150 Pounds (2 page)

After starting
Fat and Fabulous
, Shoshana grew closer to her mother and sister than ever before—it was like she’d given them permission to open up about being big. She wrote a memorable post about the coat aversion and received hundreds of positive e-mails from her readers. One posted a similar story on the comments page; she’d felt too humiliated about being heavy to buy maternity clothing when she was pregnant. “I thought obese women didn’t deserve to wear them. I’m already fat, and being pregnant didn’t allow me to feel that glow that other expecting mothers do. Besides, you could barely tell I was pregnant anyway, because of my weight problem.”

Shoshana
ached
for this reader—unable to celebrate one of life’s greatest moments with fun, feminine maternity clothes. It was what kept Shoshana going, women just like her sister, like her mother. They deserved to love themselves. They deserved to have people not look at them like criminals because they were big. They might be Fatties, like her, but they were also Fabulous!

Shoshana stole a quick glance at the other guest; her blond head was bent as she pored over carefully typed notes. Shoshana sighed. She’d planned on just winging it.

“Three minutes!” the stagehand said, holding up three fingers and muttering quickly into his headpiece.

Shoshana squared her broad shoulders. Lifted her chin. Opened her purse and ran a swipe of pink gloss over her lips for the thousandth time. She was sure she single-handedly kept the lip-gloss economy running. Buying a small, sparkly tube or a lovely round glass jar with beautiful packaging was a cure-all to any bad day. Some people did drugs. She had a twenty-bucks-a-week pucker-spoiling habit, which she figured was better than a heroin addiction. Or gambling. Or even smoking cigarettes.

“One minute.”

For luck, she stuffed into her mouth a Hershey’s Kiss, which had been sitting in her pocket since she’d left the hotel, and ignored the glares she received for this small act from the other guest. A woman should have a piece of chocolate every day. It made life so much
richer
. Besides, doctors say it’s good for your heart. At least the dark chocolate kind. But she’d just had milk chocolate. Oh, what the hell. Shoshana figured one day they’d come out with a study saying
every
kind of chocolate was good for you. She might as well not pass it up now, just in case.

“All right girls, it’s time!” The female stagehand smiled at both women. “You’ll both be wonderful!”

“Thank you!” Shoshana said. She wasn’t sure why she was whispering like she was in temple. Oprah gave off a bit of a holy aura, perhaps. “I’m nervous!” she admitted to the other guest, who, not responding, set down her notes and brushed past, knocking into Shoshana slightly in her determined walk. Shoshana frowned, following her. She’d read the girl’s blog and knew her subject matter to be slightly militant in its message, but she didn’t know she would be the same way in person …
Palm tree waving in the wind on a tropical island, palm tree waving in the wind on a tropical island.

The sound of the woman’s stilettos echoed in the hallway. Shoshana sometimes wore heels, but only on special occasions. Like … that time her landlady died and she went to her funeral. Six years ago. Okay, so maybe she really didn’t ever wear heels. But why did she need two plastic contraptions on her feet, designed to make her already-aching back hurt even more and push her Twins of Doom forward until she toppled head over heels? With her tiny, size-five feet, wearing heels would be like foot binding.

When she heard her name called, she immediately stood still, unable to walk another foot. She was frozen to the spot, the high-decibel sound of two hundred women clapping at once washing over her, a shower of noise. Since she’d started her blog five years ago after graduating from college, she’d never imagined it would take her to this moment. It had been just for fun, a lark, while she looked for her first job. Then it
became
her first job. Her only job.

“Oh, my god, are you having a panic attack or something? Maybe a sugar rush from all that saturated fat you consumed in the green room? Let’s
go
.”

Shoshana realized the skinny girl was screaming at her, which broke her daze. “Oh, don’t get your size-zero panties in a bunch,” she shot back, rolling her eyes and strutting past her, entering the soundstage first. She hadn’t gotten this far in life to be bullied by the prom queen. The prom queen could go fuck herself.

