This Barbie is FAT!

I was thoroughly unprepared to love as much of this movie as I did. Through it, I felt seen and valued as a woman- an experience that is sadly lacking from a great deal of mainstream media. There is thoughtful scholarship emerging around the ways in which Barbie portrays feminism, patriarchy, and the significance of mother-daughter bonds. The film also explores the precarious balance of nostalgia and unattainable fantasy that Barbie represents. There are  thoughtful and engaging conversations being had about this ideas, and to hear some of them I highly recommend checking out the podcast episodes “Barbietopia” from Binchtopia (Hava & McLamb) and “This Barbie is on Strike!” from FANTI (Anderson & Hill).

However, while these are crucial elements of the conversation surrounding Barbie, they are also the first ones we think of. In this article, I lay out a less readily addressed perspective: that of a fat person, and more to the point, a fat woman. I argue that while this film is a significant step toward positive (or at least not devastatingly judgmental) fat representation in mainstream media, it misses the mark in a number of key ways that suggest we, as a society, are not ready to fully embrace fat people as the worthy, beautiful, and valuable human beings that we are.

I am delighted that there is a fat Barbie in this movie. This character, played by Sharon Rooney, is allowed to exist in Barbie Land in an empowered manner alongside all the straight-sized babies. No mention is made of her size, and she has the respectable job of Lawyer. In the world of Barbie Land, this makes her equal to those of the other Babies, all of whom have prestigious jobs, rather than elevating her status. In the real world, fat people are at a disadvantage in most work environments, often making less money than our thin counterparts and even being denied employment opportunities all together. Not to mention the logistics of things like suitable chairs. However, this, and the fact that there are only a few states that have anti-discrimination laws around fatness, are a conversation for another time (Simons). The point here is that Rooney’s Barbie’s job is not used to other her in Barbie Land. Additionally, Rooney’s Barbie is romantically pursued by the Kens in a way that does not differ from the other side-character Barbies. In other words, she seems just as desirable to the Kens as the straight-sized Barbies are. While these are examples of Rooney’s Barbie symbolizing progress in fat representation, there are also ways in which this character is portrayed that fail us as fat women.

In an early scene in the film, the Barbies are all partying in the Dream House. They dance around in fabulous outfits, generally celebrating their perfection. While a small group of barbies are dancing in a circle, the following dialogue occurs.

Margot Robbie’s Barbie: Gosh, this night is just perfect!

Rooney’s Barbie: It’s perfectly perfect!

Other Barbie: [to Robbie’s Barbie] And you look so beautiful, Barbie.

Robbie’s Barbie: Thanks Barbie, I feel so beautiful!

Rooney’s Barbie: So do I.

Not only does another person tell Robbie’s Barbie she is beautiful apropos of nothing, but Rooney’s Barbie, who is wearing a loose-fitting long sleeve shirt while Robbie’s Barbie rocks a strapless number (more on this later), isn’t once addressed or acknowledged by the other Barbies in the dance circle.

While I want to believe that this moment was a well-intentioned attempt to communicate a belief that all women are beautiful, something about it didn’t sit right with me. First of all, what does it mean to “feel” beautiful? There is an oft repeated adage in the Fat Liberation world: “Fat is not a feeling.” This came about because fat people noticed that straight-sized people say they “feel fat” when what they really mean is that they feel lazy, sluggish, unmotivated, undesirable, or are experiencing one of the many other negative states that are generally associated with fat people- much to our detriment. So, if fat is not a feeling, how can beauty be? And if beauty isn’t a feeling, what is Robbie’s Barbie actually saying here? That she feels happy? Seen? Valued? Desired? Or even enviable? This seems likely as later in the film when Robbie’s Barbie is having a melt-down around confronting the harshness of reality for the first time, the only way she can articulate this cognitive dissonance is to say, “I’m not pretty anymore.” I recognize that there is an added layer here because I think the film makers are winking at all of this. Perhaps, Robbie’s Barbie’s use of a physical attribute to describe an emotional experience is a commentary on a detrimental stereotype often foisted on traditionally beautiful women: being vapid or unintelligent. The film does add a piece of narration following this line, “Note to the filmmakers: Margot Robbie is the wrong person to cast if you want to make this point.” I laughed at this in the theater because I felt seen by this highlighting of the impossibility of Robbie’s beauty. Looking back now though, I feel that while perhaps intended as humorously self-referential, it comes across as insincere. Margot Robbie was cast with great intention, precisely because of what she looks like, to make a different point about the impossibility of womanhood.

