I’m a theory-maker, so I like to juggle hypotheses all the time. Sometimes they’re dead on, some times they’re dead wrong, but I have a theory for just about everything. At 232 pounds, I believed, and I’m not yet fully unconvinced, that there was a profound distinction in the way people (friends, acquaintances, whomever) interacted with my body versus the body of my smaller-framed friends. That is to say, smaller bodies were treated with a kind of affection and sensitivity that I felt hard-pressed to come by. I noticed that when talking to these smaller friends, people were more likely to stroke their arm, touch their waist, maybe their hair, face, sometimes flirtatiously, but mostly platonically. Whereas, my friendly greetings rarely involved touch, sometimes they involved a mocking punch on the arm, or the odd “terrorist fist-jab,” if I was so lucky. Something about my frame seemed to unconsciously ward off platonic physicality… or maybe… something about a smaller frame invites the tender touch. And to be clear, I am talking purely about friendly dynamics between friends, relatives… anybody really but lovers. Now, I am and continue to be my only case study, so my theories come laden with holes and this one is no exception. Whose to say my personality didn’t detract the casual arm caress?
When I confided in a friend about this observation, he suggested I ought to see the gentleness with which folks interacted with one particular small friend as evidence of a borderline patronizing concern for her fragility. But I couldn’t help ask, and re-ask, and re-ask myself: in the world I found myself living in… were people capable of recognizing my big body as sensitive and worthy of gentleness? In the eyes of these anybodies and everybodies, had I lost my humanity? Did they see me as untouchable? Was my waist an unspoken no go zone? Could people only look me in the face? Were my eyes the only safe gazing-spot on my body? Would you be sweeter if I was smaller? I knew I was sensitive, but if you failed to see it… or society failed to let you see it… whose fault was that? Or more pertinently, who needed to change? Every question hurt. It hurt that I cared. My comfort with my body, my confidence, my happiness was, literally, in the palm of your hands.
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ReplyDeleteI, too, find this a touching post and appreciate the approach. Inasmuch as my "reflections" on size are highly politicized (and not completely from a bitterly defensive standpoint or in an effort to expose the problematics of a grossly *justified* denial of human respect for a whole group of people, but also in more complex terms, like the historical relationship of particular configurations of race/gender/body-type to access or claims of citizenship, etc.), I much appreciate what reads as a tender, reflective inquiry rather than an angry or even forlorn protest.
ReplyDeleteI'm trying to think about my own experiences with the phenomenon you describe and can imagine that I likely participate in the awkwardness of touch... and I realize that I don't want to anymore. Thanks for bringing me to that.
p.s. now that I'm thinking about it, don't i and you (eighty pounds lighter) STILL church hug?! smh. there must be another way...
Wow, Sarah, thanks for sharing that! It really got me thinking about pain and on a separate note, breasts. I think both topics will warrant significant blog entries. But both you and a friend of mine, who messaged me privately about touch as entitlement, raise the very good point, which is that unconsentual platonic touching isn't always a source of pleasure or comfort for that matter. A hug, no matter how well-intentioned, gifted with love and all, can still be uncomfortable, and uncomforting. Self-reflecting, it's curious and unfortunate that the entire time I thought about body-contact, touch and all, I was passive, waiting to be gifted with a touch, and not at all thinking of contact as a two-way street. Although, I try to be conscious of personal cues, which is probably why I rarely initiated touch (although, I think I may be guilty of interacting with very petite frames as though they were curious playthings... my bad) . But boy was I glad when a welcome hand offered an embrace.
ReplyDeleteJakeya, yes, I think we do still awkward Christian side-hug! Funnily enough, I think that my style of embrace, +80 or -80, probably had more to do with the tricky and impossible attempt to curb any accidental salacious exchanges, brought about by the largeness of my chest! So, that's probably another reason why I like to be the recipient of a hug, rather than the initiator. That way, the other decides the terms (direction, duration), and I just follow, receive, enjoy.
ReplyDeleteWhen i finally get to blogging about my cultural consumptions during my journey (and ingesting those particular configurations of race/gender/body-type), I would love for you to consider guest blog posting. I will eventually talk about the other kind of love, the other kind of touch, and the semi-breakdown I had after watching Precious. You should know, tea with you and Imeh immediately following the movie... the NegroIntellectualism joint a few weeks later... the rage and sadness that marinated within that summer, those were significant turning points.
Yeah, I'd be interested to know if your observations shift at all when you are in another country (not the US). So funny I never thought of you as the touchy feely kind and always thought you weren't into all that snuggly wuggly. Now I wonder if it was because I noticed this dynamic but couldn't put my finger on it.
ReplyDeleteThat's a great point. In Uganda, even though it reached a point where people blatantly reacted to my body like it was a rare, incredulous artifact, I still always knew that big curves where not only necessarily the norm, but really the preferred aesthetic. At the same time, the christian side-hug is pretty big there... so full frontal hugs were sometimes a little suggestive... although Aunts and people mastered the art of the head forward, butt out, borderline no-touch hug!
ReplyDeleteI remember feeling so, so bewildered at MHC with how everyone seemed to be so casually touchy. I would sit and try to figure it out (which of course was entirely the wrong way to go about it and would just make me more confused), watch people work it so effortlessly (or so it seemed) and feel like a visitor from another planet... people would even accuse me of being cold (in a roundabout, pseudo-nonjudgmental type way) because I just wasn't into it.
ReplyDeleteI think it wasn't until I went through my pain issues this past year or so that I really started to see my approach to touch as not aberrant. I cherish those relationships that include touch that I *do* have very, very deeply, and everything else pretty much comes out in the wash. I think it was the point in grad school when I was sitting in a room with a bunch of (relatively touchy) friends and just up and announced that I needed to do some stretches for my back, and began to do them and let them deal with not wanting to stare. For once, *I* was the one more active, in control of my body... I don't know... I still do sometimes wish I were more touchy though. But if it is to happen, it will come with time.