how to get bigger

and feel great doing it

I recognize the irony in writing what I’m about to write from an an airplane, arguably the most inhospitable environment for every person, let alone a fat person. Most of the time, I can find ways to feel comfortable in my skin and trust that my surroundings will somehow, eventually, feel agreeable and accommodating , but nine times out of 10 being on a plane is just an endless exercise in stuffing — stuffing myself, stuffing my stuff, considering my proximity to others’ stuffing of themselves and their stuff. The vibes are, in fact, miserable.

Sitting here in my stuffed state, I was thinking about how it’s not any wonder that as the trend of formerly fat influencers going on loud weight loss journeys in the name of becoming “better versions of themselves,” flying is often used as an example of something that prompted them, once and for all, to try and lose weight. I get it. If I was going to have a reckoning with my body, this plane feels like the precise flashpoint to set that in motion. Frankly, I might be like, one accidental slam into the armrest away from complete ego death.

The narrative of intentional weight loss often unfurls from the idea that if you shrink yourself — psychologically and emotionally of course, but also literally reduce the size of your body — you’ll find a way to be more comfortable in the world. It’s not an incorrect hypothesis. Existence is a tight squeeze with a lot of small spaces, and I’m not just talking about the narrow scope of social acceptability and people’s perspectives. There are theater seats, tight booths at a great restaurant, jeans (always jeans), hotel robes, a hospital gowns, work uniforms, sticky benches on the subway, narrow turnstiles, amusement park rides, life jackets, and yes, every single goddamn plane seat I have ever known.

For people in larger bodies, particularly those in very large bodies who regularly confront size-related accessibility issues, the world can feel like an obstacle course that has to be strategized, navigated, and conquered every time you leave the house. And, if you’re fat but still privileged enough to consider yourself a person with “real” accessibility issues, that worried speculation about what will work for you body and what won’t still systematically invades your consciousness, especially when it’s time to try something new. At all of the different stages of existing in my body — always fat, but varying degrees of it, and always extremely tall — I’ve felt this. When I was a kid, I walked to school battling high levels of anxiety about being able to slide into those cursed school desks that attach to their own chairs, or having to pretend I didn’t want to ride in one of those coveted motorized Jeeps for kids, when if fact I couldn’t really fit in it. As a teen, I worried about fitting into the pinnies in gym class or successfully shopping with my friends without having them notice I wasn’t trying anything on. As an adult, I’ve worried about a spa robe fitting me, or a sociopathically designed bar stool at a restaurant ruining my meal, looking weird in a chair at work, or making people uncomfortable around me by sitting down next to them during my morning Sometimes, the fear of not fitting is kind of irrational (pretty sure I never needed to worry about sinking most of the boats I’ve ever stepped onto, nor do I have to do quick weight limit calculations in my head whenever I step onto a full elevator). Sometimes, that fear is realized and it’s completely defeating (once, after riding a series of rollercoasters all day, I was asked to get off a rollercoaster with a particularly small seat. I still remember what the air smelled like as I walked to the exit in abject humiliation before I was predictably distracted from my shame by funnel cake).

Most of the time, though, the fear and worry is just there, its presence making itself known through mental flashes of a worst case scenario that may or may not come to pass.

And like I said, I can’t blame anyone for not wanting that lingering presence to be there.

And lately, I’ve had some experiences that make me think about how absolutely glorious would be if society would stretch more than its deigned to and at least attempt to fit everyone. Imagine if the onus wasn’t on the individual to worry their way to finding a way to accommodate themselves, but on changes that spaces in the world could make to assuage just a bit more worry and let us all think about shit a little bit less? I’m not proposing every 100 year old theater rip its seats out and replace them with something comfier (but also, do that) or that an airline should go back to letting us all fly like Don Draper in a La-Z-Boy (but also, do that!!!) — just stuff getting a little bigger (in physicality and spirit) so we don’t have to worry about getting smaller, you know?