The floor was marked with taped arrows, and Shoshana followed them, the soft fabric of her dress swishing between her thighs. And—oh, my goodness! Suddenly there was Oprah, like a mirage in the desert. She prayed to the no-trip gods as she climbed several steps onto the stage and took a seat on a yellow couch next to Oprah’s brown leather chair. Shoshana immediately reached for the mug of water on the table in front of her. It was pure instinct; if there was food or beverage of any kind in her peripheral vision, she’d make a beeline for it. Having something to consume always felt soothing.

While bending toward the beverage Shoshana remembered millions of women were watching her at home, and she’d just given them a shot of her ample bosom.
Great.
She made a mental note to keep the girls in check, and fought the urge to apply more gloss. The tube was tucked into the right cup of her bra, along with the Hershey’s Kiss wrapper.

“Please welcome to the show Shoshana Weiner and Alexis Allbright.”

Tentative clapping now. The audience wasn’t sure yet how it felt about its guests. A sea of faces, mostly female. Some black, white, shades of brown. They wore red sweaters, shiny white pearls, and print dresses. They crossed their legs and folded their hands, pleased to not be waiting outside in the cold anymore. Some fiddled with jewelry. Others placed their pocketbooks beneath their seats and whispered excitedly to their friends and sisters seated nearby.

Oprah shifted her body toward one of the three cameras. Shoshana, having no clue which one to look at, stared at Oprah. She was mesmerizing. She seemed to sparkle everywhere, from her light blue eye shadow down to her expensive-looking peep-toe pumps. She looked like someone’s fairy godmother.

Oprah started her opening monologue: “Alexis and Shoshana have the two most popular blogs on the Web today that cover women’s weight issues. Next to my own, of course.”

A light scattering of laughter.

“With millions of hits a day, and a slew of advertisers and press hanging on their every post, these rising stars are two young women to watch. As Americans continue to obsess over celebrities and their ever-changing bodies, and contradictory studies seem to emerge daily from scientists debating health concerns in regards to weight, I thought we could have an open and real discussion about how women feel about their bodies today, as Alexis and Shoshana have completely opposite viewpoints. All I ask of my audience is that you listen to both sides before drawing any conclusions. I have to admit to you, you know my history and relationship with weight has been
well
documented by this show
and
the paparazzi, whether I like it or not…”

Strong laughter.

“So for someone like me, whose weight has gone up and down, this issue hits particularly close to home. I am not going to lie, this is a very sensitive show for me.”

Shoshana nodded her head. She hoped she looked encouraging. Her co-guest scanned the audience, making a visual connection with each member. Oprah turned toward Shoshana then, and it was like the sun shining on the side of her face, her smile was
that
warm.

“We’ll start with Shoshana. Now, is it true you refused a high-paying speaking engagement at a boutique in Manhattan because the store did not carry over a size ten? My producers tell me that story got picked up by many different newspapers across the country and a podcast as well.”

Deep breath. “Yes, that’s true, Oprah. I don’t mean any ill will toward the store, which actually had lovely clothes, but I asked them why they wanted me to speak about my blog to their customers if they didn’t carry my dress size.”

“I see. Well, that’s certainly understandable. Have you been asked to talk elsewhere since?”

“No, but if you know anyone who needs a motivational speaker, I could really use the money.”

The audience laughed. “You go, girl,” someone called out. Oprah changed the direction of the conversation.

“And how do you feel about blogs about women’s weight being called the ‘Fat-O-Sphere’?” Her melodic voice floated through the room, caressing the cheeks of her audience, relaxing her guests, except for Alexis, who looked like a cobra poised for the strike. Shoshana noticed her hair was so perfectly sleek it looked like a blond helmet. Shoshana’s long mane looked better when she didn’t brush it, thicker and more voluminous.

Shoshana decided to match Alexis’s body language, leaning toward Oprah and crossing her legs at the ankles. She wanted to be taken seriously.

“Oprah, first of all let me say thank you so much for having me on your show. Today’s show is not only about weight, but also about women’s feelings, which matter more to me than anything else in the world.”

She got some applause then, which encouraged her. Her voice grew stronger.

“The Fat-O-Sphere is a title journalists, including myself, have given to a group of blogs that have exploded over the Internet in the last five years. They grew out of a worldwide frustration at the way women’s bodies are viewed as objects to be criticized in the mass media. We are taking back the word ‘fat,’ if you will.”

