Diva Articles I
STEREODYKE
Much has been said by gay men and the straight press
over the decades of their concept of the archetypal lesbian. I have such
a completely different experience, but - and here's the weird thing - so
have many of my friends and lovers. The first thing we all did was develop
an all-important crush on a teacher. It might have been prompted by a love
of the subject or that she was "just so wonderful". For a lot of women, it
was their PE teacher but hardly even the Religious Knowledge tutor. If,
like me, you coupled this with a crush on a 5th Former (sometimes prompted
by her appearance in the school play as a nun or orphaned child), your results
suffered. The theory is that there are so many unemployed lesbians because
they failed their exams by staring starry-eyed at the teacher without retaining
a single fact.
Next, you fell in love with a children's television presenter. For most of
my generation, it was Valerie Singleton or Lesley Judd. Now, there isn't
so much choice. If, however, you are a gay man, your cup surely doth runneth
over. TV role models for that younger generation are butch-like bimbos with
skinny arms and long hair. In my day, dykes looked like dykes: that certain
look in their eye and a uniform of short hair, leather and denim. They are,
it seems, a dying breed.
The next phase involved writing poetry.
Ah yes, the bane of lesbian culture, thank you Sappho. This comprised three
parts. For years, we burned the midnight oil writing angst-filled stanzas
detailing our ideas of sexuality, not knowing what to call it, crying out
for understanding and wishing, wishing for that first, all-explosive, completely
satisfactory encounter. The second wave of inspirational writing could only
be precipitated by the onset of such sexual dalliance. Once those slippery
fumblings had started, verses were filled with declarations of undying love
all cloaked by lust, of roses in bloom, of stars and the moon, of succulent
fruit, of her hair! Her lips! Her eyes! The third stage came after that first
crushing heart-break. Reams of paper would be used up trying to describe
the burning anger and the loss of such encapsulating passion with acute
precision.
We soon got bored with that, and started to pursue a much more worthwhile
endeavour: Dyke-Spotting. The "Is She, Isn't She?" factor is enough to drive
a young dyke mad, but we scoured the landscape continually. Could that bus
conductress be one? Could the woman in the chip shop be one? Could it possibly
be true that the actress, police woman, singer or author was "one of
us"?
This period coincides with the Journey of Discovery, during which time you
hunted down every reference to lesbianism you could lay your hands on. I
stalked through libraries desperate that my rifling through the Dewey Decimal
System would unveil the mysteries of the lesbian universe. The quest for
knowledge also took in the List of Famous Lesbians. Once upon a time, all
you had to do was go to the (Fallen) Angel, and lo, on the toilet wall, you
found an ever-increasing record of assumed lesbians. This monument no longer
exists, and there is little need for women to adopt this style of detection
anymore, as information is more widely available. Now, no-one has to pile
through "The Well Of Loneliness" or stay glued to "The Killing
of Sister George" to grasp the true meaning of lesbian lifestyle.
In addition, the perpetual crushes began. For some,
they never stop. Two more initiation rituals quickly followed. The first
was the haircut. Virtually very dyke I know has gone through the trauma of
having the No. 2, feeling that a radical change of appearance is essential
for greater acceptance. In addition, it was decreed that most had to purchase
a leather jacket (biker style) and a pair of black Doc Martens. That shopping
trip is a rite of passage but nagging doubts persisted, especially when "nobody
knows I'm a lesbian". But it was a glorious moment when first you stepped
onto the dancefloor of the only lesbian disco for miles (blisters permitting),
knowing deep down that you'll never have to say "We" and "They" instead of
"She" again.
During all of this, the eternal search for a label began, with the sickening
realisation that you would, eventually, have to tell someone. After many
restless nights spent searching your soul, you picked your best friend, and
whispered "I think I might be... GAY!" They usually responded with "Oh, we
all knew that!", a phase designed by heterosexuals to spark off the paranoia
that stays with you forever. How did they know? What gave you away? After
a while, you make the distinction between "gay" and "lesbian" and call yourself
that, despite hating the word, before taking up "dyke" as a preferred title.
Eventually you reach the stage where you deplore the fact that people want
to pigeon-hole you.
Of course, it's marvellous that the lesbian nation has evolved and takes
care of its kith and kin, but I still sometimes yearn for the heady euphoria
of deception and anguish.
©Megan Radclyffe 1997
STOUTRAGE!
Dawn: Why don't you just say "fat"?
Jen: Pardon?
Dawn: Why don't you just say "Welcome fattie!", and then it'll all be over
and done with?
