THE YEAR OF THE TIGER
Gucci Tiger collection celebrates 2022’s zodiac.
To celebrate the Lunar Year of the Tiger, my friend B had painted the stripes on her black Adidas’ yellow. After all, she was born under the sign. We snaked through the decorated streets of Chinatown around Columbus Square while I babbled about the symbolism of the majestic animal, its chic fur, and its intelligence. Heavier than other cats because of its massive brain, the cat would still outrun all of its specie’s sisters, just like B.
I bit my tongue. I shouldn't have mentioned weight. B sighed.
“Are you trying to reduce me to my intellect?” She punished me with an acrobatic eye roll. “Now, don’t get me started on loving my body unconditionally.”
I wasn’t.
“Body positivity is a bro-ass tactic to capitalize on our insecurities.”
I, too, had a complicated relationship with my body.
“You were never fat,” she blurted out. “I ate myself some padding that grew into a whole panic room. My being big was not a sign of happiness. Let’s bust these BS pink positivity shades.”
What about Lizzo?
“Let’s just say there’s usually a whole range of pain that leads to that hunger.”
When I first heard of the buzzword body positivity, I admittedly found exploring different body types, genders, skin tones, age ranges, and abilities refreshing. Reframing the colorful canon of differences, inclinations, and forms, the people around me suddenly appeared incredibly beautiful.
B sucked her teeth. “Girl, didn't you notice how quickly this turned into ads with half-naked chubby sisters with bedroom eyes?”
It did sink in eventually.
“Every curve is only as bootylicious as the submissive soul behind it. Men celebrate curvy women and commodify their weight for their gratification. The big girl is left empty-handed.”
B was right. There weren’t any male beer bellies spilling over the tracksuit waists.
“Nobody prefers to date or hire a fat woman. That’s a baseless fairytale. Those girls are easier to manipulate, better to dominate, and make a weak boy feel a little better about his pathetic self.”
B had a no-nonsense way of dismantling myths.
“The worst thing about body positivity is that if a fat girl doesn’t feel sexy or love her abundance the way it is advertised, she’ll feel ashamed for not getting it. A double whammy.”
We jogged for a while in silence. Although I've never been overweight, my ideal of a body had been elusive. That was long before I’d begun running. My mother's generation rushed from one pineapple diet to the next toxic cleanse. For decades, women were fooled by the sugar-laden low-fat lie. My relationship with my curv-free ectomorph body, flat feet, and unruly hair has eased significantly through running. Training is time-consuming, so the focus shifted from the results to the process. Being up close and personal with my changing body, made me aware of its needs and accomplishments. My awareness of my body has deepened my relationship to it. I consider my ability to move through the world the way I do as an abosule gift.
This endurance sport also fires up your brain and neurogenesis. When synapses and endorphins light up your head like sparklers, you learn to appreciate the machine and vice versa. These days, I really like my legs.
As a mother of three, I said to B, she must be even more amazed at what her body can do.
B stopped in front of the Supreme Court steps.
“You're a tiger, too, aren't you?”
I was just a monkey, I said, a good friend of the tiger. We both couldn't sit still and didn't care much for conventions.
“The monkey may be cheeky, but you’re just as vain as the king of the jungle.”
Queen, I corrected B. Queen of the jungle.
February 2022
