Demi
Sun, Dec-02-07, 02:18
The Sunday Times
London, UK
2 December, 2007
The big issue
Women are never happy about weight – their own or others’. Nigella Lawson, a victim of the fat police, talks to Style about why we do it to ourselves
Shane Watson
How would you summarise Nigella Lawson? A bright, beautiful, super-successful, late-fortysomething who loves food and has the curves to prove it, and who has accidentally become probably the most fancied woman in Britain, comes close. A role model for her own sex and an object of desire for heterosexual males of all ages, comes closer. Either way, don’t you just love her?
Or is she just offensively fat? Because there are women out there who are far from satisfied with Nigella’s size. On the BBC website, members of the public have been expressing horror at her perceived weight gain during the filming of the current, gloriously gluttonous television series, Nigella Express. Comments have ranged from “She’s a porker” to “What sort of an example is she setting with her weight and her appetite for high-calorie sweets and cream?”. Nigella is, in short, being targeted for the thing that makes her so desirable – her womanliness.
“It isn’t great being described as overweight,” Nigella tells me over the phone, matter of factly. “Maybe I have put on weight, or maybe it’s a bad camera angle. But in real life, this is normal size.
“Everyone is so critical,” she continues. “All must be sacrificed to the great god of skinny. You must say no to everything. Life has to be pretty fabulous, surely, if you can afford to turn down occasions of pleasure?”
What is remarkable about the “great god of skinny”, as Nigella puts it, is that he has toppled the god of beauty with hardly a murmur of dissent. If celebrity culture is any indication, beauty without a slim body is now almost pointless – see how Beyoncé has started to be targeted by the curve police. Her bootylicious body, which most men would die for, was described at the recent American Music Awards as “erupting” out of her dress.
“I think it is a fear of flesh,” says Nigella, “maybe of vulnerability and softness.” Is that ultimately a fear of sex? “I don’t know. But I do think that women who spend all their lives on a diet probably have a miserable sex life: if your body is the enemy, how can you relax and take pleasure? Everything is about control, rather than relaxing, about holding everything in.”
Her experience (the deaths of a mother, sister and husband from cancer) has also made her see thinness as something to dread rather than aspire to. “I associate thinness with dying. My mother had real eating issues. When she had cancer, she said, ‘This is the first time I have eaten without worrying,’ and that is chilling. Something clicked, and I vowed never to say, ‘I am not allowed that.’ ” In her TV series, Nigella plays on her low opinion of self-discipline (though she clearly has enough of it to run a family and a mega-career), but in so doing, she is putting herself firmly in what we have come to regard as the fat camp. That is, among women who embrace pleasure and don’t beat themselves up about it – as opposed to the skinny camp, which sees containing their desires and bodies as a continuing challenge. It’s the latter camp that Nigella thinks is a threat to normal feminine existence. “In my experience, the weight thing is an almost totally female problem. I never feel bad about my weight around men, only women. Women act like it is somehow a moral failing to have hips.”
At the other end of the scale, there are the demonised skinnies. I don’t mean the Nicole Richies (demonise away), but the natural beanpoles, such as Erin O’Connor and Keira Knightley and even Kate Moss, who are as blameless as their curvy counterparts. Thin is as much of a taboo as fleshy, and for all the obvious reasons. Skinny looks unnurturing and unwomanly; it is the sign of a narcissistic, empty-headed nature. As the angular model Erin O’Connor wrote for this magazine on the subject of the size-zero outcry: “The public humiliation of seeing my health analysed by complete strangers – did I menstruate? Was I capable of becoming pregnant? Why was I skeletal? – was bearable. The questioning of my integrity was less so.” Just as we are encouraged to look at women with flesh on their bones and sneer at their lack of control, we are conditioned to look at our skinny sisters and despise their self-denial.
There is a lot of confusion about this weight fascism. We blame fashion. We blame models. We blame ageism and advertising and celebrity. But who stands to gain from ostracising women because they are too curvaceous or too thin? Other women, that’s who: women who mistrust their own sex and who lack confidence in themselves.
