As a 115kg (18st) woman who refuses to diet, unapologetically wears short shorts and eats tiramisu, I have experienced and witnessed a lot of fatphobia. This is a form of bigotry that equates fatness with ugliness, inferiority and immorality. In my new book You Have the Right to Remain Fat, I talk a lot about how being fat has shaped my life, how fatphobia has multiple dimensions and how it does not just move outward – from us to others. It moves inward – from our culture to ourselves.
As with what is poverty, ugly is culturally determined. Modern Britain says that poverty is a better standard of living than he median in 1970 (certainly, 1960) an better than the top 10% in 1930. So too with ugly. What is considered so in the here and now is determined by us in aggregate, that culture.
Trivially so, as tans and freckles have moved around from Jane Austen’s time to today. Size? There are places (Mali? Mauritania perhaps, our own past certainly) when a good 3 to 5 inch coating of blubber is/was considered highly attractive. Even rumours that the internal pressure makes uglies tighter (would Rocco care to comment? Something more than just “With mine horses are”).
Of course ugly, as with beauty, is culturally determined. How the hell do you think it works if it isn’t that way?
Luckily she mentions this but fails to grasp the point.