Ultimately no woman wins, pretty ones are stupid and fat ones are unworthy. This is arguably the thesis of the entire film, and an idea that America Ferrera’s monologue about the contradictory expectations of womanhood, and the following events, work to disrupt.

While we may never know for sure exactly what Stereotypical Barbie is trying to convey when she declares her feeling of beauty during the dance party scene, what is clear is that in doing so, she brings to the forefont a preconceived and deeply held societal belief: that being what we have deemed “beautiful” is equivalent to happiness, social acceptance, and a generally fulfilling life.

Taking this premise, what is the film communicating about those who do not fit a societally imposed beauty ideal? This brings me back to Rooney’s Barbie. Why is she the only Barbie to respond to Robbie’s declaration of beauty with an almost defensive one of her own? What would it mean, for instance, if Isa Rae’s Barbie had chimed in as a dark-skinned Black woman? As it stands however, Rooney’s Barbie’s secondary declaration left “Me thinks[ing] the lady doth protest too much.” It seems clear to me that the only reason the filmmakers could have for making her do this is a deep-seeded, perhaps even subconscious, belief that fat people are not, in fact, beautiful, or that we don’t deserve all of the things we’ve decided beauty encompasses. It appears they either didn’t understand the implications of a fat character voicing their after a traditionally beautiful one, or they hoped to blow a few minds with an act they considered subversive.

In analyzing this scene, I am bothered by Rooney’s Barbie’s “So do I.” I get stuck again and again on the implications of this line and its delivery. We expect someone who looks like Margot Robbie to feel beautiful, while it is surprising to us that someone who looks like Sharon Rooney ever could. It reads as though Rooney’s Barbie must justify her presence in Barbie Land, a place where Robbie’s Barbie naturally belongs. It feels like Rooney’s Barbie must convince other to include her (which, by the way, they don’t in this scene) because she is lacking in a currency that they all have. In other words, it has to be explained why a barbie, the supposed embodiment of perfection, could be fat and still belong.

This is problematic and goes against what I hope was the intended message of casting Sharon Rooney in the first place. I think either all the non-stereotypical Barbies should have declared their beauty, or none of them should have. That is progress. What is not progressive and is, in fact, a hinderance to effective and meaningful fat representation, is calling attention to the otherness of a fat person- even while they are being called “beautiful.” Because she is not really being called beautiful, is she? She is made to do it herself, as an afterthought, and in so doing advocate for her very right to exist. This line is virtue signaling at best. Through it, the filmmakers demand recognition for an act of transgression that was actually fairly easy for them. This is because, as straight-sized people, the marginalized identity of fatness does not apply to them. Sure, this line could potentially anger some audience members, and there is risk in that, but it is not vulnerable for them, and this lessens the impact of the stand they think they are taking. Not only that, but it feels defensive. At worst, this line is a displaced attack on the viewer: “If calling a fat person beautiful makes you uncomfortable than YOU’RE the fatphobe!”

Hopefully it is clear by now, that I am not a fatphobe, but I was uncomfortable. Making Rooney’s Barbie say, “So do I” after a traditionally attractive person responds to another’s comment on their beauty, paradoxically highlights just how unlike Stereotypical Barbie Rooney’s Barbie is. It others her. Not only is being othered often a daily experience of most fat people, but in this case, it could validate someone’s unkind perception about the validity of fat people and their place in the world. This moment in the movie is hard for me to watch because it is antithetical to the widespread change I hope to see in mainstream media’s fat representation.

