It would be comforting to dismiss these as isolated incidents, but based on conversations with other gay men like me, I don't think they're all that unusual. I can tell you that one person I tried to date helpfully offered, "You could be really attractive if you lost some weight." And I can tell you that I deleted Grindr after one night when a stranger messaged me to let me know that if I shed a few pounds I "might actually be cute." I can tell you that when I lost 15 pounds due to depression, a well-meaning older gay man told me I had done the right thing, because my only other option would have been to gain weight and become a bear. I can't speak for all gay men, but I can tell you what I have faced as an overweight gay man. There is a widely held understanding that being gay means maintaining a certain standard of physical beauty, with very little room for deviation from the norm. But the stereotype of the gay obsession with body image and a six-pack is not unfounded. There are also those for whom going to the gym is not an activity to build one's days around. There are, of course, gay men who don't obsess over their weight or the weight of potential sexual partners.
Unless, of course, you're also fat, in which case, no, you can't sit with us.Ĭertainly this isn't true of all gay men: I'm speaking in generalities based on what I have experienced.
And they're eager to let you know that you're not alone, and that you have a seat at the table. It was maybe an overstatement, but I understand the sentiment: When you first come out, you're automatically granted inclusion - if not by friends and family, then by the gay community as a whole.
I was once told that coming out as a gay man was like being welcomed into the best club in the world. It's not bigotry if we deserve it.īeing fat is never easy, but in the spirit of National Coming Out Week, I'm offering this potentially controversial perspective: As hard as it is to be gay, being fat and gay makes everything so much worse. And suddenly, otherwise good people - those who are proud to not have a bigoted bone in their bodies - feel no shame in condemning us fatties. The common understanding is that fatness is unhealthy and unnatural and always the fat person's fault, despite the fact that science does not agree with these assessments. The hurtful degradation becomes socially sanctioned, because being fat is considered to be innately wrong. But when you wonder out loud why I can't just lose some weight, you're looking out for me. Call someone a gay slur and you're homophobic. What it comes down to is good intentions. And that's largely because so many of my allies and fellow gay men championing equality - compassionate, forward-thinking individuals - are the same people delicately suggesting I lose some weight. But the treatment of overweight people is, for the most part, lost on them. They are open-minded progressives, and I appreciate their fixation on the way LGBT people are treated obviously, I share their concern. It's an answer to the people who seem surprised when I explain that no, I was never really bullied for being gay, but instead got made fun of for being fat on a daily basis. I share this not for sympathy but for context. Remarks about my weight, however, are a depressing constant. Outside of anonymous internet comments, the gay slurs have stopped almost entirely. I can count on one hand the number of times I've been called a "faggot" to my face, but I couldn't tell you how often someone has made a dig about my weight. The real source of my bullying was the extra weight I've carried since childhood. Oh, sure, I've had the word "faggot" hurled at me - and the sad truth is, I'd be shocked if a gay man hadn't - but it was always secondary. In many ways I was lucky to have come of age in a liberal enclave where my sexuality was accepted if not embraced. I felt shame over my size long before I had any concept of my sexuality, and years after coming out as gay, I still feel anxious identifying as fat.Īs an openly gay writer, one of the questions I'm asked most often is, "Were you bullied growing up?" And the answer is yes, but it's never the answer they're looking for. I knew I was fat because people told me I was fat, either directly (a slap to the stomach and an unkind word) or in subtler ways (having a teacher rifle through my lunch box and comment on the contents). When you grow up overweight, everyone notices - not just your classmates, who are too young to have mastered the art of tact, but also friends' parents and teachers.