Being a single, overweight woman in Los Angeles, I learned early on that my dating life will never be normal.Not just because men (and women) treat you differently or because single women can be competitive, but because I am my own worst enemy.
“If I wear this long jacket and stand just so, no one will even realize how overweight I am.” “If the lighting at the restaurant is dim enough, I can totally get away with this top.” “If I wear these heels, my legs will look slimmer. ” “If I make self-deprecating jokes about the size of my ass and make him laugh, he’ll fall in love with my sense of humor.” “If I show up later in the evening, all the beautiful people will have gone home.” “If I show up earlier in the evening, all the beautiful people won’t be there yet.” “If he isn’t interested, it’s fine — who meets their soulmate in a bar anyway? In a very pragmatic way, it is also actually physically hard to meet someone in Los Angeles.
Our bars and restaurants are crowded, and I hate being the big girl trying to squeeze into a booth or through the room. Asking a restaurant hostess to move my party to another table because I literally could not fit into it.
They hide behind compliments that are really back-handed insults like, “There’s so much more of you for me to squeeze.” It’s hard to remember that if a guy’s a douchebag, I don’t want him anyway. But sometimes all I can remember is the sting of rejection, his cruel remark, or him looking through me to the skinny model in the corner.
Similarly, it’s always hard to remember that I do not have to settle, that I am entitled to my happy ending just as much as the next girl, whatever size she may be.
No law says I have to lower my standards, even though sometimes a guy will make me feel like I do. I’ll never forget the time a friend implied that I should “keep to my own.” Since I am heavy, I guess I need to date a heavy guy. I'm not allowed to be attracted to Chris Evans because he's fit.