Further othering Rooney’s Barbie are her costumes. I noticed that through all of her many outfit changes, she was consistently much more covered up than the straight-sized Barbies. Not once were her bare shoulders or upper arms visible- this in contrast to the many sleeveless and strapless outfits worn by the other Barbies. In the Fat Liberation space, people express many varied feelings around upper arm exposure (or lack thereof). Some fat people choose to flaunt the soft jiggliness of this body part with pride, reveling in the power of this rebellious act. Other fat people choose to cover their upper arms for a wide variety of reasons that are none of anybody’s business. As important as making a political statement in the name of Fat Liberation is to many of us, sometimes we just don’t have the bandwidth. Existing in a body that is under constant scrutiny and judgment is exhausting, and sometimes you just need to mitigate that onslaught by whatever means necessary. I have, at various moments, chosen to cover my upper arms, and at others allowed them to soak up for sun for all to see! I stand by both perspectives.

 Fat actors must think about the exposure of their upper arms an inordinate amount because not only are they in the public eye, but their various roles require costumes. Abby Rose Morris speaks on this topic often and eloquently on her podcast, More Than Tracy Turnblad. The episode, “URSULA: FAT ICON,” explores Morris’ disappointment that in the new live action Little Mermaid Melissa McCarthy’s Ursula costume covers much of her arms and shoulders. Conversely, Morris notes, the animated Ursula of the 1989 film, flaunts her bare back and shoulders, seeming to revel in the sexiness of her rolling body (Morris). To be fair, I do think that McCarthy does a fair amount of reveling in her fat body despite its increased coverage, as a way of paying homage to the animated Ursula (and by extension voice actor, Pat Carroll, and drag queen Devine upon whom the character was based). She is still covered though, and that sends a message that those of us in fat bodies should hide them. Interestingly, during this episode Morris, and co-host Luz Martino, also discuss an Ursula Barbie that was released in 2012 that completely deprived her of her iconic fatness and left her looking emaciated. This is an amazing conversation, and I encourage everyone to listen to the episode, and the podcast as a whole for further insight around fatness in the entertainment industry.

 I felt a similar disappointment to the one Morris articulates, upon seeing Rooney’s costumes in Barbie. She wears a long sleeve suit jacket when working as a lawyer, and long, 3/4 or short sleeves throughout the rest of the movie. This choice furthers complicates her role for me. It sends the message that the terms of her already fraught presence in perfect Barbie Land, are conditional. She can be here in Barbie Land (in this movie, a part of this cultural phenomenon, etc.) as long as she works to mitigate her fatness, packaging it in a way that is more palatable to a thin centric audience (country, society, world).

In fairness to Rooney, I have no way of knowing how the actress feels about this choice. There is a world in which she requested sleeved costumes for the perfectly valid and understandable reason of not wanting- or being able to- do the emotional labor involved in publicly displaying your body as a fat person in any context, let alone on screen in perpetuity. One could make the argument that she didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself than the mere fact of her presence already does. This part of the argument falls apart for me a little bit because the coverage of her body struck me as very glaring, placed as it is next to the much more revealing costumes of her fellow actors. I will say though, that the straight-sized people I have talked to about this say they didn’t clock it until I mentioned it, because due to my involvement in Fat Liberation spaces I am hypersensitive to it. Perhaps it wasn’t her decision at all. Perhaps she fought to publicly share her body and represent us in a more impactful and powerful way. Because I will never know for sure, I can only feel the loss of this opportunity to communicate a valuing of fat bodies like mine. 

 I loved seeing a fat Barbie in this movie. I appreciated that her size was never directly stated, and that her career and romantic experiences were presented in a way that was tantamount to those of the straight-sized Barbies around her. I was frustrated by the film’s apparent need to justify her presence through unnecessary and painful dialogue. I was disappointed by costuming choices that hide her soft round body- a body I, and many like me, could have benefited from seeing unapologetically uncovered. The film did not seem proud to include her fat body, rather it appears to be a choice that feels at worst reluctant and at best obligatory. In these ways Rooney’s Barbie was simultaneously a step forward for fat representation, and a testament to how missing the mark, even in deceptively small ways, can undermine progress.

“Body Image” whatever that means, and the undeniable toll constantly surveilling our bodies takes on us as women, is a theme throughout Barbie. This ideology touches not only the Barbies in the world of this film, but humans too. America Ferrera’s Gloria provides another example of representing elements that further the cause of Fat Liberation, and elements that undo its headway.

