"Straight Thin But Gay Fat" and Other Harmful Stereotypes I've Unlearned
There’s a common phrase in the gay community: “straight thin but gay fat.” I’ve seen this term nearly everywhere on social media. Whether it’s TikTok, Instagram, or Snapchat, this term has made itself almost a motto of the beauty standards in the gay community. The term refers to someone who would be considered thin in most of society but fat within the gay community. To me, this term shows you all you need to know about body image within the gay community.
As a young gay male, I always felt as though there were countless pressures and expectations when it came to looks. You were expected to be a certain weight, eat in a certain manner, and look a certain way. On social media, I constantly saw all these people with "perfect" bodies. In my mind, these people were complete with "perfect" hair, "perfect" skin, “perfect” shape, and “perfect” body types. It seemed to me like this was a goal, something I too could obtain. If only I did this more, or if only I did that less, I believed I too could obtain these things.
For me, it wasn't just these unobtainable body standards that drove me to an eating disorder. Controlling my eating also served as a coping mechanism.
In my life, just like many other queer youth, I find it common to hear comments and judgement about my sexuality. Questions like "Why does your voice sound like that?" or "Why do you act like a girl?" or even the occasional slur are common occurrences. It’s something that I’m sure people within the LGBTQ+ community are all too familiar with. When I found myself unable to control what people said and thought about me, I turned to something I could control: my eating.
When I think about my struggles with eating, I think about my struggles with conformity.
For many years of my life, I hated who I was. As a child, I never took to sports. I would have much rather sat on the sideline and made bracelets than play soccer with the rest of the kids. To other kids and adults, it seemed as though I was always doing “girly” things, and from a very young age I developed this idea that I was different from most of the other kids. It was only after I came out and began being open about my identity with friends and family that I was able to close that chapter of my life.
However, that wasn't the end of my struggles and my battle with homophobia and hatred. Like I mentioned before, I soon began to face extreme homophobia from people both inside and outside of my community. It got to a point where I started to believe the comments and things people were saying about me. I thought that maybe if I was skinnier or better looking, people would like me more. Maybe if I was better at sports, people wouldn't pay as much attention to me. I thought that If I started to look a certain way, maybe I would be able to blend in with the other kids.
What at first started as an attempt to control myself and my body, soon spiralled out of control. I had seen it before with my sister who had recently recovered from an eating disorder, but I was so preoccupied with the “goals” that I had in my mind that I was willing to overlook the obvious warning signs. I soon realized that the longer I engaged in these dangerous practices, the deeper and deeper I fell, and I soon realised these practices were not just harming my health. I also began losing the things about myself that I loved. My motivation disappeared, my love for my friends and family dissipated, my compassion for others faded. With each and every day that I engaged in these practices, more of myself I lost.
My recovery did not start, and could not start, until I stopped caring about what other people thought and said about me.
There is one step in my recovery journey that I remember extremely vividly. My nutritionist encouraged me to go through my social media, and unfollow everything and everyone that made me feel self-conscious of my body. At first, I started with the people you could imagine: instagram models, celebrities, and people with unrealistic and edited bodies. This part of the process was easy since I had never met these people and had no personal connection to them. The next part was a bit more challenging. I went through people who I did know – people who I was friends with or who I did indeed have a personal connection with. Some of these people had been spreading negative messages about bodily acceptance, while others I had negative memories or experiences with.
I filled my circle – both digital and physical – with people who I love, and who I knew were always there for me. I remembered who my true friends were, and began to be open about my struggles and recovery with them. In particular, my mom is someone who has stood by me no matter what, and played a key role in my recovery. Whether it was making sure I was eating during the day, and always being in contact with my nutritionist, therapist and school, or if it was just supporting me emotionally – even though she says it is just her job as my mom – I am forever grateful for her help in my recovery.
Now that I have recovered, every time I see the term “straight thin but gay fat” I can only help but laugh. I’m not laughing at the dangerous implications of this belief, for those I am indeed quite troubled. But I laugh at the idea that as a society we are so broken to not only have impossible expectations for our bodies, but even more obscure ones based on our sexuality. I laugh because I am frustrated with the idea that as a young queer individual, my body image is further subject to criticism simply because of who I love. I laugh because I have learned how, in the end, the phrase simply makes no sense.
