what she decided was best for herself; on the other, I was alarmed by the news' framing of her decision as inspirational, and at times, aspirational.

Why would Americans change their behavior to save the disabled and elderly if we're presented as disposable to begin with?

Many non-disabled people, often without prompting, have told me that if they were to become disabled that they would want to die. "If I were you, I'd kill myself - but you're brave." To many non-disabled people, disability is worse than death. So, it is no wonder that, pre-COVID-19, the anti-vaccination movement was led by non-disabled parents who feared that vaccinations would cause their children to develop autism. Those misinformed parents believed it better to expose their child to potentially deadly diseases rather than the unsubstantiated risk of disability.

Non-disabled parents of disabled children play a hefty role in the media narrative surrounding disability - often presenting their child's diagnosis as the worst thing that can happen to their marriage, family, and finances. The non-profit Autism Speaks, has a history of linking autism to vaccines with no evidence, is cofounded by Bob Wright, the former president of NBC and the father of an autistic person. The organisation is infamous within the disability community for its damaging portrayal of autistic people. In their "I Am Autism" commercial they described autism as working faster "than paediatric AIDS, cancer, and diabetes combined," and credits autism with the destruction of marriages and families.

Media institutions and producers seemingly co-sign this outlook on Autism. Sesame Street was celebrated by non-disabled members of their audience for partnering with the organisation. Needless to say, that alarmed disabled people. Sia used Autism Speaks as advisors to her first film Music, which was widely panned for blatant ableism. In a gushing pre-release interview for the film, Shirley Halperin, executive editor of music for Variety Magazine, compares autistic people to "an inanimate object, like a wig" to which Sia enthusiastically nods her head and agrees, "Yeah!" Neither Halpern nor Variety apologised to the autistic community for those literally dehumanising comments. Another reporter for Variety would call the ensuing backlash from the disability community to the movie and interview a "debate" without ever mentioning the publication's role in the discourse.

In believing that only the disabled and elderly would be affected, the (currently) non-disabled unwittingly drew themselves closer to the cliff's edge.

Alongside parents and those on the periphery of disabled people's lives, medical professionals have also taken their turn shaping the dehumanising conversation around disability. For the Atlantic, oncologist Ezekiel Emanuel penned the essay " Why I Hope to Die at 75." In the essay he points to the likelihood of developing a disability as he ages as the reason for his line of thinking. He writes, "...living too long is also a loss. It renders many of us, if not disabled, then faltering and declining, a state that may not be worse than death but is nonetheless deprived. It robs us of our creativity and ability to contribute to work, society, the world." Emanuel has helped shape the Biden Administration's COVID-19 policy and has since been floated as a contender for FDA commissioner.

When it was made public Emanuel's involvement in the Biden administration's pandemic response team, his essay was once again public discourse as conservatives lambasted Biden's decision for Emanuel to be on the team. Why was someone who didn't believe in the value of life beyond the age of 75 involved on a response team for a pandemic that was, at least initially, slated to harm the elderly the most?

While reporting on this took a partisan spin, the reality is that these beliefs are a part of our culture regardless of political affiliation. No matter how far left or far right, the only thing our society seems to agree on is that disabled people are inconveniences not worth living. Not being cognizant of this dynamic, as well as our propensity for binary thinking, within our society has been our greatest failure in communications and reporting surrounding the pandemic.

None of what we have experienced during this pandemic is surprising. Why would Americans change their behaviour to save the disabled and elderly if we're presented as disposable to begin with?

The disability community have been lambs to the slaughter in regards to the COVID-19 crisis. Early medical rationing guidelines diverted resources from disabled patients to those with a "greater return on investment." Michael Hickson was one such patient whose physician refused to treat him for COVID-19 because he " had no quality of life " due to paralysis.

While we as disabled people lived in fear of stories like his, non-disabled people have been given false comfort by the idea. Now officials have to plead with young adults to take the virus seriously as more and more "young" and "relatively healthy" people are dying. And the anti-vax movement made popular by ableist parents (in coordination with disorganised and conflicting public health directives) has put all of our lives at risk, as the COVID-19 virus mutates into stronger, deadlier variants.