 I love America Ferrera. I have loved her since I first encountered her in The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Part of the reason I was immediately drawn to her was that I related to her character, Carmen, as the “fat friend” in a group of young women. That was me when I was young and, in most settings, is still me today. Seeing someone on screen who looked even a little like me, was a welcome change for pre-teen me. I couldn’t have articulated it at the time, but my rapidly souring relationship with my body was not helped by the emaciated-looking women I generally saw on screen. Granted, Ferrera was “Hollywood fat” otherwise known as midsized, but back in 2005, that was pretty radical representation.

 I didn’t learn this until years later, but prior to The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Ferrera appeared in the 2002 film Real Women have Curves. In it she played Ana, a young woman who faces size discrimination from her family, many members of which work in a dress shop. I watched the film while writing this piece, and the fat representation she provides in it is courageous and heart-warming. It’s also ahead of its time. I wish I’d seen it when it when it first came out. As a fat 9-year-old, I think it would have been really impactful for me. I could have felt proud of the body I have sooner, and it breaks my heart to think of the years I wasted feeling that my body was not worth representing. Something as small as seeing a movie like this could have changed all that. Barbie had the potential to be that for the young fat girls of today. It has moments, but for the most part, I believe it fell short.

 America Ferrera also played the titular role in the TV show Ugly Betty. While this show was not without its problematic moments, I once again felt seen by Ferrera and the character she played. Betty mostly proceeds through the world with confidence, despite the casual cruelty consistently flung at her. This confidence is a trope when it comes to fat women, and there is a self-preservation to it. People wonder at the confidence of fat women, while simultaneously laughing at this survival strategy that we have achieved through the hard work of liberating ourselves from oppressive beauty standards. What was really radical about Ugly Betty to a young fat me, were the scenes in which Betty broke down, crying about not being “pretty.” At the time, I was regularly doing the same thing with trusted family members. I had never seen that part of myself on TV before. Seeing a very fragile hurt part of me represented in the very lovable character of Betty Suarez was a significant moment in my Fat Liberation Journey.

 In light of all these reasons I have to love America Ferrera, I was thrilled when I learned she was going to be in Barbie. She has done so much to further the cause of positive fat representation, and serve as a voice for my community, I couldn’t wait to see how her ideology would interact with the unattainable beauty standards of Barbie. This came to fruition for me during her greatly anticipated monologue on the paradoxical impossibility of perfect womanhood. The first example she gives is, “You have to be thin, but not too thin. And you can never say you want to be thin- you have to say you want to be ‘healthy’, but also you have to be thin.”

This sentiment rings true in my experience. It also hits particularly hard because in the years between Ugly Betty and Barbie, Ferrera herself has undergone visible weight loss. As a member of the Fat Liberation Movement, I firmly believe in Body Autonomy: the idea that people can make whatever choices they want to about their body. That being said, it is hard not to feel a sense of betrayal. I tend to take it personally when celebrities lose a substantial amount of weight because it feels as if they are sending a loud and clear message to me and my community: “I am doing everything in my power to make my body look as little like your body as possible!” The implication, of course, being that bodies like mine are undesirable and BAD.

 To Ferrera’s credit, she has not been particularly vocal about her weight loss. She didn’t seem to be glowing in the praise of it the way so many public figures do, and I think this made it a little easier for me to bare. Still, I grieve the loss of proud fat representation that she once was. I recognize the enormous pressure she must be under as a Latine actor in Hollywood. She’s already navigating publicly representing one marginalized identity- juggling two is a lot to ask. But it still hurts. I know it’s not about me, has nothing to do with me, but still, it feels personal. It feels like a rejection so cutting, that my instinct is to turn my back on her, writing her off as yet another victim fatphobia.

 After seeing Ferrera deliver this monologue, I wanted to be angry. I wanted to point out with righteous indignation the hypocrisy of a thin actress railing against fatphobia- particularly one who had so recently surrendered to its pressures. I wanted to say, “How can we be expected to believe her as someone who later in the film overthrows a Barbie Land version of patriarchy when here she is embodying its oppressive ideals?!”

