Getting A Fat Body Done Pt. 1: The Underground Railroad

Plastic surgery for plus-sized folks is full of smoke and mirrors.

Welp, I finally got my body done. And in the process of “getting on the table,” I had to confront everything I thought I knew about: the economics of beauty and wellness; the constant limitations put on fat bodies and how much of it I’ve internalized; and the true meaning of bodily autonomy. It’s been quite a bit to untangle, but I’ve had nothing but time on the road to recovery. This is part 1 of 3(?)

---

Readers of Bad Fat Black Girl: Notes From A Trap Feminist might remember this section, where I describe my body:

Rather than collect my excess in rounded hips and ass, most of it has decided to settle in my arms, back, and what I affectionately call my tire: the circumference around my lower abdomen, which includes the space above where my ass crack ends and my sagging belly. “Flat” is an understatement when describing my ass. My butt is more square shaped than anything else, and from certain angles it appears to be actively trying to squeeze itself into the rest of me, perhaps hoping even after all of these years to get some of the jiggle the rest of my body has in abundance… For the sake of comparison, it was once said on Facebook that I’m shaped not unlike a wisdom tooth. On my more disparaging days I feel boxy. When I’m feeling more gracious and accepting, which is the majority of the time, I settle on “wavy” as a good descriptor of what I look like. It’s more than curvy but soft and jiggly.

Needless to say, I’ve looked forward to having fewer “boxy” days for a long time. I liked my body, but I also liked the possibility of some remodeling.