You know how it is. Lotta fatties on OKC. Your first harbinger of this— I mean, besides everybody knowing that the internet is full of fat chicks, this fact having suffused our popular culture, etc.—your first harbinger of this is the weight class list it makes you pick from, which has like two words for skinny and fifteen different kinds of fat.
Because of course we all know “average” means fat. These eighteen to thirty-five year old L.A. girls are generously assorting themselves according to the national average across all age groups. Not the average for eighteen to thirty-five year olds in Los Angeles, California, as a reasonable layman would expect “average” to mean when looking for that age group in this city. These girls are following the letter of the law and not the spirit, like Hasids who string yarn along the telephone wires on their block so they’re technically in an enclosed space and can walk around on the Sabbath. So “average” means fat.
“Curvy” means fat. Not a chick with big boobs and a big ass but otherwise reasonably fit proportions, as a reasonable layman would expect it to mean. “Curvy” means “I am fat but I have big tits. And I don’t want to be lumped in with these inferior small titted fatties, and besides when guys look at me they don’t see ‘fat,’ they see ‘tits,’ so the defining feature of my physical being is tits and I’m gonna put ‘curvy.’” “Curvy” also has the advantage of seeming more erotic, like “voluptuous.” “Curvy“ is a fat girl who will give you doe eyes in a bar and suck your dick on the first date. There’s a sub class of “curvy” who purport to be the reasonable layman’s definition of “curvy,” and they always have a big paragraph about how “CURVY DOES NOT MEAN ‘FAT’ IT MEANS I HAVE BIG BOOBS AND A BIG BUTT AND I AM NOT LIKE ALL THE OTHER FAT ‘CURVY’ GIRLS ON HERE,” which, I bet if you showed up to a date with these girls, they would be fat. There are also fat girls with small tits who say “curvy,” which– get the fuck out of here. By the way, fat girls with small tits—God. You must have torched a village in a past life.
And let’s not even get into what a cruel joke the word “few” in “a few extra pounds” is. And “athletic,” and “fit,” which through sad experimentation I have learned both mean a fat chick with muscle under her fat, not the lean vegan Pilates instructor build you’d think “fit” meant for an eighteen to thirty five year old woman in Los Angeles. So, unless it says “thin,” the girl is going to be fat.
And even “thin—“ I bet the dishonesty creep that internet dating causes, you know, everybody exaggerating just a little bit and then everybody else has to exaggerate just a little bit more to compete— so that by the time my son is dating on the holographic cybernetic implant internet, all women will be “thin” and all men will be nine feet tall and earning six billion dollars a year– I bet this means that a lot of girls who describe themselves as “thin” are in fact fat. Because they are again comparing themselves to the national average which is heavily weighted down by fifty-five year old women with eight grandkids who work at the Hormel factory and get to bring home factory-irregular packages of spam and chili which they then gnaw on while watching Ron Popeil roaster infomercials late into the night. They are slightly below this national average so therefore they must be “thin.” Or they were thin once. They were thin once and gained weight but “thin” is still their concept of themselves, which, the evidence is right there– just look at all my photos from 2005; I am “thin.” I bet a lot of the time when you message a thin girl and she shows up for the first date she’s fat. Although I don’t know for sure since a thin girl has never messaged me back.
So there’s a lot of fat chicks.
And look man, I don’t need to tell you that when you’re trying to get a date, being fat is a pretty big fucking deal. Obviously I’m focusing on women here but for the guys, too—I know there’s this idea that you’re constantly seeing fat bald schlubs walking around with chicks who look like Zooey Deschanel, and that for men appearance isn’t that important and etc. etc. But this is bullshit. I only ever see chicks who look like Zooey Deschanel walking around with guys with button noses and lantern jaws, and less than ten per cent body fat. Guys who look like Casper Van Dien and are built like champion kick boxers and had a seven episode arc on some CW show. Those are the guys who are pulling that waitress who when she briefly placed her hot palm on your shoulder when presenting the check you felt like– you felt a tickly feeling like the first time you ever jacked off and thought you were some secret genius who had invented it.
So being fat matters; it is a big deal, and you know, dating is a big deal. I have a career type job, many friends, a delightful pet cat, and rewarding hobbies, but still– all I ever think about is: how am I gonna meet women? Dating is a big deal. So why do you allow yourself to hold on to this massive disadvantage in this most important area of life? There’s some things you can’t change, obviously—I for one have a face that looks like it was severely damaged with a piece of farm equipment, and there’s nothing I can do about that. But you better god damn believe I have meaty pectorals with what appears to be a zipper zigzagging down between them, and visible obliques, and a fingery lattice of muscle crisscrossing over my ribs when I lift my arms above my head, and different muscle groups kind of elbowing each other out of the way when I flex my ass in the mirror, which I often do. And biceps with a peak on them, and etc. etc. All of this covered with a solid but not Jersey-Shore-ostentatious fake tan to highlight the contrast between these various chiseled muscles.
And I have bought these things with great pain because dating is fucking important. Finding a mate to spend the rest of your motherfucking life with is important. And sad as it may be, people are fucking shallow.
But maybe, for the fattie, getting into the best possible shape isn’t a matter of merely going to the gym and just sucking up the hours of agony and tedium. Maybe for a fat chick the parallel is, like— for me, I hate my job where I spend ten hours per day; I am generally self-loathing, I have never traveled, and I have accomplished nothing of worth, ever. And maybe my asking them “why are you so fat” isn’t like asking “why don’t you just go to the gym?” Maybe it’s like asking me: “why are you so broke? Why are you so mean? Why are you so miserable? Why don’t you just get your fucking life together and use your talents to do something you love, and maybe you wouldn’t hate yourself.” Maybe changing their body in this way is a complex, difficult, life-changing process involving deep and painful self examination. Maybe it’s a shattering of one’s world so huge that you look at the distance between here and there and don’t even know where to begin.
Or maybe they just think someone will be able to look past their looks and see inside to the beautiful person they truly are. Which– fucking come on, man.