 But I can’t bring myself to feel it. Why? It’s not wrong. And then it hits me: I can’t feel rage because I look at America Ferrera and the earnest gaps between her teeth, and I remember. I remember when she was boldly fat on screen proudly yelling things like, “…Unlike you, and your daughter [I] have an ass that the tailor didn’t have enough bolts of material to cover!” (Kwapis) and “My weight says to everyone, ‘fuck you! How dare anybody try to tell me what I should look like or what I should be?!’” The scene continues with Ferrera proudly disrobing to compare cellulite and stretch marks in a show of solidarity with the other women around her, ending it all with “This is who we are Mama, real women” (Cardoso). I remember this former powerful Ferrera every time I look at her, even now, even thin.

 I think the creators of the Barbie movie knew this. And worse, I think they capitalized on it. They (ironically) got to have their cake and eat it too by appeasing the fat activists with someone we associate with our liberation movement, while still getting to have a thin actress star in their film to increase mass appeal. They were counting on us remembering Ferrera in her Fat Liberation prime in order to get away with valuing thin bodies over fat ones in the public arena. Once again, thinness is rewarded and centered. This is not new, but it adds insult to injury when the typical run of the mill fatphobia is masquerading as fat representation. It is deceptive and sneaky. So, it is not anger that I feel, but disappointment. I feel taken advantage of, lulled into not just complacency, but full-on feminist support, for an ideology that is antithetical to the valuing of fat bodies that I stand for.

 Ultimately my relationship to the Barbie movie is complicated. There are aspects of it that really resonated with me: its insightful commentary on the contradictory expectations imposed upon women by the Patriarchy and the role men play within it, feminist solidarity, and mother-daughter bonds. I caught glimpses of substantive and impactful fat representation. In these small ways, it is a step for the Fat Liberation movement toward a world in which fat bodies are valued as much as thin ones without harmful associations or stereotypes. Simultaneously, I am greatly challenged by this movie because, in many ways it let fat women, down. It undercut its own message in several significant ways around this topic and as such does not embody the progress in this area that I hoped it would.

 I will leave you with this: let Rooney’s Barbie just be in Barbie Land. Let her rippling upper arms fly free along the perfect plastic streets if she wants them to. For the love of god cast fat actors who are proud of the fat body they have and want to represent others who feel the same way! Let fat people just exist alongside everyone else without explanation or justification or virtue signaling. When I see that, when I see unapologetically bare shoulders on screen and can scroll Instagram without the betrayal of a formerly fat celebrity sucking in what remains of her stomach to distance herself even further from me and my body- then will I finally feel represented: seen and valued as not just a woman- but a fat woman. 

Sources

Anderson, Tre’vel, & Hill, Jarett, hosts. “This Barbie Is On Strike!” FANTI, episode 180, https://maximumfun.org/episodes/fanti/this-barbie-is-on-strike/. Accessed 26 Jul. 2023.

Cardoso, Patricia, director. Real Women Have Curves. HBO Video (Firm), 2002, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=biT9FTo0lcQ&t=4210s.  Accessed 10 Aug. 2023.

Clements, Ron, & John Musker. The Little Mermaid. Buena Vista Pictures, 1989.

Gerwig, Gretal, director. Barbie. Warner Bros. Pictures, 2023.

Hava , Juila, & McLamb, Eliza, hosts. “Barbietopia.” Binchtopia, https://shows.acast.com/binchtopia/episodes/barbietopia. Accessed 02 Aug. 2023.

 Horta, Silvilo, & Gaitán, Fernando, creators. Ugly Betty. ABC, 2006-2010.

Kwapis, Ken, director. The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants, Warner Home Video, 2005.

 Marshall, Rob, director. The Little Mermaid. Walt Disney Studios Motion Picutres, 2023.

 Morris, Abby Rose, host. “URSULA: FAT ICON.” More Than Tracy Turnblad, https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/abby-rose-morris3/episodes/URSULA-FAT-ICON-e2cq7gd. Accessed 10 Jul. 2023.

