Young, Fat, and Gifted

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In the first episode of Survival of the Thickest, a half-hour Netflix comedy series adapted from Michelle Buteau’s 2020 eponymous memoir, there’s a hilariously tragic scene that encapsulates the show’s keen ability to be both relatable and over-the-top. After Mavis (played perfectly by Buteau) walks in on Jacque (Taylor Sele), her boyfriend of five years, entangled with the model she styled for a photoshoot hours before, she (rightfully) acts a fool, calls their relationship quits, and moves out of their luxurious Manhattan pad into a cramped Brooklyn apartment with an awkwardly awkward roommate.

Mavis tries to hold it together in Jacque’s presence, scooping up the last bits of her dignity in the face of his infidelity. But, as she packs up her closet and reminisces about her “Christmas fairy-tale” trip to Mozambique, she spills out her innermost thoughts to one of her close friends, Khalil (Tone Bell). “A skinny model version of me? How fucking hurtful and basic,” Mavis says, disbelief dripping from her voice. “And you know what people say. If someone cheats on Halle Berry, they’re like ‘Oh my God. How did that man cheat on Halle Berry?’ But if someone cheats on someone like me? A thick girl… with problem areas? They’re like, ‘Oh yeah, I get it.’” Oof.

If you’ve been fat as long as I’ve been fat — two decades and counting — then you know our bodies have long been treated as a societal conundrum, a complex puzzle in need of being solved. We’re not regarded as humans with varying bodies because we exist in a world where all humans have varying bodies. Instead, we’re approached as science projects seeking the elusive formula to our society’s greatest, most aspirational goal: being thin. Even when we reject those constraints and embrace the fatness of our bodies, it can still be immensely difficult to unlearn the ingrained idea that we must lose weight to be worthy of anything.

Whether it’s negligent doctors linking the size of our bodies to chronic illnesses that strike people all of sizes; airlines shrinking the size of their seats even as bodies continue to expand; clothing brands refusing to stock plus-size attire in their actual stores; or the push to prescribe weight-loss medication to literal children, fat people are constantly reminded that we’re undeserving of dignity. If we were to follow this logic, then the inevitable conclusion is that we’ll always be downtrodden and chasing dreams unless and until we opt into diet culture and conform to Western culture’s thin ideal. As a queer fat Black woman with a fulfilling career, friends and relatives who try their damndest to support me, and a loving husband, let me remind you: that’s bullshit. And it’s about damn time we have pop culture that reflects the richness of our lives rather than encouraging us to make ourselves smaller.

Mavis, a 38-year-old stylist, wants to dress bodies deemed “unconventional,” including those that are aging, gender-nonconforming, and fat. (In fact, she falls in love with styling while working as the resident costume designer at a drag bar.) However, Jacque, a famed fashion photographer, is more established than she is and his aspirations differ from hers, so Mavis follows his lead when it comes to their careers. She lets him open doors for her that she believes would be closed otherwise, even if those aren’t doors she’s ever been interested in walking through.

It isn’t until Mavis leaves Jacque and rebukes his constant attempts to reconcile that she’s able to buck what Khalil calls the “silly-ass narrative” that she’s undeserving of the life and career she imagines. Throughout the eight-episode season, which goes by entirely too fast for my liking, Mavis takes control: Instead of relying on Jacque, she begins building her own styling business with a phenomenal roster of celebrities with non-normative bodies. (When Mavis tells Nicole Byer, who plays herself, that she’s sorry she told her to “go fuck yourself three times ‘til Thursday,” it made me double over with laughter.)

She reinvests in her friendships with Khalil and Marley (Tasha Smith), falls into a swoon-worthy international romance with Italian tourist Luca (Marouane Zotti), and ultimately learns to lean into her desires rather than falling victim to the fatphobia that aims to dictate her every move. By the end of episode eight, when Mavis travels to Italy to surprise her beau, I couldn’t believe I’d watched an entire show where fatphobia is treated as the passenger rather than the show’s driving engine. It knocked the wind out of me.

Though I grew up with Living Single’s Khadijah James (Queen Latifah), the most nuanced fat protagonist to exist on television until now, it has been three decades since we’ve had a fat character who isn’t serving as comic relief, starving for affection from friends or romantic partners, or treating her fatness as a barrier to happiness.

❝ I couldn’t believe I’d watched an entire show where fatphobia is treated as the passenger rather than the show’s driving engine. It knocked the wind out of me.

And, to top it off, Mavis isn’t alone in our pop culture pantheon. We also have Mel, the titular character in Hulu’s half-hour comedy, How to Die Alone, who is played to perfection by the show’s creator Natasha Rothwell. There was a time when it was unimaginable for two shows with three-dimensional fat protagonists to exist — let alone airing simultaneously — but, somehow, we’re here and it’s glorious. Though Mel is an attendant at John F. Kennedy International Airport where she drives passengers in need of extra assistance to their gates, she’s never flown because she’s too afraid of turbulence.