Jen: You're really running yourself down there. "Hello Chunky" is as far
as we can go.
Record Choice - A Feast of French and Saunders,
1991
I am a Fat Dyke, and always have been.
The burgeoning realisation that I was a lesbian sent me scuttling towards
the nearest sweet shop, revelling in the belief that all lesbians were fat
and ugly and that I would fit right in. When it dawned on me that neither
was the case, I galloped, full pelt, to Woolie's chocolate counter, and embraced
it with open mouth.
It is undeniable that lesbians cultivate their own
stereotypes. The sexy lesbian is the thin lesbian. Think about it: the
androgynous face of k d lang, the finely sinewed Martina, statuesque Sigourney,
slender Jodie Foster... The list of acceptable dyke icons (particularly
those who are sexually coveted) has a stunningly obvious thread. The image
of the lesbian Body Beautiful, while radically removed from the straight
ideal, is every bit as stringent as heterosexual requirements of "beauty".
After years of lesbians being dismissed as obese, hairy and ugly women who
wear dungarees, the new generation of dykes seem more keen to embrace a waif-like
appearance as a way of proving their credibility. The unarrested development
of gyms, spas and fashion victim nightclubs have ostracised fat dykes still
further. It's as though dykes have watched every episode of The Word and
wandered the bargain-filled backstreets of Camden Lock. Lesbians seem to
extol the virtues of No Tits, No Hips. While straight glossy women's magazines
are lauding the richness of firmer flesh, dykes - on the other hand - are
clinging resolutely to an aesthetic of stick insect physique.
Big women are supposed to be de rigeur at the
moment. Dawn French has trumpeted the glory of flesh on the South Bank Show
and was pictured, rather scantily clad, on the fashion pages of Tatler, She
and Esquire magazines, who all, typically, billed her as being both "fat
and sexy". Dawn was less than ecstatic at the magazine's ideas of how to
present her. "We don't have images that celebrate us, we just have magazines
that exclude us. The photographs, which I didn't much like, were very noble,
sort of celebrations of a diva-type figure." Most of the poses Dawn was told
to strike were pastiches of the classical works by the painters Manet and
Rubens, with the shadows caused by the spare tyres airbrushed out...
Am I being paranoid? Well, no. Over the last century - and the last three
decades in particular - fat women have not been recognised as sexual, sensual
beings. The archetype of a fat woman is usually one of a mothering figure.
She is someone who is seen as never having sex, but who is continually sought
out for advice of a carnal nature, the premise being that , although we don't
do it, we must spend vast periods of time thinking about it. As a result,
fat dykes are the lesbian equivalent of fag hags: we are not a threat, we
are "fun to be with", we don't raid your wardrobe, and we're always there
with a soft shoulder to cry on.
Dawn: I'm sorry, what did you say?
Jen: We'll, I just rather like the image of two plumps finding consolation,
even a bit of pleasure, who knows?, in each other's arms.
Why is it such an anomaly that fat dykes get horny,
and are cheesed off with being surrogate mothers? Why are we imagined as
militant and aggressive rather than passionate? Fat isn't necessarily a
disability, but it is largely perceived as a mental failing. My lesbianism
is never called into question by other dykes but my size is. Across the board,
this attitude augments the idea that fat lesbians are less intelligent, more
rapacious, unclean and slovenly. Less fuckable in fact.
We are forced to compensate with a buoyant personality, rapier wit and 500ml
of Sure Sensive. Is it a simply a coincidence that some of the most successful
big women in show business also happen to be some of the funniest? Victoria
Wood, Whoopi Goldberg, Dawn French, Hattie Jacques, Miriam Margoyles, Jo
Brand: all fat, all funny. This helps to perpetuate one fundamental philosophy
of fatism, that fat women can excuse their obesity with (self-depreciatory)
humour.
If you are born beautiful and thin, it gives you
an excuse not to develop a personality.
Caitlin Moran, Radio Times, April 1994
Jollity is a psychological characteristic, not a physical
attribute, but somehow, it has been stipulated that one demands the other.
Many people have tried to counter my anger on this subject by cooing, "It's
what's on the inside that counts" or mewing "Beauty is in the eye of the
beholder". Both phrases mean nothing when you are out on the scene. Fat lesbians
are rarely accepted at face value and are for the most part tolerated. In
the end, it's easier for fat women to avoid the scene; not to spite ourselves,
but rather as an internal code of self-preservation. Challenges to the fact
that fat women are trapped by society's conceptions and principles of body
size are rare, but new ground is being broken - not only by Dawn French,
but, unbelievably, within our own community.