Ableism is one of our society's greatest failings. Perpetuating it in reporting only causes death. The pandemic has not only laid bare our unwillingness to care for the disability community, but how ableism is effectively wielded to harm marginalised communities with the virus. In believing that only the disabled and elderly would be affected, the (currently) non-disabled unwittingly drew themselves closer to the cliff's edge.

Disability doesn't care whether you're healthy or not, nor what your goals are. It can happen to anyone, moment by moment, breath, by breath, word by word. The only way to guarantee that all people can be safe is in a world where the needs of the disabled are centred.

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Death by a Thousand Words: COVID-19 and the Pandemic of Ableist Media

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"The disabled and elderly are the most likely to die from this virus." I closed my eyes and beat back the desire to scream-cry at the news before me. It was March 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic had reached America, and the pandemic of Ableist Media was in full swing.

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The Pandemic Tried to Break Me, but I Know My Black Disabled Life Is Worthy by Imani Barbarin

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The Pandemic Tried to Break Me, but I Know My Black Disabled Life Is Worthy by Imani Barbarin

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Heather Polk | @artcuresall

As a Black disabled woman, I spent most of my childhood and adolescence compromising my wants and needs to fit into a society designed to exclude me. But with age and experience came the realization that I, too, am worthy of respect and compassion. From then on, self-love became nonnegotionable. Or at least, I thought it had.

Then last January, Rochelle Walensky, MD, director of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, told Good Morning America viewers that she and her colleagues were "really encouraged" by the findings of a recent study on vaccinated people. (A YouTube video of this interview has since been made private.) "The overwhelming number of deaths-over 75 percent-occurred in people who had at least four comorbidities, so really these are people who were unwell to begin with-and, yes, really encouraging news in the context of Omicron," she said.

Dr. Walensky's seemingly celebratory comments softened my hard-earned resolve and knocked me back to the spring of 2020, when it became clear that many communities and institutions were unwilling or unequipped to protect or save people like me. Since the start of the pandemic, unabashed ableism has run rampant among public health officials, the government, and social media. Although people with disabilities of the mind and body have historically faced marginalization, exclusion, and oppression long before now, COVID-19 and the subsequent safety guidelines have made overt the long-standing institutional and systemic inequalities that span across our culture, from the medical system to workplace policies. These complexities are exacerbated when race and other marginalized identities come into play, particularly for Black disabled people, as we also face racial health disparities, like the disproportionate misdiagnoses of Black people due to culturally insensitive medical education.

To challenge the stigma and oppression inflamed by the pandemic and reflected in Dr. Walensky's ableist comments, I kick-started a conversation on Twitter by coining the hashtag #MyDisabledLifeIsWorthy. Thousands of disabled people lent their voices under the tag.

This content is imported from Twitter. You may be able to find the same content in another format, or you may be able to find more information, at their web site.

Being seen as less than is a given when you're born fundamentally different in almost every aspect of what society deems acceptable. I grew up Black, disabled, and fat and wore my hair natural, all while attending predominantly white schools in suburban Pennsylvania. People I considered friends would invite me out to inaccessible restaurants and I would go, not wanting to be left behind. For school dances, I made sure to always ask out my dates out of fear that if I left it to chance, no one would ask me. I even silenced myself when it came to matters of race. It didn't matter how many pieces of myself I had to chip away at-my accessibility, my culture, my safety-as long as my peers could see and love me, that would more than make up for that which had been compromised.

Any time I had felt the fledgling urge to explore self-love and respect, all the advice offered felt either inaccessible or ambiguous or straight-up ridiculous. When you love yourself, you'll understand the treatment you deserve! When you find self-love, you will find your power! Everyone I spoke with seemed to have arrived at this place of self-acceptance overnight. Parents, family members, and church leaders told me to look to Black leaders and artists for inspiration. But the few stories about disabled Black people that I came across conveyed that they were successful in spite of their disabilities or that they had overcome them entirely. Imagining a future in which I could exist fully as my whole Black disabled self felt like treading into dark, ominous waters.

