A Revelation and Proposed Social Experiment

Last Sunday, I was hanging out in the green room at the Civic shortly after arriving. There's usually no rush to get into makeup or costumes (for one, the costumes are very, very warm), so often we sit out for a few minutes and socialize. I had worn my Super(wo)man t-shirt, one of those babydoll T's that, well, shows off my ampleness, to say the least. I realize this. I also realize that there is really no way of getting around my ampleness, short of wearing a circus tent. They're just there. They're on display 24-7. I've come to terms with it.

What I haven't come to terms with, however, is the seeming necessity of pointing it out. Or pointing them out, I should say. Comments fly left and right, particularly in the theater crowd--known for their perpetually loosened inhibitions. You'd think, after so many years of being involved in theater, music, and drum corps, that I would have become immune to it. But I haven't.

I used to think it was because I was sensitive about them. And maybe, years ago, this was true. Somewhere between the ages of 19 and 21, they exploded into even greater girth than they previously encompassed, which was a feat in and of itself (I've been the "big" girl since probably the early 90's). I became a D cup for the first time. And oh, did I cry. I really did.

I didn't like all the attention they got--I still don't. And the other night, after the comments I received in the green room (and of course laughed about at the time), I figured out why it bothers me so much. It's not that I'm still sensitive about their size or anything--like many other aspects of myself, I've grown into them and come to accept them as one part of a much greater whole. It's the fact that, in common social ettiquette, there is no analogous joking or commenting done on other body parts, male or female, to the person's face.

Example: One does not, in the course of a casual conversation, say, "wow, that's an enormous ass you've got there!"

Other off-limit body parts would include noses, ears, hair, elbows, pinky fingers, and anything else that's usually visible. When these parts are deformed or different in some way, we try not to say anything; we even try not to look at them (and then worriedly wonder if it's obvious that we're not looking, and so we look, and then we try not to look again because we fear we're looking too much). We try not to mention scars or moles or pimples, either. To do otherwise, we fear, would be horribly impolite. You never know who might be sensitive, or what unpleasant story lies behind that scar.

And most of all, one does not mention someone's obesity. To tell someone, to their face, that they are fat might be the worst social sin one could commit.

I have noticed, however, that people have no compunction about discussing my breasts. Something about their double-D glory causes inhibitions to slacken and tongues to wag (bah dum dum). And it doesn't seem anyone gives a passing thought to whether or not I appreciate it, want it, or if it might even hurt my feelings to have it pointed out that my chest size could be measured in relation to a small state. Because you see, I know it, realize it, and accept it; however, I do not want it to be a topic of conversation, any more than someone with goiter would like their goiter discussed in public.

I have noticed one other exception to the don't-talk-about-other-people's-appearances rule: a girlfriend of mine in college was incredibly thin, and she constantly got comments, jabs, jokes, and snide remarks about it. She was not anorexic (believe me, I saw her eat--no problem there), nor was she a workout fanatic. She just was what she was. And I could tell, sometimes, that she was as sensitive about it as I was about my respective physique. Sometimes I thought to be jealous of her for her thinness, but nowadays I realize it's just the other side of a coin. I feel the same way about men and the pressures they experience. So many women claim that men don't have any problems or worries when it comes to society's expectations of how they should look, and I for one find that to be complete bull. The men in my life have admitted to feeling pressure to look a certain way, even it's unrealistic for them to do so: pecs, that triangular torso, biceps....being meaty without being fat....et cetera.

And so: I may have developed a sense of humor and acceptance about my body's natural shape and size, but that doesn't mean I feel it's appropriate as a topic of conversation.

As for the social experiment, I think it would be interesting and enlightening to see what would happen if we all made the comments about each others' appearances that we think and currently don't say. I've often thought the world would be a better place if we all shared the positive things we think about each other and never say. How often have we thought, "I like her sweater" or "His hair looks nice today"? But then we don't say it, either because we're rushing or because we feel uncomfortable for some reason--maybe we don't know them well and we feel we'd be overstepping our relationship, or whatever. So what if we took all the social inhibitions away, and said what we actually thought at all times? Would the world be better--or would it become even more of a crushing existence than it already is? Or maybe, just maybe, we'd learn to think even more deeply before we spoke, voicing not our initial reactions but our completed thought process. For instance, "I like her sweater" could become "I haven't noticed the way she dressed before. Something must be different. I wonder what's happening in her life that might cause her to dress nicely today?" And then we would ask that question, thereby inviting her to share with us and thereby deepen our relationship.

Just sayin'.

THEATER
Update: I've been "promoted," so to speak. The woman playing Lady MacDuff has sort of quit/been removed (a little of both) from the show. Apparently she got a gig elsewhere that interfered with our final weekend of performances. And so they have asked me to step in and take her place. I will simultaneously be playing my original role (thankfully we don't have any scenes together--that would difficult and weird), which will lead to a small case of schizophrenia, but only for a couple of days. I'm excited to take the part, because it's a beautiful, emotionally rich scene (or emotionally magnificent, in the words of Michael Scott). It's too bad things had to work out that way, but hey--now I have a character with a name!