Expect Great Things

We really don't treat full figured women very well. I, of course, have lived with the prejudice most of my life. But my heart is aching for Gabourey Sidibe, who should be on top of the world in the wake of her amazing launch into show business as Precious in the independent movie of the same title.

Yet her own director, Lee Daniels, made an embarrassing gaff about her weight at the NAACP awards. And Howard Stern opined that she would "never work again," as reported in the Huffington Post.

Sadly, this speculation has NOT been limited to accidental gaffs or crass comments from hacks like Stern. Fox News speculated about the size of her red carpet dress. The E! channel fashion police team tip-toed around her carefully, clearly terrified of saying something socially incorrect. And many Hollywood rags have been defiantly addressing the "secret truth," that she is unlikely to get work again. (Just a few articles that came immediately following her Oscar nom: HERE, HERE, AND HERE)

Funny... Ms Sidibe has already landed a gig... or two. She will be appearing in a feature for Showtime with Laura Linney and Oliver Platt, The C Word. She will also got a role in Yelling to the Sky, an independent film also featuring Don Cheadle. She is going to be guesting on a few tv series, as well.

The thing that makes my heart fill with pride and admiration is that this young woman ( she's only 26) rises above it. In an interview with IndiWire she said “I think people look at me and don’t expect much. Even though, I expect a whole lot.”

I expect magic from you, Ms. Sidibe. And I am quite confident in your ability to deliver.

Pride and Passive Prejudices

I am going through a little bit of a struggle these days, and working hard to be positive and cheerful. But one of the issues is confidence, and another is focus. When I look terrible I get a bad return-vibe from people; and under good circumstances people usually feed me with positive energy. And when I feel really sick I tend to wind down and want to do nothing; so my writing is negatively impacted.

But the crux of the coming dread is hair. As in, I've already started to loose mine again and will most likely be bald by the end of the month.



I'm not vain. I've never been beautiful, but can pull off cute. I actually like being scruffy, boyish, and average-gal most of the time. While we all fall victim to occasional bouts of "man I look like poop," I actually think most of my life I was very nearly immune to that syndrome. But I have to say... the first time I lost all my hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes I noticed how terribly the general public treats people who show signs of severe illness.

Ironically, I can't think of any medical condition that would require the kind of treatments with these results that is contagious or economically specific. Yet every time my hair has gone away I was treated as if I were poor, dirty, and contagious. Rationally I know this is a knee-jerk reaction based in fear: she has something that terrifies me on a visceral, primal level-- I must run from it. But the degree to which it really does change my mode of moving through the world is a little scary.

For instance, last baldy-round I was in a jewelry store with the money I'd been given for my birthday, wanting to purchase a bracelet I saw. I was in immaculately clean jeans, with a nice knit top, and a Red Sox cap covering what was obviously a very bald dome. After fifteen minutes of clearing my throat, standing ignored, and even being told to wait after vocalizing a request for help, I left. The only other customers in the store were a couple. There were three people behind the glass counters. I finally just left. I also noticed that cashiers who saw me on a regular basis around town became careful about touching me when returning change or receipts. Many stopped making eye-contact, though I think this is probably more based in pity than anything else. It's not easy to know somebody is sick but not want to offend them with questions or stares.

Still, the prejudice is always there and always baffling. And if anything, my normal, instinctual reaction-- which is to be determinedly cheerful and joking about the whole mess-- doesn't seem to work.

Anyway, I'm considering getting a tattoo on the back of my head just to have some decoration. And maybe I'll dress kind of tough and bikery. Like it's on purpose. Because frankly, if I'm going to scare you, I'd rather it be that kind of fear.

That's right-- I'm bald, I'm bad, and I'm brooding. You wanna make somethin' of it?

*crickets chirping*

Well... maybe not so much bad as... err... cranky? *sigh*