Then at 25, I found refuge and strength in the voices of my Black disabled peers and ancestors, like Harriet Tubman, Fannie Lou Hamer, Henrietta Lacks, Audre Lorde, which led me to my passion for disability advocacy work and leadership. These pioneers recognized the impact that disability had on their lives and spoke their truths to the world not in spite of their disabilities but because of them. They sparked the modern-day disability justice movement, advocating for the inclusion of marginalized voices within the disability community. They are the ones who taught us to be audacious in our hope and fervent in our love for ourselves and one another. Clinging to this revolutionary legacy has helped me survive the pandemic thus far.

If I learned anything about myself during these unprecedented times, it's that self-love is an ongoing, nonlinear practice. I'm never going to reach a point at which self-love simply exists, especially when my personhood is held up against racial, mental, bodily, and desirability standards I will scarcely ever be able to meet. But I no longer feel guilt about what I am not. Instead, I choose to accept and celebrate what I am, however fragile that acceptance might be. For Black disabled people, self-love is not simply an aesthetic or a trend but a fundamental lifeline we tap into through unapologetic advocacy work and collective support and remembering. As our ancestors have taught us, we are all we have.

This content is created and maintained by a third party, and imported onto this page to help users provide their email addresses. You may be able to find more information about this and similar content at piano.io

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The Pandemic Tried to Break Me, but I Know My Black Disabled Life Is Worthy

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Heather Polk | @artcuresall As a Black disabled woman, I spent most of my childhood and adolescence compromising my wants and needs to fit into a society designed to exclude me. But with age and experience came the realization that I, too, am worthy of respect and compassion.

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the video that got Imani her Rebdolls brand sponsorship!

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the video that got Imani her Rebdolls brand sponsorship!

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#stitch with @griselangelp also, I bought the outfit you’re wearing. #rebdolls

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@crutches_and_spice
#stitch with @griselangelp also, I bought the outfit you’re wearing. #rebdolls
♬ Rumors (feat. Cardi B) - Lizzo

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Imani, better known as @Crutches&Spice is a communications specialist that advocates for disability rights & inclusion. After stitching REBDOLLS CEO and going viral on TikTok with 3.3M views, Imani has a lot to offer when it comes to accessible fashion and what that should look like. See Imani's favorites and what makes her feel sexy!

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Imani, better known as @Crutches&Spice is a communications specialist that advocates for disability rights & inclusion. After stitching REBDOLLS CEO and going viral on TikTok with 3.3M views, Imani has a lot to offer when it comes to accessible fashion and what that should look like.

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nefertitis_face - skincare and beauty insta

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nefertitis_face - skincare and beauty insta

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Nefertiti | Skincare + Beauty (@nefertitis.face) on Instagram

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•the chatty esthetician
•bite size skincare knowledge
•finding joy & humor in beauty + life
•115k on tiktok: thisisnefertiti
skinbynefertiti@gmail.com

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I am investigating how fat black women engage in beauty on TikTok in the context of "body positive" or fat liberatory spaces on the platform. I believe that, armed with the knowledge I've gained from this course, I can uncover the ways that fat black women specifically respond to fatphobia and antiblackness through style and makeup. My hope with creating this blog is to highlight the profiles of some of the wonderful creators who are often overlooked as fat activists. (This is where I envisioned my comps going last year, but when vetted through the proposal process, my advisor suggested I take a different, more data-driven study format.)
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Fat black women (particularly when otherwise marginalized, for example, queer, disabled, low-income, etc) become highly visible as they navigate the utterly racialized world of virtual entertainment on TikTok (Jung 2022). As beauty gurus and fashionistas, they are heavily scrutinized for their appearance, triply so for their body size, race, and gender. My hope with producing an un-essay in the form of a blog is to highlight the profiles of some of the wonderful creators who are often overlooked as fat activists, while also highlighting the ways that black femme creators have actively resisted fatphobia and racism in their TikTok fashion/beauty content. In doing so, my un-essay will demonstrate the biggest takeaway I learned from this course: style holds undeniable power in its ability to visibly disrupt day-to-day racial expectations imposed upon black women, which I hope to extend to specifically fat black women. Thus, I will argue that the way fat black femmes publicly and extravagantly fashion themselves with various clothing styles and cosmetics is a means of interrupting the anti-black erasure they face in fat activist spaces.

