I'm Judging You: The Do-Better Manual

by Luvvie Ajayi Jones

It’s a vicious cycle of tardiness. Since you know that everyone will be late for a Naija event, even if you were planning to be on time, you don’t want to be the only person there. So you sit at home on your couch fully dressed and opt to go late so you won’t be the first person to arrive. And when you show up three hours late and you’re one of only five people there, you remind yourself to arrive even later next time.

And while we ridicule people for being fat, we also turn around and say, “Real women have curves.” Those curves, of course, are only valid as long as they don’t go beyond some arbitrary point. That statement grinds my gears for many reasons. What about those of us who aren’t curvy? Are the rest of us Pinocchio? I get the intent—to empower people who are bigger and frequently degraded—but it degrades others in order to do it. “Real women breathe.” How about that? Don’t tell me that because I’m shaped like a twelve-year-old prepubescent boy I’m not a real woman. Screw that.

What comes with being skinny is everyone treating you like you wrote in to their “Dear Abby” column. They’re always ready to give you advice on what you need to do, even though you didn’t ask them a damb thing. “Dang, Luvvie! You’re so skinny! Do you eat?! Maybe you just need a sandwich.” No, I don’t eat. I survive on a steady diet of air and water. Don’t worry about me, worry about you.

It is out of most people’s control. I have friends who weigh twice as much as me but eat half as much as I do and work out twice as hard. I’m pretty sure their hearts are in better shape than mine. They can probably run more than three blocks without wheezing, which is more than I can say for myself and my cardio abilities.