Bulk is a club for chubbies, bears, "bulkers" and their
admirers, and it has recently opened its doors to women after a year of being
men-only. Original club promoter Bobby Pickering took the decision to welcome
women in, despite some objections from the regulars, simply because he "likes
having women around." Speaking to female punters while standing in an inch
of water in the toilets, there was a resounding sense of relief that Bulk
exists. One woman said she "felt far less conspicuous" than she did in women-only
spaces, and that she "had always felt as if everybody was staring and making
judgements, purely based on my size." It does work both ways. Bulk gladly
accepts thinner clubbers, but a skinny friend of mine found herself questioning
why she felt the "odd one out". After years of trying desperately to explain
the alienation I feel is inherent on the lesbian scene, she finally - with
a flash of total realisation - understood my gripe that fatism is a profoundly
held, but inexplicable, set of beliefs. It is not primal distrust, rather
contemporary assumptions that cloud our culture.
I don't worry about my weight. I stuff myself with
as much chips and beer as I want. I'd be happy at 20 stone. Wouldn't worry
me. If I wanna be fat I'll be fat.
Huffty, The Independent, March 1994
Still, in reality, plumptious female perverts are harder
to dig out of the woodwork than bumptious boys. Women are less inclined to
objectify each other in quite the same way as gay men, who feel more relaxed
altogether about talking about each other in terms of muscle and meat, and
will admit to having a fetish for flesh. A simple example comes from Quim,
issue 5, which asked "Ever had a lover who is very different sized from you?"
One reply stated, "My present lover is much smaller than me in height and
much larger than me in weight. I found her face attractive, however, I was
not attracted to her body. I became her lover after a long friendship. It
was built on an emotional attraction more than a sexual or physical one".
This seems to be the acceptable route for lesbians, rather than even considering
the sexualisation of different physiques and body shapes.
Images of fat lesbians are infrequent and rarely show
us as positive, sexually active, attractive women. Those tempting morsels
that do appear are usually tinged with a tokenistic fervour. Presenting the
imagery and discourse of fat women - whether they are lesbian or straight
- as an issue can have its disadvantages. It can turn us all into "special
cases", worthy only of pitying, sporadic attention, and makes it all blissfully
easy to sweep it all back under the carpet. Dismiss it as a clarion call
if you must, but no-one should deny us the right to the dignity of a voice
and a space.
©Megan Radclyffe Publ. Millivres 1995
PULL QUOTES
I take a different approach to the 'Fat Is Sexy'
view. I would rather people just left us alone. I'd be happy to be not abused
rather than hailed as a new sex goddess. Jo Brand, The Observer, April
1994
Fat has come to stand for need, greed, indulgence,
wantonness, unruliness, a loss of control, an unstoppability. Fatness represents
fold and folds of uncontrollable needs and the guilt associated with the
satisfaction of those needs. Susie Orbach, Hunger Strike,
1986
I don't think people who are prejudiced against
fat women are going to change their views because they see a picture of Dawn
French without her clothes on.
Alison Moyet, Gay Times, May 1994
Ladies, here's a hint. If you're playing against
a friend who has big boobs, bring her to the net and make her hit backhand
volleys. That's the hardest shot for the well-endowed. Billie Jean King,
1976
In America right now, you will only see obese women
among the working class. Fat has become something to be ashamed of. Camille
Paglia, South Bank Show, April 1994
Fat: it is unforgivable to use this non-PC word.
Attempts have been made for many years to find suitable euphemisms of course...
you can talk about a 'person with an alternative body-image'. The Politically
Correct Phrasebook, Nigel Rees, 1993
Never eat more than you can lift Miss
Piggy
What then, is fat? fat is portrayed in the literature
of the myth as expendable female filth; virtually cancerous matter, an inert
or treacherous infiltration of nauseating bulk waste. Naomi Wolf, The
Beauty Myth, 1991
Let's celebrate the desirability of big women instead
of keeping them as the invisible many... Big women are worth more than fate
or fashion has allotted us. We have something extra, and its not just flesh...
fat may not be fashionable, but it is inviting, its sexy. Dawn French,
Esquire, April 1994
You don't feel a total failure because you can't
do as well as a great musician playing the piano do you? So why should a
top model, whose job is being super thin, make you feel inadequate? Victoria
Wood, 1984
Pear-shaped buttocks tend to wear badly in middle
age if they have lacked exercise or have been constantly flattened into over
tight trousers. Woman's Own, July 1982
Diva
Books
Diva Films
Diva
Interviews
Back to the Filing Cabinet