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This sets up some of the background of the fat liberation movement online.

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Towards A Radical Body Positive_ Reading The Online Body Positive.pdf

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I will be using L.H. Stallings' framing of black liberatory resistance approaches in setting up my un-essay. Specifically the way that Stallings frames how black folk in the south develop their own literacies of resistance in the face of moral panics during the sexual revolution / moral crusades.

One example is the way Millie Jackson developed her own language (that of the slow tongue) in her music in the 70s - the mechanisms of resistance popularized by those black liberation activists we've come to know (MLK for example) developed a language for reconstruction/civil rights, not for sexual freedom/resistance, so there is a need then to be imaginative in vocal, visual, and written ways to envision a resistance to the moral sexual crusades that threat black women (Stallings p 22).

(Thank you Professor Ball for this reccomendation!)

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A Dirty South Manifesto (L.H. Stallings) (z-lib.org).pdf

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Georgia Sky is an actress, singer, and dancer that started her journey to fame on TikTok. She's from LA, but is based in London. She is one of few prominent creators who isn't the stereotypical "hourglass" fat person, and she takes pride in that. She focuses on fashion consistently, making almost daily content about outfits she'd wear at specific events and why. She has taken it upon herself to develop "bawdy positivity" which she specifically notes is for fat black women to "love their bawdy's as they are and wear whatever the f*ck you want." She goes out of her way to make her platform a space where fat black women can rejoice in their beauty, and she actively speaks out against the ways fatphobia impacts fat black women specifically in the midst of her fashion content. She's even been duetted by the likes of Lizzo in a video where Georgia talked about the thousands of comments she gets about "looking like lizzo".

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Bawdy Queen (@bawdyqueen) TikTok | Watch Bawdy Queen's Newest TikTok Videos

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Bawdy Queen (@bawdyqueen) on TikTok | 4.8M Likes. 118.3K Fans. Curvy Actor/Fashionista ✨ 💕 My Bawdy Babes📍LA New Pics on IG @BawdyPopTV

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Imani is from the Philadelphia area and holds a Masters in Global Communications from the American University of Paris, her published works include those in Forbes, Rewire, Healthline, BitchMedia and more. She runs the blog CrutchesAndSpice.com and a podcast of the same name. She currently serves as the Communications Director for a nonprofit in Pennsylvania. I include her in this blog because she recently advocated for herself to be included as a Rebdoll's fashion ambassador; in her viral stitch with Rebdoll's CEO, she emphasizes that fat black disabled women deserve to feel sexy too-- and she convinced them to sponsor and spotlight her on their website. She is the only visibly disabled fat black women to have gone viral for talking about being plus sized and disabled (at least the only one I was able to find) while researching for this project.

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Crutches&Spice ♿️ : (@crutches_and_spice) Official TikTok | Watch Crutches&Spice ♿️ :'s Newest TikTok Videos

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Crutches&Spice ♿️ : (@crutches_and_spice) on TikTok | 23.5M Likes. 409.8K Fans. sean@collectivespeakers.com writer | comms | My Thoughts | she/her ✊🏾💕💜💙♿️

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Jess is a freelance fashion, health, and culture writer. Her work mainly centers on the lived experiences of marginalized bodies and she thus far has explored fatphobia, ableism, racism in fashion, and health in her writing, in addition to currently writing her first novel. She makes videos about everything pertaining to fashion, race, and health, and calls out brands who claim to be inclusive but do not make clothing in true extended sizing. She is one of the folks who inspired me to think about fashion and fat black activism more critically while I was writing my comps; she intentionally discusses fashion and acknowledges the value it has for fat folks, but particularly for fat black femmes.

