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Is Science the Reason why Plumpy Chunky Monkeys like Sex? Or are we all mad?:

 鈥淢y orgasm was so good that I forgot I was fat,鈥� Tiana Chan writes

TIANA CHAN

I鈥檓 fat. I don鈥檛 remember not being fat and I don鈥檛 think I鈥檒l ever not be fat. If you鈥檙e sensitive to this F-bomb then I鈥檒l change it up for you: my thighs are thick, my stomach is round, my arms are flabby; I鈥檓 a plumpy chunky monkey. Really, I鈥檇 just prefer if you said I was 鈥榝at,鈥� otherwise it鈥檚 just infantilizing, and perhaps it just reinforces fat-phobia.

I鈥檓 fat. Fat!

I know what you鈥檙e thinking, 鈥榚very body and everybody is beautiful! You can make babies and that鈥檚 fricken鈥� magical!鈥� Yes, I鈥檓 a certified miracle maker but I鈥檓 not considered miraculous.

I鈥檓 a failure because I鈥檓 fat.

And while art and music has begun to criticize some of these beauty standards, Kendrick Lamar鈥檚 2017 song, 鈥�贬耻尘产濒别,鈥� for example, is so 鈥淸fricken鈥橾 sick and tired of the Photoshop,鈥� asking women to 鈥渟how somethin鈥� natural like ass with some stretchmarks,鈥� these lyrics can only do so much for culture and change.

So for now, I鈥檓 just a plumpy chunky monkey who has 鈥榖rought this onto myself.鈥�

I鈥檝e been conditioned to notice where my muscles end and where my fat begins, where my hips dip, and where my stomach bulges. I can hear my fat when I race up the steps, it claps.

Clap. Clap. Clap. 鈥榊ou鈥檙e so fat.鈥�

And, I鈥檓 sorry if you also recognize yourself in my fatness but I鈥檓 not surprised if you do. We are led to believe that our fatness is our fault. Our bodies are objects of ridicule; you are stereotyped and stigmatized. (Please Kendrick, release more humbling music!)

鈥榊ou look like a monkey, and you smell like one too,鈥� I鈥檓 told; 鈥榓n outsider, on the edge of society. You鈥檙e increasing your chances at developing diseases; as a matter of fact, you are a disease.鈥�

I鈥檓 a disease, because I鈥檓 fat. I鈥檓 contagious.

And worse, it feels like my stretchmarks were blindly drawn onto my body. Fat never considered nor me or my desire to ever want to wear short clothing comfortably and judgement-free. So I cover. I hide my bulging muffin-top with tight jeans, which I immediately dance off right when I get home. (I reapply deodorant after this; it鈥檚 a massive amount of dancing.) I never wear tank tops without a cover. I haven鈥檛 been in a bikini since the third grade.

My fat has history.

I remember this as my last bikini season because, when I returned to school, I was fat shamed for the first time. During naptime, the boy beside me poked my arm and said to his friend: 鈥淚 just poked Tiana鈥檚 arm and it jiggled!鈥� Just like that, I was consciously fat. I turned my head, my body slowly followed, and I closed my eyes.

Fat shamed. Fat and volatile. Jiggly.

Today, I try to cover its presence (temporally and materially.)

I鈥檓 not sure why I make such an effort to cover my fat with clothing because it doesn鈥檛 really cover; the fat is still there. And, it鈥檚 the worst when I have sex because it鈥檚 all out there for the world to see, to poke. I have nowhere to hide, no sweater to hide under, and no Spanks to 鈥榚nhance鈥� my shape. The lights are sometimes on, pointing directly at my fat like a neon arrow sign, mocking me: 鈥淔at! Fat! Fat!鈥�

I鈥檓 fat and naked. This is a crisis. I鈥檓 a crisis. I鈥檓 fat.

Strategically, I鈥檇 select clothing that would best conceal my fat. I wore dresses so that I could keep covered, and still have sex. If all else failed, I could always depend on sheets; I could always just avoid being on top.

But I love sex, and I continue to have sex. And one day, my orgasm was so good that I forgot that I was fat. When we were done, I sobbed. Well ladies and gentlemen, and for everyone in between, don鈥檛 you worry! Science is here to tell you all about your body.

Still euphoric, I Googled my symptoms: 鈥榗rying after sex, am I ok?鈥� And well, as expected, science knew what was happening in my own body better than I did. Siri informed me that the cause of my crying was the effect of love hormones. Sweet, sweet oxytocin and dopamine caused an insurmountable emotional flood to my brain.

鈥楥ause and effect,鈥� said science. That鈥檚 why I forgot that I was fat, because science said so鈥�but no. When the science faded, I was still the same ole plumpy chunky monkey. I remembered my volume.

I鈥檓 still fat, except this time, I stink of sex.

For years, I continued to assume that thinner people were the only ones having great sex, and that I was only having sexy-science-sex because the people I was having sex with fetishized 鈥榩lus-sized鈥� girls. I was only spoiled because these people liked a girl with a little extra meat on her bones. 鈥淏oys they like a little more booty to hold at night, I鈥檓 all 鈥榖out that bass, 鈥榖out that bass, no treble,鈥� I sang.

Over the years, the sex remained mediocre to average, except with this one guy, who became a regular. And, then it was good to amazing. (And as I write this, he asks that I come over tonight, recommending that I write in this, that I鈥檓 his submissive.)

I鈥檓 a fat sub, and my dominant has shredded 8-pack abs.

I thought everyone romantically tumbled into Charming鈥檚 arms, and I thought I was the only fat monkey. I felt as if, I was having sex with my fat and that Mr.abs was the third-member of our orgy. I assumed that thinner people were more worthy of great sex, and that I was just lucky to have met Mr.abs. But this couldn鈥檛 be further from the truth.

Somewhere along the years, I remember cuddling Mr.abs, and realizing that when his science was gone, he didn鈥檛 ask me to leave. We fell asleep and woke up still cuddling, platonically, until the morning. It wasn鈥檛 about my fat. To him, it never seemed to be. He just wanted wild animal, monkey sex.

Turns out, some, if not the majority of us, like being sweaty monkeys. Now that I think of it, I don鈥檛 remember any of my past sexual partners ever having complained about my body. Despite the amount of Kendrick that I listened to, I had been criticizing myself. Some outlets were empowering but I only listened to those that shamed me. (If your partner does fat shame you though, find yourself a new monkey!)

I鈥檓 a plumpy chunky monkey. No, better yet, I鈥檓 fat.

And, while we don鈥檛 live in Lewis Caroll鈥檚 Wonderland, I think humanity is nonetheless mad. And fat. And it鈥檚 crazy to think you鈥檙e the only fricken鈥� plumpy chunky monkey. It鈥檚 quite the opposite, and that鈥檚 quite all right.

鈥淲e鈥檙e all mad here. I鈥檓 mad. You鈥檙e mad,鈥� said the Cheshire Cat.

We鈥檙e all fat here. I鈥檓 fat. You鈥檙e fat. We鈥檙e all madly fricken鈥� fat. None of us are 鈥榥ormal.鈥� And that鈥檚 quite all right.

Tiana Chan lives in Vancouver.