Mel feels stuck in a job she considers to be a dead end. Her closest friend, Rory (Conrad Ricamora), constantly shoots down her dreams, and even ditches her on her 35th birthday to have a one-night stand. Her mother and her brother treat her as if she’s a failure, passive-aggressively criticizing her at every turn. And Alex (Jocko Sims), the man she’s in love with — who she dumped because of her own insecurities — is engaged to another woman, and audaciously invites Mel to their wedding in Maui.

For Mavis, it’s the break-up that sends her life into high gear; for Mel, it’s a life-threatening accident on her birthday. After Rory cancels their plans, Mel decides to stay home and celebrate her birthday by … assembling an IKEA bookshelf. When the bookshelf falls on her and she’s rushed to the hospital, she has an age-old existential crisis: What if she would’ve died — on her birthday, no less?

After the woman sharing her hospital room dies, Mel decides she’s done waiting for her life to start. She changes her hair (always a sign that a Black character is about to shift something in their lives), enrolls in her job’s management training program, dumps Rory as a friend, steals her brother’s Social Security number to get on a payment plan for her hospital bill — and uses the dead woman from the hospital’s credit card to book that trip to Maui. Yes, it’s morally questionable, and no, it doesn’t matter. How she gets to Maui is beside the point, though (spoiler!) the season ends with Mel getting arrested for credit card fraud. The point is she’s taking control for once — no longer sitting on the sidelines of life because every element of our society says she should.

Now, I’ll admit I was a bit perturbed by Mel needing a near-death experience before she can take the reins of her life. While Mel does quit the Weight Watchers-esque program she’s been enrolled in and stands up to both her brother and her mother, haven’t we had enough shows about downtrodden fat women waiting for life to happen? Yes! And How to Die Alone and Survival of the Thickest subvert the fat tales we’ve been fed, offering up compelling scenes where both lead characters express that it’s only through unlearning fatphobic scripts that they’ve been able to arrive at the new lives they’re building. It would be nice to have a show with a plus-size protagonist who doesn’t need tragedy as an impetus to change their approach to life. But, as I’ve come to understand, Survival of the Thickest and How to Die Alone don’t need to be perfect to have an impact.

Representation isn’t everything, but it is something, and that something is fat protagonists being what we’ve long been told we couldn’t be: multifaceted, horny, ambitious, and uncompromisingly happy. We’re not just caretakers or comic relief. In the cultural imagination Buteau and Rothwell are embodying, fat women can simply exist. While both of these shows are undoubtedly hilarious, for once our fat protagonists are in on the jokes rather than being the butt of them. The fact that both can exist, simultaneously, is a feat within itself. The fact that both are challenging our collective understanding about what it means to be fat and satisfied is also worth celebrating.

Pop culture, especially that which exists onscreen, often reflects where we’re headed or where we are socially. It’s unsurprising, then, that in the 1950s and ’60s, as television overtook radio as the dominant cultural medium, Black characters were depicted as shiftless and lazy criminals who were inferior and less intelligent than their white costars. If Black people were being dehumanized in our actual lives, why wouldn’t those cultural archetypes be reflected onscreen? It’s also unsurprising, then, that as the NAACP challenged Hollywood to evolve in its depictions of Black people on television, the burgeoning Civil Rights Movement was simultaneously pushing for Black people to be treated equitably in all areas of our lives. Pop culture — the mirror of truth — often runs parallel to shifts in society.

Could that narrative and tangible shift finally be happening for fat people, especially those who inhabit other marginalized identities? After spending more than a decade securing more fashion opportunities for fat people — more clothing lines, more magazine covers, and more brand deals — could we finally be using pop culture to mirror a movement to ensure fat people have civil and legal protections against size discrimination? It seems so. I don’t find it coincidental that both Survival of the Thickest and How to Die Alone exist at the same time the Campaign for Size Freedom is gaining momentum.

❝ Pop culture — the mirror of truth — often runs parallel to shifts in society.

The Campaign, co-founded by FLARE and the National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance, is orchestrating a state-by-state strategy to pass laws that prohibit size discrimination in the workplace. Before the Campaign launched, Michigan was the only state that protects fat employees from size-based discrimination. Now, New York City and Washington State have joined that list, with laws currently being considered in New York State, Massachusetts, New Jersey, and others. Once again, pop culture is that mirror of truth, with narrative change serving as a harbinger for what may come.

As Survival of the Thickest gears up for Season 2, and with hopes that Hulu will renew How to Die Alone for a second season, what’s become clear is that viewers are eager for new stories about fat Black women that don’t just rewrite old, damaging scripts about our lives. We are closer to that reality than we’ve ever been before.

Could Survival of the Thickest and How to Die Alone signal the start of a fat revolution on television? Maybe. In the meantime, I’ll be watching, laughing, and cheering for Mavis and Mel to be the first of much more fatness to come.

This piece was edited by Chrissy Stroop and copy edited by Andrea Grimes.