In the spirit of expansion, here are some of the little things:

• In January, my girlfriend and I spent the day at World Spa, which is this incredible 50,000 square foot spa facility tucked away on an unassuming street in Brooklyn. Inside the spa there are all manner of different rooms and treatments, like Turkish and Moroccan hammams, Japanese onsen pools, a Finnish sauna, and Russian banyas of varying sizes. I prefer the latter, because the only thing I love more than sweating is listening to a group of hairy men with barrel bellies guffaw and carry on in Russian while I try to guess what they’re talking about (wives? murder? are they all gay and love each other?) While they’re talking they regularly douse the sauna stones with water to increase the temperature, daring each other to leave. I never leave, and low key I hope they respect me for it. Anyways, after a couple of particularly annoying spa/ facial experiences where the provided robe barely closed, I was nervous my day at World Spa would be defined by having to walk around with my robe open or oddly tied (you wear a swimsuit all day but move from room to room in your robe, you also eat in your robe which means it really needs to keep you cozy). But I had nothing to worry about: I asked if they had larger sized robes, and they just…did? And someone just…handed one to me? And they didn’t have to…make it a whole weird thing? And they didn’t even…look different? So I could…seamlessly blend in with Anatoly and Gleb? Incredible.

• This year I started trying new classes with Power Plus Wellness, which is a size inclusive collective that organizes exercises classes for people who want to attempt different types of exercise and training but would prefer to not subject themselves to all of the strange and uncomfortable things that can happen when you’re fat or out of shape or even just a little bit nervous and awkward in a new fitness environment. I’m actually not someone who gets super nervous in those environments (at most, I experience low grade anxiety about dropping a kettle bell on my foot or falling off the Pilates carriage) but being in an environment specifically designed to remove all fear of something not being “right” or “enough” really brought me to a new level of focus during the workout that I haven’t totally achieved before, and that maybe can’t be achieved when you’re even a teeny tiny bit spirally. Power Plus Wellness is organized, enthusiastic, and expanding their offerings all the time, and I, for one, can’t wait to watch them grow.

• In 2018, Emma Zacks founded Berriez, a clothing shop that curates plus size vintage and reworked clothing by independent designers. The brand started as a hobby, and I remember reading the Berriez “Our Story” section on their website for the first time, wherein Emma begins by reciting her version of the fat girl call to prayer: When I was 12 years old, I cried on the floor of a Macy’s dressing room while shopping for the dress I’d wear at my Bat Mitzvah. Emma has since grown the brand exponentially, and now occupies a lovely studio space that is blessedly (for me and perhaps not my wallet) about a five minute walk from my place in Brooklyn. Going there is always such a glorious reminder of what happens when you approach the reality of your limitations (in this case, vintage fashion, which is simultaneously everywhere but also absolutely nowhere for plus sizes) with an expansive mindset. Not everyone has to run their own business or create a fashion brand (and having gotten to know Emma and seeing how hard she works, I’d venture to say she would tell people to absolutely not do that) but she did, and what that created was new threads to the idea of what dressing as a plus size person can not only look like, but feel like — seeing a bunch of extremely hot, fashionable people of varying sizes and styles milling around the Berriez racks is extremely gratifying in a way I can’t really describe. It feels — dare I say it — big. Huge, even.

Like I said, when it comes to imagining a world that accommodates versus limits, it’s not everything. It’s not even close, in fact it barely scratches the surface. But it felt good to just have something fit, or to be in a space where size was never going to be an issue, or to walk over to a clothing rack where I knew every weird and wonderful thing I put on my body would zip. In the midst of all the conversation about how the world grows and opens up to you when you make yourself smaller, it’s worth talking about the experiences that prove it’s possible for the world to feel bigger and better, even if you stay exactly the same. Your body isn’t the only thing that’s possible to “fix” — other elements of the world are capable of expanding, and everything can feel a little bit bigger and full of possibility when they do.

Not this plane seat, though. This fucking thing is a lost cause.

j