” If American men are obsessed with money, American women are obsessed with weight. The men talk of gain, the women talk of loss,
and I do not know which talk is the more boring.” – Marya Mannes
“I dread going to the party,” I told Teri. “I haven’t seen those people for a long time. They’re going to go on and on about my weight loss.”
She paused, weighing her words. “That’s interesting. Three months ago, you were disappointed that nobody had commented on your weight loss.”
If Teri were not such a good friend, she might have said, “Can’t you ever be satisfied, woman?”
And I would have had to admit that, no, I’m never satisfied with my weight, nor is any woman I know. Not when I was a slinky high school senior and thought I was fat. Not when I was at my bulimic, anorexic low of 127 pounds. And certainly not now.
If Teri were not such a good friend, she might have said,” That is completely irrational!”
And I would have had to admit that, yes, I’m not rational about my weight, nor is any woman I know.
A friend asked when she awakened in the recovery room after a mastectomy, “How much weight did I lose when you cut off my breast?”
A skinny 65-year-old woman I know said that one of the good things about getting Invisilign braces was she was losing weight because it was such a pain to take them out for meals that she just wasn’t eating.
I once heard a woman say that when she was diagnosed with cancer, her doctor said, “That is a very big tumor for such a small woman.” She said, “small” was the word she glommed onto.
And what woman doesn’t weigh herself after the three-day colonoscopy prep?
Yes, women are completely insane about their weight.
If Teri were not such a good friend, she might have said, “Get over yourself. Nobody cares about your weight.”
Teri is such a good friend . . . to lie like this. She knows that women are obsessed with everyone’s weight, most especially their own, and it’s a competition: Who is winning and who is losing The Battle of the Scale.
To women, weight is not just a number on a scale, a data point on their medical chart, a simple numerical descriptor like height. Weight is a test that is graded on a curve; you are at the top of the class if your weight is at the bottom. It’s as if it’s against the rules to take up space, to be too much.
Most of us are not maintaining our weights. We are either losing or gaining. People—and when I say people, I mean me, too– notice both trajectories in others.
They are super curious to know how you lost weight:
Breast Feeding? Weight Watchers? Keto? Whole30? Half 15? Atkins? DASH? South Beach? Left Bank? Mediterranean? Flexitarian? Paleo?
Fasting? Protein shakes? St. John’s Wart? St. Vitus Dance?
Bariatric Surgery? Jaws wired shut? Coma?
And as interested as people are in your weight reduction, they are equally attentive to your weight gain.
They will probably be too polite to mention it. My husband certainly won’t say anything, and if you’ve trained your spouse well, he or she won’t mention it, either.
But my dad did, mentally weighing me when I wore a bathing suit, when I was walking away, when I ordered a meal . . . even though he was overweight himself.
He’d watch a hefty woman walk by and say, “She must weigh 150 pounds,” and I’d think, how much do you think I weigh?
He’d say, “You don’t need that dessert,” and I’d think, I’ll have two.
My mother was a little cagier when she made references to my weight. When she was about to shop for my birthday present one year she said, “What size are you wearing these days.” When I told her I was pregnant with my second child, she said, “Oh, I wish you had waited until you lost your baby weight.” (Incidentally, I still haven’t lost that baby weight, and that baby is now 39.)
For women, there is so much shame attached to this number, what amounts to, after all, just a measurement of gravity’s pull on you. We consider excess weight a moral failure, a lack of character, misbehavior. That we are disappointing.
Women don’t tell their husbands how much they weigh. They don’t tell their girlfriends. They wouldn’t confess it to their priests. They’d lie about it to Robert Mueller.
How many people know how much I weigh? That would be two, my doctor and the nurse who weighed me. And why do I care so much about what these relative strangers think about that number, that I will fast and restrict my liquid and sodium intake days before the weigh-in?
Celebrities spend less time planning their wardrobes for the red carpet than I do preparing for a doctor’s weigh-in. Shoes I can slip off. No glasses, no sweater, no earrings. No ear wax, no tartar, no dandruff. And why? Why, I ask you?
I don’t pretend to understand the mind of men, but, in general, I don’t think they sweat that number like women do. My husband hops on the doctor’s scale wearing his parka and snow boots, with his phone, keys, and wallet in his pocket, while clutching his ipad and insurance cards.
Recently my husband and I visited our friends’ apartment building which was a converted grain mill. In the fitness room, there was the original platform grain scale with a round white dial the size of a semi-truck tire. The two men raced to weigh themselves, even though their weights were readily visible to anyone in the room and to motorists on the highway. Never, never, never would two women do this.
So what is the right way to react to someone’s noticeable weight change?
I am reminded of something shocking that happened last week. There is a gentleman in our building I’ve been exchanging pleasantries with for eight years. Don’t know his name, but I often find myself walking behind him as he strides to his office a couple blocks away. So last week I came out of the building and he was there, sitting in a wheelchair, with just one leg. How to react to an amputation? Do you simply say hello, or do you ask, what happened, or do you tell a joke about a pirate with a peg leg?
Commenting on a friend’s sudden weight change is no less a land mine than reacting to an acquaintance’s amputation.
If a friend has gotten noticeably fatter, it’s easy. “Hi. So glad to see you. Would you please pass the guacamole?”
But if the person is thinner, what to say?
A man would say to another man, “Hey, Dude, where’s your gut?” or “Too bad your nose didn’t get smaller like your ass did?” or “Maybe now you can get laid.”
But to a woman? I just don’t know.
“You look wonderful,” or, “You look healthy,” or, “What’s your secret?”