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Jess (@imjesssims) TikTok | Watch Jess's Newest TikTok Videos

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Jess (@imjesssims) on TikTok | 1.9M Likes. 77.4K Fans. Fashion, culture, & health journalist. Anti-diet/self-love/ author. Links ⬇️⬇️⬇️

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Reanna is a model and fashion blogger on both TikTok and Instagram. She adopts the fashionova "baddie" aesthetic, wearing tightfitting clothing, swimsuits, lingerie, among other things across her platforms. She got her start when she was discovered by SavagexFenty and she was chosen to be the cover model for the website when Rihanna launched their first collection. Since she specifically models lingerie, her content is consistently censored on both instagram and TikTOk, to the point where she has had to step back from both platforms. despite attempts to stifle her content, she continues to wear "revealing" clothes because, if skinny white girls can then so should fat black women (her words via an instagram story prior to her break from social media)

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Mynamesireanna (@mynamesireanna) TikTok | Watch Mynamesireanna's Newest TikTok Videos

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Mynamesireanna (@mynamesireanna) on TikTok | 716.6K Likes. 59.2K Fans. 🦋BODY POSITIVE CONTENT YOU NEED🦋 💖Dm for business 💖

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April J (AKA Cheyenne Davis) uses her videos to "help plus size women dress and feel like princesses". She herself dresses in a very feminine, princessy style of fashion and has focused on helping other black women find empowerment in such traditionally "white" aesthetics. She also has a podcast in which she discusses dating as a fat black femme person, which has since been inactive. Her use of fashion specifically intervenes on the common notion that black women (especially fat black women) cannot be soft or feminine; she actively counters this by existing in dainty floral patterned dresses and pastel tulle skirts. She embodies the fat black princess aesthetic, and she does so while also making her followers aware of what she, as a black woman, has had to endure to embody such an aesthetic.

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April J (@apriljxo) TikTok | Watch April J's Newest TikTok Videos

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April J (@apriljxo) on TikTok | 1.2M Likes. 75.1K Fans. Xo April-"I help Plus Size Women Dress & Feel Like Princesses"

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Nefertiti is a mental health and beauty blogger on TikTik; she is a licensed esthetician and calls herself a "fat femme fatale" that shares skincare knowledge for black and brown skinned folks. Nefertiti spotlights skincare most often on her TikTok, along with fashion on her instagram. She additionally uses her channel to talk about having borderline personality disorder as a black femme. Her email for esthetician services is: skinbynefertiti@gmail.com.

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Nefertiti🌵 (@thisisnefertiti) TikTok | Watch Nefertiti🌵's Newest TikTok Videos

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Nefertiti🌵 (@thisisnefertiti) on TikTok | 9.1M Likes. 122.5K Fans. opinionated fat fatale mental health + bpd/bipolar thisisnefertiti@gmail.com

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kerrina (@kerrinarose) TikTok | Watch kerrina's Newest TikTok Videos

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kerrina (@kerrinarose) on TikTok | 1.4M Likes. 16.4K Fans. 24 🤠 LA kwilliams0611@gmail Watch the latest video from kerrina (@kerrinarose).

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** note for nb folk: be mindful of this space. tin's platform is primarily a space which uplifts black people; anyone can join this server, but be mindful of the space especially given the deeply personal nature of this practice.

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Join the Coven Of The ShadowMoon Discord Server!

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Check out the Coven Of The ShadowMoon community on Discord - hang out with 445 other members and enjoy free voice and text chat.

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Tin is a Black Liberation Activist, Democratic-Socialist, Womanist, and Practitioner. They are a Poli-Sci and Philosophy double major in undergrad, and they often engage in political conversations on their platform pertaining to Black issues, their relationship to Haiti (their home country), in addition to discussions about fatphobia and gender. They have a Discord Server on which they discuss their practice of witchcraft, and they also have a YouTube channel in which they delve deeper into some of the things they approach on TikTok.