Skinny bitch or fat cow: which side of the line are you? The fact is, you can’t avoid taking sides. JK Rowling is the latest to show her colours. Provoked by articles commenting on her supposed “new diet”, she snapped back with: “In the interests of accuracy, I must point out that, far from losing weight, I’ve gained a good bit.” She also made references to Paris Hilton-type celebrities, describing them as “empty-headed, self-obsessed, emaciated clones”.
The underlying issue is becoming clear. In the fat camp are those who represent the forces of goodness and womanliness, or indulgence and ill discipline, depending on where you stand on the scales; in the skinny camp are the savvy, fit, modern girls, or the life-deniers – if you’re not so thin yourself. The size you are is a statement of your entire life philosophy, and the gulf between the two camps is filled with fear and misunderstanding. It is war, ladies, and it is our war. We are making enemies of each other on the basis of body shape.
Vanessa Feltz has recently lost four stone, but doesn’t anticipate it making the slightest difference to her public profile. “There has been a proprietorial interest in my weight ever since I became famous,” she says. “People come up to me in supermarkets and comment on what I am buying. It is very disconcerting.” She learnt, years ago, that weight is a stick to beat women with; size itself is a mere detail. “After my husband left, I was Vanessa with ‘breasts like Zeppelins’, and then a few weeks later I was ‘gaunt and haggard’. That was when I realised there is never a good day, never a point at which they say, ‘This is how a woman should look.’ ”
Maybe women are attacking each other over this issue because it symbolises a more general guilt and confusion about who we should be. “I have days when I feel fat, and days when I feel woman-shaped,” says Nigella. And perhaps this is all about how we define ourselves as women. Should we be at home, baking cakes? Should we be binding our pregnancy bumps in the boardroom? If we can turn all our anxieties about how we should be living our lives into a fight about our size, then maybe that is our way of coping.
“I don’t think that it has necessarily got worse: my mother was obsessed with weight,” says Feltz. “But now, nobody ever says, ‘Handsome is as handsome does, and so what if she’s put on few pounds – she’s still fascinating.’ That’s the real difference.”
http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/diet_and_fitness/article2941491.ece
London, UK
2 December, 2007
The big issue
Women are never happy about weight – their own or others’. Nigella Lawson, a victim of the fat police, talks to Style about why we do it to ourselves
Shane Watson
How would you summarise Nigella Lawson? A bright, beautiful, super-successful, late-fortysomething who loves food and has the curves to prove it, and who has accidentally become probably the most fancied woman in Britain, comes close. A role model for her own sex and an object of desire for heterosexual males of all ages, comes closer. Either way, don’t you just love her?
Or is she just offensively fat? Because there are women out there who are far from satisfied with Nigella’s size. On the BBC website, members of the public have been expressing horror at her perceived weight gain during the filming of the current, gloriously gluttonous television series, Nigella Express. Comments have ranged from “She’s a porker” to “What sort of an example is she setting with her weight and her appetite for high-calorie sweets and cream?”. Nigella is, in short, being targeted for the thing that makes her so desirable – her womanliness.
“It isn’t great being described as overweight,” Nigella tells me over the phone, matter of factly. “Maybe I have put on weight, or maybe it’s a bad camera angle. But in real life, this is normal size.
“Everyone is so critical,” she continues. “All must be sacrificed to the great god of skinny. You must say no to everything. Life has to be pretty fabulous, surely, if you can afford to turn down occasions of pleasure?”
What is remarkable about the “great god of skinny”, as Nigella puts it, is that he has toppled the god of beauty with hardly a murmur of dissent. If celebrity culture is any indication, beauty without a slim body is now almost pointless – see how Beyoncé has started to be targeted by the curve police. Her bootylicious body, which most men would die for, was described at the recent American Music Awards as “erupting” out of her dress.
“I think it is a fear of flesh,” says Nigella, “maybe of vulnerability and softness.” Is that ultimately a fear of sex? “I don’t know. But I do think that women who spend all their lives on a diet probably have a miserable sex life: if your body is the enemy, how can you relax and take pleasure? Everything is about control, rather than relaxing, about holding everything in.”