“So you’ve got this blog, and you call it
Fat and Fabulous
?” Oprah asked. “Does that mean that you condone unhealthy eating habits?”

“I’m so glad you asked that. Not at all. I have a new columnist, Dr. Amanda Weber, who is a nutritionist with Columbia Hospital, and she posts once a week with healthy, yummy recipes that are great sources of nutrients and vitamins and calcium for women of all sizes.” She spread her hands, gesturing to make her point. Her mother, Pam, always joked Shoshana had inherited this trait from an Italian grandmother on her father’s side. “Now, when I say ‘fat,’ what I really mean is healthy at any size, which is my motto.”

She glanced quickly at her mother and sister in the front row, who were nodding their heads. Emily gave her a fist pump.

“And what about this campaign to ban Girl Scout cookies by Ms. Allbright here?” Oprah asked, shifting gears now to include Alexis.

Shocked inhalation from the audience.

Shoshana shook her head. “I feel the most sad about this, because as a child, being in the Girl Scouts was such an empowering experience. It was girl power! Selling cookies gives the sense of entrepreneurship and business skills at a very young age.”

“I’m going to let Alexis respond, too,” Oprah said. “Let’s open the floor to Alexis Allbright, a writer living in New York City, who runs
Skinny Chick,
a blog about her life in New York and her dietary habits.”

Alexis’s blue eyes gleamed. Unlike Shoshana, she lived for debate. Her parents had fought her entire life, her father was a trial lawyer, and she had once thought she wanted to be a lawyer herself.

“Oprah, let me first echo Shoshana’s words that I am also grateful to be on your show. I’ve watched it since I was a little girl, and I think both Shoshana and I can agree that you have done wonders for women’s self-esteem. Now let’s start out with the facts. Thirty to forty percent of today’s children are projected to develop diet-related diabetes in their lifetimes, and the National Action Against Obesity called once again this year for a boycott of Girl Scout cookies. My question for Shoshana is, if you think the Girl Scouts should be allowed to continue to sell items to neighbors for ‘self-esteem,’ why don’t they use a healthy product, like vitamins, energy bars, or protein powder? Why does it have to be cookies, which are filled with fat, artificial flavoring, and empty calories?”

Shoshana smiled. This was an easy one. A softball. “I think children are supposed to eat cookies, first of all. It’s almost like a right of passage. Cookies are delicious. Protein powder is not.” She leaned back on the couch and reached for her mug, taking a hurried sip of water. She felt satisfied she’d given just the right answer.
Score one for the Fatties,
she thought.

The audience burst into laughter, some women on the right back section standing up and clapping. The cameraman panned across the front row, where many people were nodding enthusiastically. For Shoshana, the room began to take on a soft glow.

“I’d like to introduce a message I came up with myself, which I’ve titled ‘secondhand obesity,’” Alexis said a little too loudly, to try and wrest the attention back to herself. She tipped her head, and her stylish, straw-blond hair swished along her jawline. She wore a sleek black suit jacket with matching pencil skirt. Her blouse was gray silk, and very low-cut, exposing a bony chest. She had small earlobes with tiny gold Celtic knot earrings that endeared her to Shoshana somehow.

“Please tell us what that is,” Oprah said. “It sounds horrible!” Her tone was jocular, but Alexis nodded vigorously, ignoring the laughter of the audience.

“It
is
horrible!” she said. “If you’re overweight you are already very sick. Gravely sick. Ask any doctor and they’ll say you are putting yourself at risk for heart disease and death. Shoshana is spreading a dangerous message.”

At that, Oprah shook her head slightly. Alexis realized she’d gone overboard and quickly backtracked and tried less dramatic wording.

“Secondhand obesity is a fat lifestyle and fat body passed down from parent to child. Fat parents make fat children; it’s as simple as that. If your father hands you a lollipop, or, as I like to call them, death sticks…”

Shoshana snorted, and then covered her mouth with her hand to stop the rude noise. Alexis pretended she hadn’t heard.