Or maybe just, “Hi. So glad to see you. Would you please pass the guacamole?”
If that friend is me, no matter what you say, I will call Teri the next day and say, “The food at that party! I bet I gained five pounds.”
And because she is such a good friend, she won’t say, “So what? What’s the big deal.”
Because she is such a good friend, she will say, “I am sure you didn’t.” Because she knows to me, inexplicably, irrationally, insanely, that number is a big deal to me.
I think when I was just born and the nurse laid me in that metal cradle of a scale, I probably pushed one tiny foot out and pressed it against the table until the needle dropped below 8 pounds. Loved your blog.
You are hilarious! I wish I had thought of that quip.
Oh, Sandy, you did it again! Put into words what every woman is thinking. Have you noticed, when another woman is trying to get in your good graces, she will begin with, “Have you lost weight, dear?”
Your delightful piece has made my day!
Good point, Ned. Never thought of that. Glad I have company in this insanity! I now weigh myself just once a month. So much better, but the day before I weigh myself, I’m a nervous wreck.
I AM such a good friend but i will not tell you my weight either. My scale measures tenths of a pound and yes, that scale measures the kind of day I will have. “We consider excess weight a moral failure, a lack of character, misbehavior. That we are disappointing.”
Thank you, friend, who has been there every step and weigh-in along the weigh. Now have Ken hide your scale.
“They’d lie about it to Robert Mueller.” 🤣 Every word of this rings true, Sandy; well done!
Thank you for reading this . . . again! You are such an important part of my writing process. Thank you.
197 and holding. No matter what I do. I realize that number means I am FAT. I can live with that! Once you reach my age weight is the least of your problems. But I certainly remember those days of Weight Watchers, Diet Workshop, on and on. Glad to leave it all behind as Sue and I have our ice cream every night. I am diabetic or should I say was diabetic. Seems to have given up and left me.
Just my opinion, Teri, Ned, Sandy all of you are beautiful women. You are just right. Not kidding.
You are brave to put the number in black and white. We do hit that set point where our bodies just want to be. Especially great that your diabetes has resolved. Mine too! That’s a biggie. Now, go eat your ice cream.
Oh Sandy I live for your posts! Absolutely the best emails in my inbox, every time. The weight is a hefty issue w all of us. You nailed so many complex feelings. I try to tell current me that future me would want me to wear the more fitted outfit that shows the curves and not the caftan that I prefer because it hides all my soft spots. Can’t wait for more from you : )
You were always such a beautiful person to me that I can honestly say that your beauty outshined everything else…the amazing kindness I saw you show people…that uncommon kindness and dedication. No, I don’t notice your weight. I notice Beautiful You.
Soooo true….sadly! As always, this is hilarious but spot on. C’mon gals, let’s revolt!
I love this, Sandy. Hit the nail on the head. When my sister was in the hospital going through the long, involved steps of getting ready for a bone marrow transplant (I was the donor – amazing experience!), despite chemo, not eating (drip nutrition), etc. . . . she gained weight. That’s just how we roll in this family. I haven’t been comfortable with my weight since about third grade. And when I was a curvy little size eight bombshell, I still hated my thighs, my butt, my upper arms. My other 5’2 friends were wearing size two. I can honestly say that I don’t feel much different about my body in a size 18 vs. 8 (note that POUNDS will never cross these lips). So, I’m trying again. This time more because I see my elderly mother struggle walking and getting up from chairs, even into bed. I want to get stronger and healthier before it is literally too late. You and Teri are inspiring and I’m happy for you both. XOXO – hope we can all get together again this year!
I get on the doctor’s scale backwards. I tell the nurse to just write it down and don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I weigh myself at home almost every day. But at home, I’m buck naked. I don’t want to know how much my clothes and time of day add on. Just write it down and let’s move on.
I see young women over at the Health Plex and say to my husband, “I’ve never had a butt that small. Not even when I was born.” And it’s the absolute truth. I have no memory of a butt that small. And firm.
Weight has always been a major issue for me–and my mom was much like your mom with her helpful quips. And then there was the time my friend was asked when she was due–she wasn’t pregnant. She was mortified. I was mortified because I WAS pregnant. So, I don’t comment on weight (Except for the time you, Holly and I had lunch and Holly bright it up). I don’t mention gains or losses. I let the person initiate any discussion of weight. It’s weigh too touchy a subject for me!!
I loved your blog! You cut right to the chase! Thanks for sharing your personal demons with all of us! xo
Wow! This says so much. With my mastectomy it was not so much the loss but the weight I’ve gained while on tamoxifen. When I go to any doctor now I absolutely refuse to get on the scale. The nurse is dumbfounded I simply refuse. It’s my right. Seeing that number is demoralizing and isn’t it all just ridiculous.
“It’s as if it’s against the rules to take up space, to be too much.” So true! When I had my knee surgery last Spring, I requested one of my husband’s FEMALE partners as my anesthesiologist because if someone HAD to know my weight, let it be another woman. Besides, I would trust a woman to keep a secret over a man, We think all kinds of crazy thoughts around weight! Thanks for putting this into words —and funny ones at that!
All sadly true! But I laughed out loud reading this so many times… I love the part about Rick getting on the scale at the doctor’s office wearing his parka etc…
I worry about the weight of my earrings on doctor day!
I think Janis Joplin sang freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose? Did she mean weight?
“It’s as if it’s against the rules to take up space, to be too much.” As usual, your piece is funny (they’d lie to Robert Mueller!), but, at bottom, profound. I love your blog almost as much as I love you.