In case you haven’t noticed, fat bodies are having a moment.

It’s apparent in marketing strategies like Victoria’s Secret’s recent 180-degree turn toward size inclusivity; in the abundance of plus-sized TV and book characters reaching beyond stereotypical “fat friend” roles, and every time pop phenom Lizzo proudly struts her extra-large frame across the stage to wild applause.

The new era message is fat positivity, and to the casual observer at least, it appears there’s never been a more affirming time to be a big person.

Da'Shaun L. Harrison knows better. Large, Black, and queer, they exist at a precarious nexus of historically undervalued identities with complex social stigmas that reach far beyond what a few size-inclusive ad campaigns can address.

They look to links between police violence and obesity, media coverage labeling Black cuisine as inherently unhealthy, and chronically poor healthcare experiences among large, minority people as evidence that fat-phobia is alive, well, and inextricably connected with racism.

Calling out and dismantling the interplay of weight-stigma and racism is the Atlanta activist’s life’s work, and a topic they recently tackled in their freshman book, “Belly of the Beast, The Politics of Anti-Fatness as Anti-Blackness.”

In it, they dissect the troubling historic relationship between race and weight, shedding light on the ways fat bias reflects and supports structural racism while neutralizing would-be agitators with an empty message of body positivity.

Harrison hopes to nudge people of all sizes into thinking about fat-phobia, not as a social problem affecting a select group of Americans, but a broad political issue impacting all people of color.

In short, Harrison says, it’s time to stop thinking positive messages are enough to override the compounded problems people face from being fat and Black.

“There’s this idea that I think so many people have sort of espoused over recent years through this body positivity movement that asserts that if you are confident and love yourself, nothing about the way the rest of the world is structured matters,” Harrison says. “That’s just not true.”

Hiding in Plain Sight

For many, the notion of anti-fatness as a result of anything besides social or personal preferences can sound a bit half-baked. Indeed, Rutgers University Associate Professor Brittney Cooper earned criticism for a 2019 TV appearance in which she connected Black female obesity with Trump-era policies.

But a closer look reveals the relationship between fat and race is neither new nor far-fetched.

For centuries, excessive fat was widely considered a plus, signaling general health and even wealth, and celebrated in everything from the wide-bottomed fertility goddess sculptures of antiquity to the fleshy figures popularized by classical European artists like Peter Paul Rubens. Those attitudes shifted over the years, notably with the introduction of the Atlantic slave trade, according to sociologist Sabrina Stringer. Around that time, Stringer argues, racism began associating Black bodies with so-called vices like excess sexuality, eating, and weight—birthing a long-standing association of thinness with morality and whiteness.

Fast-forward to today, and Harrison says fat-phobia as a signal of anti-Black sentiment is still going strong.

“That is the origin of health and healthiness in the US,” says Harrison, who explores the history early in his book. “As such, there’s no way for Black folks, in general, to fully be able to embody health as a concept.”

Instead, Harrison says Black folks get a stream of “health” messages that devalue their identity: from continuous coverage of larger Black women as icons of poor health to indictments of historically Black foods as the cause of the nation’s expanding waistline.

The result is continued demonizing of people of color, Harrison says.

“The idea is to enforce this idea that we don’t get to have any part of our culture if we want to be deemed as healthy or well,” Harrison says.

At the same time, Harrison argues eating habits are blamed for poor health outcomes in minority communities, shifting attention from racial disparities in healthcare.

It’s all overshadowed by newly popularized “healthy at any size” messages which, while seemingly affirming, allow people to ignore the important systemic changes needed to truly improve life for people of size.

“Fat folks are able to exist in the world and feel however they want about their body and still have to live with the consequences of having a fat body—especially if they’re Black,” Harrison says. “As long as we push this idea that self-love is enough to do away with structural violence, we dismiss and in many ways gaslight fat folks around the violence we’re experiencing.”

Harrison’s theories aren’t without criticism. For one, messages promoting better eating and exercise aren’t targeted only at Black audiences. And Blacks of all sizes remain subject to systemic racism.

Yet, Harrison argues the Black body has become almost synonymous with poor health, a fact that’s neither accidental nor something that should be ignored.

Body Positivity Isn’t Enough

It was a classic Lizzo moment: At a December 2019 Lakers game, pop artist Lizzo flashed her bare, Rubenesque buttocks before the camera, launching a firestorm of criticism.

For many, the issue came down to tackiness. For Harrison, however, it just underscored that recently popularized body positivity messages don’t override the association of Black bodies—especially fat ones—with immorality.

“It’s very much a product of colonialism and anti-Blackness,” Harrison says. “This idea that we have to represent our race as best as possible, and fatness cannot be considered good.”

While feel-good body positivity messages on commercials or social media may make people feel good, Harrison says it’s the responsibility of everyone—and especially people of color—to personally challenge their own attitudes to better support fat-bodied people daily.

That means not making comments about a family member’s size at Thanksgiving or asking a fat friend how they are doing before turning them into a sounding board for your personal problems. 

Ensuring that Black bodies aren’t synonymous with society’s ills is something that matters to people of color, whatever their size, Harrison says.

“You know what it means to show up in the world and be marginalized for just who you are,” Harrison says. “That should be more than enough reason for you to care.”

Cover Image of Da’Shaun L. Harrison by Dwayne Wayne Jr.