Out of Context: How Blondes Made Me Fat

Barbie

I think every woman that I know has been affected by "The Barbie Effect." I was a child of the 80's, a time when even cartoon heroines like Jem and She-Ra looked like Barbie. It was what I was supposed to be. I spent my entire childhood wanting to have blue eyes with a large bust line and a small everything else. I was already blonde, so I dreamed of completing my Barbie transformation once puberty hit, including the mandatory blue contacts.

I was around six years old when I decided that I did not want to be fat. I looked at my family, and most of them were obese, a fact that many of my school mates loved to point out when they were in an especially aggressive mood (the tomboy in me delivered playground justice for this infraction). My father most resembled a Gorg from Fraggle Rock from where I was standing. The only people in my family who were not overweight was my bulimic aunt and my naturally petite mother, who was always on a diet and did 99 crunches every night.

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Marilyn

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In my tween years, just as I started the awkward phase of pre-puberty, I discovered Marilyn Monroe. She altered my vision of future me slightly because she was not a plastic doll or a cartoon. The vision of an ideal me was reinforced by a real person who was admired by so many. It had not occurred to me that she was, sadly, a plastic, cartoon, used "Barbie" doll herself. I had no such insight at that age. Observing her in only still shots, advertisements, and a few funny movies, I came to the brilliant conclusion that planning stupid along with my future Barbie/Marilyn look would be the best route to take in life. 

Good bye, Winnie Cooper. You almost had me because you were close enough to a tomboy, and you made smart okay, but the illustrious lure of being a pampered Blonde Bombshell seemed like it would be more fun.

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Pamela 

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As I entered my teen years, the popular stars on cable TV were Rhonda Shear ("Up All Night"), Christina Applegate, Jenny McCartney, and, the epitome of "The Barbie Effect", Pamela Anderson. I learned very quickly that I had to start adding an amount of sex appeal into my act if I was going to truly accomplish this, which I learned from watching 90210.

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These were my role models, despite my mother who was  desperately tried to get me to focus on the quality of my character and the importance of my education.

Once I got breasts (it felt like overnight process from nothing to a 32D), I just knew that my life was going to be made forever. Most teenagers are self-absorbed and vapid on any given day, but I had unknowingly turned myself into a plastic shell.

Plastic shells are hard, cold, and empty. I lived many years that way in an attempt to be a source of perfection with my own pink Dream House and a pink Corvette. I thought that I would work on the side as a singer and fashion designer, but mostly, I would simply be lavished upon by some perfect Ken.

SLAM. ON. THE. BRAKES.

As I mentioned, most of my family was obese. I had a small body with a big chest for about a year before my hips and thighs caught up with me. I was taller and had broader shoulders than almost every girl I knew and now, I was getting wider. During the early 1990's, no one was talking about eating healthy or the importance of exercise. The exception was my mother, who had learned how vital a healthy body image was for girls by this time; but, what teenage girl listens to their mother? The solution for me was bulimia.

When you become an empty, superficial person, you are very susceptible to becoming an equally dark and angry person. This happens for a few reasons, but for me it was a combination of a fake identity, a self-hatred for not being Barbie or Pam, and past "demons" that alienated me from being able to reach out to anyone with anything other than anger, hatred, and manipulation. 

Although I was surrounded by family and friends, I stayed alone in my dark world. The only thing that made me feel better was eating a gallon of ice cream or an entire pizza. Afterwards, I would feel the shame and regret that all bulimics do and simply want the horrible feelings to be gone.

I struggled with my bulimia on and off for almost 15 years. After paying over $8,000 to fix teeth that I had damaged over the years, I decided that I would not binge anymore. It was a rare occasion that I purged after paying those dental bills.

What I didn't stop doing was binge eating.

By this point in my timeline of life, I had no clue how to love anyone, especially myself. Any attempt at intimacy in my adult life was plagued with my deeply-rooted insecurities, which I masked by transforming myself mentally into some Marilyn Monroe/ Pamela Anderson mash-up character, fulfilling whatever fantasy that I thought would work.

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The binge eating went from being a solution for a bad day to a daily pattern of sneaking to the gas station to fill my heart with the love of Little Debbie and Mr. Pibb. They made me feel whole and gave me warmth, yet my self-hatred grew along with the rest of my body. The more I hated myself, the more I ate. I was still blonde, and I still wore Pin-Up Girl make-up, but I had ballooned to a B.M.I. of 37.6 (245 lbs.). I was no Barbie, no Marilyn, and no Pam. I was an empty mess who had managed to turn everything that was good in my life into a reflection of the darkness that grew inside me (NERD ALERT: feel free to insert a Red Witch comment here).

What was I going to do now that my life-long idea of the only thing that would make me worthy had not only failed, but had also destroyed me?

My next weight-related blog will be - Being Fat Made Me a Better Person

Until next time, BE LOUDER THAN MOST!!!!