Why Huge is Huge

198 pounds

After seeing an ad for Huge that featured Nikki Blonsky (of Hairspray fame) in only her bathing suit, I had high hopes that this show about a bunch of teenagers at fat camp would push the obesity and body issue discussion into unchartered territory. And last night, Huge followed through on that implicit promise.

Not only does the show actually feature many, many people with real bodies . . .

curvy bodies,

lumpy bodies,

obese bodies,

—it also doesn't turn them into offensive fat jokes, which is what usually happens when we see overweight characters on film or in television, relegating them to being either the source of inane humor or the sidekick. Or—worse still—both.

But on Huge, "fat" people are real characters—fully developed people who are both likeable and fallible, making them incredibly empathetic and the show that much more interesting.

And let's be honest, a show about "fat" people—real, appealing, honest-to-God "fat" people—is huge in and of itself.

But, as we know from Tobey Maguire, with great power comes great responsibility. And this show has a huge responsibility as well: simply put, it must be honest about obesity. This is so important that I'm going to repeat it:

This show MUST be honest about obesity.

In other words, it can't convey the message that people are obese simply because they eat too much.

It's hard to say at this point which direction the show is going on this issue.

No, Huge isn't making offensive wisecracks about how much these characters eat, but it is showing them as kids who love their junk food. Blonsky's character—the wonderfully sassy Will (short for Wilhelmina)—keeps a stash of candy and snacks underneath the fake bottom of her suitcase, some of which she eats herself and some of which she sells on the fat camp black market. And after Will tries to run away from camp, the first thing she does is order a big plate of french fries and a large chocolate shake at a roadside dinner.

The message is clear: "fat" people like fatty foods.

And I don't really buy it.

I don't believe, for instance, that Blonsky is the size she is because she eats three times as much as the rest of us. I believe, instead, that she's that size because of her genes and because of the chemicals in our environment. (If you don't know what chemicals I'm talking about, be sure to read my "Rethinking Baby Fat" post.)

Still, I'm not ready to throw out the baby with the bath water.

And here's why . . .

Though camp director Dr. Rand—played by Firefly's Gina Torres—sends the message that Will is overweight solely because of the food she eats when she asks Will, "Don't you want to change your life?" Will isn't buying it. On more than one occasion, Will actively resists the idea that she needs to lose weight or that she shouldn't like herself the way she is, as do some of the other campers who post signs like this near their bunk:

Early on we also find out that Will's parents made her go to fat camp against her will. More importantly, she reveals that she doesn't even want to lose weight. "I'm down with my fat," she says during one scene, and later rolls her eyes with disgusts at one character's "thin-spiration" wall. And when Torres' Dr. Rand questions her in the diner, she responds by accusing Rand of wanting her to hate her body, something she is unwilling to do.

It remains to be seen whether or not Huge will fall in line with Will's take on her body or Dr. Rand's, but I can say this: as long as Will refuses to dislike herself the way she is, I'm there.

Red Alert!

ABC Family's new television show Huge starts tonight at 9 p.m. Eastern time. Be sure to tune in or set your DVR!

"Funny, heartbreaking and provocative, Huge follows the lives of seven teens and the staff at a weight-loss camp, as they look beneath the surface to discover their true selves and the truth about each other."

Fat camp champ: why adolescence never leaves us

199 pounds

If you feel like ANY of the things you have ever done to lose weight—or to feel better about your body—are at all messed up, then you have simply got to read Stephanie Klein's Moose. I just finished it a few weeks ago, and I'm not exaggerating when I say it it might be one of the best books I've ever read.

It's definitely one of the most important.

Moose is a memoir about Klein's experience growing up "fat" and being shipped off to fat camp by her somewhat unsympathetic parents.

I put the word "fat" in quotation marks because, as I mentioned in my "Fat is off the list" post, I don't think that word is productive, but also because Klein was never really fat.

Chubby, yes. But not fat.

If you don't believe me, here are some pictures to prove it:

The image on the left shows Klein as a plump teen around the time the book takes place, and the picture on the right is the one that appears on the back of her book: the author as a successful, gorgeous, and obviously thin adult woman.

Though the book doesn't exactly chronicle how Klein finally kicks the fat habit, it does beautifully narrate her horrific experiences trying to lose weight any way she could while growing up in a world that does not accept people who struggle with weight. Ironically, when Klein goes to fat camp, she is one of the thinnest people there, and as a result, becomes popular and sought-after. As it turns out, even at fat camp, skinny wins.

But what's so moving about this book is that Klein goes through what we all—fat or not—went through when we were young: feeling unattractive, struggling to fit in, and just wanting to be normal.

Sadly, Klein's parents offer little understanding of her situation. At one point, the whole family goes to a "pay what you weigh" dinner, and when Klein refuses to get on the scale, rather than empathize, they tell her that the whole world is prejudiced against fat people and that she'll be much happier if she loses weight.

Ouch.

It's to Klein's credit that she doesn't shy away from painting her mother and father as imperfect—if ultimately loving—parents.

As a result, it's hard not to be completely moved by how challenging it is for Klein to experience adolescence with an extra thirty pounds to lug around and parents who are pushing her to eat lighter fare while scooping out the scalloped potatoes for themselves. And this is why you can't help but walk away from the book with a better understanding of the fact that your own adolescence—no matter how awkward—wasn't that bad by comparison. This is because when young Stephanie suffers from the taunts of her peers or—worse yet—her parents and teachers (one of whom insists she admit she's "gorda"—or fat—in Spanish class), so do you, and the book is obviously better for it.

This is a must-read for any woman who has ever struggled with weight or body issues.

In other words, it's a must-read for all of us.