Her experience (the deaths of a mother, sister and husband from cancer) has also made her see thinness as something to dread rather than aspire to. “I associate thinness with dying. My mother had real eating issues. When she had cancer, she said, ‘This is the first time I have eaten without worrying,’ and that is chilling. Something clicked, and I vowed never to say, ‘I am not allowed that.’ ” In her TV series, Nigella plays on her low opinion of self-discipline (though she clearly has enough of it to run a family and a mega-career), but in so doing, she is putting herself firmly in what we have come to regard as the fat camp. That is, among women who embrace pleasure and don’t beat themselves up about it – as opposed to the skinny camp, which sees containing their desires and bodies as a continuing challenge. It’s the latter camp that Nigella thinks is a threat to normal feminine existence. “In my experience, the weight thing is an almost totally female problem. I never feel bad about my weight around men, only women. Women act like it is somehow a moral failing to have hips.”
At the other end of the scale, there are the demonised skinnies. I don’t mean the Nicole Richies (demonise away), but the natural beanpoles, such as Erin O’Connor and Keira Knightley and even Kate Moss, who are as blameless as their curvy counterparts. Thin is as much of a taboo as fleshy, and for all the obvious reasons. Skinny looks unnurturing and unwomanly; it is the sign of a narcissistic, empty-headed nature. As the angular model Erin O’Connor wrote for this magazine on the subject of the size-zero outcry: “The public humiliation of seeing my health analysed by complete strangers – did I menstruate? Was I capable of becoming pregnant? Why was I skeletal? – was bearable. The questioning of my integrity was less so.” Just as we are encouraged to look at women with flesh on their bones and sneer at their lack of control, we are conditioned to look at our skinny sisters and despise their self-denial.
There is a lot of confusion about this weight fascism. We blame fashion. We blame models. We blame ageism and advertising and celebrity. But who stands to gain from ostracising women because they are too curvaceous or too thin? Other women, that’s who: women who mistrust their own sex and who lack confidence in themselves.
Skinny bitch or fat cow: which side of the line are you? The fact is, you can’t avoid taking sides. JK Rowling is the latest to show her colours. Provoked by articles commenting on her supposed “new diet”, she snapped back with: “In the interests of accuracy, I must point out that, far from losing weight, I’ve gained a good bit.” She also made references to Paris Hilton-type celebrities, describing them as “empty-headed, self-obsessed, emaciated clones”.
The underlying issue is becoming clear. In the fat camp are those who represent the forces of goodness and womanliness, or indulgence and ill discipline, depending on where you stand on the scales; in the skinny camp are the savvy, fit, modern girls, or the life-deniers – if you’re not so thin yourself. The size you are is a statement of your entire life philosophy, and the gulf between the two camps is filled with fear and misunderstanding. It is war, ladies, and it is our war. We are making enemies of each other on the basis of body shape.
Vanessa Feltz has recently lost four stone, but doesn’t anticipate it making the slightest difference to her public profile. “There has been a proprietorial interest in my weight ever since I became famous,” she says. “People come up to me in supermarkets and comment on what I am buying. It is very disconcerting.” She learnt, years ago, that weight is a stick to beat women with; size itself is a mere detail. “After my husband left, I was Vanessa with ‘breasts like Zeppelins’, and then a few weeks later I was ‘gaunt and haggard’. That was when I realised there is never a good day, never a point at which they say, ‘This is how a woman should look.’ ”
Maybe women are attacking each other over this issue because it symbolises a more general guilt and confusion about who we should be. “I have days when I feel fat, and days when I feel woman-shaped,” says Nigella. And perhaps this is all about how we define ourselves as women. Should we be at home, baking cakes? Should we be binding our pregnancy bumps in the boardroom? If we can turn all our anxieties about how we should be living our lives into a fight about our size, then maybe that is our way of coping.
“I don’t think that it has necessarily got worse: my mother was obsessed with weight,” says Feltz. “But now, nobody ever says, ‘Handsome is as handsome does, and so what if she’s put on few pounds – she’s still fascinating.’ That’s the real difference.”
http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/diet_and_fitness/article2941491.ece