Fat girls for dating

In fact, the typical flirter-with-Emily looks so much unlike this guy, that I assumed my train station beau wasn’t hitting on me at all and must be truly confused by the rail map. Guys “like that” don’t go for girls “like me.” I don’t mean smart girls, or feminist girls, or writerly types who rant on the Internet. Trim guys with defined abs, designer stubble, and movie star cheekbones want girls with flat stomachs and twiggy thighs. ***** Remember that Girls episode when Hannah enjoyed a two-day affair with a man played by Patrick Wilson and the Internet exploded with outrage at the impossibility of such an attraction?

How could someone like him—all American dreamboat—be attracted, on any level, to her soft, pale, wide-hipped, small-breasted body? When Wilson’s real wife got wind of the hysteria, she jumped in with a well-timed tweet: “funny, his wife is a size 10, muffin top & all, & he does her just fine.” A few years ago I caught myself applying the very flawed Patrick Wilson logic to a family of strangers at a water park.

As a matter of fact, I’ve never been hit on by a man in a suit, or a man wearing shined shoes, or a man with a briefcase.

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Because the truth is, the man at the train station found me lovely, he told me so when we met for coffee the next day.

Although it didn’t work out, it reminded me how much I’ve absorbed the harmful and false suggestion that “guys like that” only like a certain type, and “girls like me” aren’t it. As hard as it is for all of us to wrap our brains around, bombarded as we are with imagery telling us otherwise, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and beholders like all kinds of things.

I noticed them while I waited for a leisurely float down the lazy river.

The dad, graying at the temples, was thin and fit and still boyishly handsome at 40-something.

In exchange for pretty eyes I’ll put up with a soft tummy.

In exchange for a nice smile I’ll deal with thick thighs.

What kind of self-loathing is that to think that my body—the one that I spend all my time with and rely on and enjoy—would be the kind of thing someone would have to tolerate?

***** I have a friend who runs a pornographic tumblr [NSFW] with images from art, pop-culture, old comic books, personal galleries of exhibitionists, and straight-up pornography in one big heap o’ lady: a fully-dressed, androgynous black woman in suspenders, a gray-haired, 60-ish, tattooed yogi, a giant painting of glittered lips, a close-up of a fat girl’s belly button, the pulpy cover of a trashy dime store novel.

But with brothers I find, that they, too, have internalized a particular relationship to the body-type most associated with the mammy figure.

They see girls like me as sisters, as homegirls, but not as love options, because they don’t find big girls sexy.

Role/Reboot regular contributor Emily Heist Moss is a New Englander in love with Chicago, where she works in a tech start-up.

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