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Tin🌻 (@imbigsowhat) TikTok | Watch Tin🌻's Newest TikTok Videos

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Tin🌻 (@imbigsowhat) on TikTok | 17.2M Likes. 685.3K Fans. Website open⬇️ Don't play with me ✋🏿😀 You're now my Tin Cans👁👅👁 23♒️🇭🇹

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Rocky is a 22 year old body positive TikToker and small business owner. She posts vlog-style videos about her day to day life, and is outspoken about the ways that she, as a fat black femme, is often masculinized. Her TikTok features nearly 200,000 followers and over a million likes. She advocates for loving oneself, particularly as a fat black woman; she has also spoken out about the ways that body positivity has been co-opted and white-washed, and she strives to counteract this in her content.

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Rocky (@l1ttleblackg1rl) TikTok | Watch Rocky’s Newest TikTok Videos

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Rocky (@l1ttleblackg1rl) on TikTok | 4.7M Likes. 193.7K Fans. 22 She/her Black, Fat, and Proud. 📧Fieldsraquell@gmail.com 1389

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Hi, I'm Rocky! I'm glad you stumbled across my page!
I am just a black, fat positive, anti-diet culture baddie that wants encourage people to love and respect the bodies that they are in! I am also a mental health advocate as I struggle with mental health issues myself. I love making people feel good with my creations!

All products are designed, handmade, and packaged by me.
I hope you find something meant for you or someone you love!
Please feel free to contact me if you have any questions!

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You searched for: Littleblackgirlart! Discover the unique items that Littleblackgirlart creates. At Etsy, we pride ourselves on our global community of sellers. Each Etsy seller helps contribute to a global marketplace of creative goods. By supporting Littleblackgirlart, you're supporting a small business, and, in turn, Etsy!

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Ariam is a 23 year old makeup artist who rose to fame when she began using makeup tutorials as a means of offering black history lessons in February 2020. Her platform has grown to include nearly 450,000 followers and over 22 Million likes since she was featured in Allure two years ago. She is an extremely talented artist, and her approach to alternative fashion and makeup have carved out a definitive space in an alternative-style-space that has traditionally excluded black women, but particularly fat black femmes.

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Ariam (@iambrattyb) TikTok | Watch Ariam’s Newest TikTok Videos

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Ariam (@iambrattyb) on TikTok | 22.3M Likes. 449.6K Fans. hey fren 23 D.C ariamkid1@gmail.com #FREETIGRAY @tigrayact

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iambrattyb's spotlight by allure magazine 2/2020

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iambrattyb's spotlight by allure magazine 2/2020

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This Black History Month, one TikToker is using her following (and her makeup skills) for good.

Ariam, better known as @iambrattyb on TikTok, is spending the entire month of February educating her 42,000 followers about Black historical figures and Black beauty trends from the past. She spends each 45-second video transforming herself into a Black icon like Ma Rainey or Ella Fitzgerald with historically accurate makeup, adding text with facts about each figure.

The series kicked off on January 31 with a teaser where Ariam explained the purpose of the project: "I'm excited to teach y'all about iconic figures that deserve more praise! This 'Decades of Black Beauty' series will shine light on Black figures and their achievements along with beauty/makeup trends through each decade."

"This was something I came up with last year when I began to take content creating seriously," Ariam tells Allure. "I grew up listening to a wide array of artists and I wanted to find a way to talk about these icons on my platforms. I thought it would be important for others to know that Black History goes farther than the more well-known figures mentioned every year."

Ariam plans to spend February sharing educational makeup videos centered around various Black historical figures. So far, she's featured Ma Rainey, Betty Boop (who was inspired by cabaret singer Baby Esther Jones), and Ella Fitzgerald.

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One TikToker Is Using Makeup to Give Black History Lessons

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This Black History Month, one TikToker is using her following (and her makeup skills) for good. Ariam, better known as @iambrattyb on TikTok, is spending the entire month of February educating her 42,000 followers about Black historical figures and Black beauty trends from the past.