 Simons, Sasha-Ann, host. “Bias Against Bodies: Why is it still legal to fire someone for being fat?” Reset, https://www.wbez.org/stories/why-is-it-still-legal-to-fire-someone-for-being-fat/328df85b-d8b1-44eb-9e91-b93dfd3f037f.Accessed 03 Jan. 2023.

On Being a Fat Preschool Teacher

This started out as email I sent a podcast I love in response to a call they put out for fat people across professions, specifically teachers, to share their experience. They never got back to me, but I decided to rework it a little bit and post it here. I’m very proud of it- enjoy!

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To be a teacher is to be hyper-visible. You are on display all day in front of a group of children who spend a lot of time looking at you. As one of the few adults they consistently interact with, you are a role model for these kids. This means they will study you and immediately notice, and comment on, everything and anything about you. I am a preschool teacher in New York City, and my students are not shy about sharing their observations with me. I’ve heard things like, “Why does you belly wiggle when you dance?” and “You have a big tummy.” I have come to understand that remarks like this are children’s way of exploring the world around them, and seeking connection by sharing their discoveries with me. In other words these are not judgments the way they would be if they came out of the mouths of adults.

The reason for this is that three and four year olds are at a developmental stage where they are beginning to notice similarities and differences and want to talk about them. Young children are largely (pun intended and relished) unaware of the negative associations and judgements many adults hold with regard to fat bodies. As such, my student's’ questions and noticings could not be more genuine. My work then was, and is, to find ways to respond to them that accomplish three things simultaneously: protecting my vulnerable feelings in the context of a world consistently views my fatness as a deficit, honoring my students’ curiosity and not dissuading them from future question asking, and communicating to them the belief that fat bodies are just as valuable as any other.

I am still practicing and it is not easy, but so worth it. Since the beginning of my teaching career, nearly 8 years ago now, I have done a lot of work on my relationship with my fat body. I read books, listen to podcasts, talk to friends, attent retreats, and unpack it all in therapy. I have done a lot of healing, but I by no means finished. I am still very much on that journey, and I suspect I always will be. This continual growth is, to me, far preferable than the stagnation that is its alternative. There are days when I think my fat body is the absolute shit, and other days when I resent and blame it for any number of hardships I encounter. Sometimes, I am still jarred by how much an innocuous comment from a child can hurt me. In these moments all of the self-consciousness and shame that I had been conditioned to feel about bodies like mine during my own childhood bubbles up to the surface.

I remind myself that I have the power to be for my students what I needed so badly as a kid: a role model for radical body acceptance- and in my best moments- for fat joy and pride. I read books to my students about many different kinds of bodies. I mention the belly when discussing body parts (even naming adipose tissue) and give my own a gentle jiggly pat for reference. I incorporate it into songs and games to normalize its presence. And even with all that, I sometimes have to fake it. I stand by this choice because to me, it is more important to provide children of this age with an example of a proud and capable fat person than it is share the darker moments of my relationship with my body. These feelings are not theirs to carry, so why burden them with prejudices they don’t yet have? They will receive enough negative messages about fatness from the society beyond my classroom over the course of their lives, if they haven’t begun to already. Let their experience of me serve as a small piece of counter-programing in the fatphobic world in which they find themselves.

My students continuously teach me that in order to provide thoughtful loving responses to their genuine questions and observations, I need figure out a way to feel, and present as, comfortable in my body. For me looks like appreciating its functionality first, and appreciating its beauty in the moments that I can. It is important to me that I am able to have conversations with my students about bodies, if that is something that they are wondering about, and I can’t do that if I am not genuinely working my hardest toward believing own body is valid as it is. In having me their teacher during these early formative years, my students are seeing a competent fat person in action, living a successful and fulfilling life, and hopefully forming an association that extends beyond me to the other fat folks they encounter. 

My experiences in the classroom with curious young children have profoundly shaped my relationship with my fat body by providing me with opportunities to practice publicly loving it.

Also- little kids don’t care that much about what you look like. They are much more perceptive to what you show them you feel about what you look like. That is what is going to give them to tools to embrace their bodies and enable them to lead fulfilling lives of their own.

Unpacking the Fatphobia in Matilda

First published on fatgirlstraveling.com

Ok, I need to talk about the blatant fatphobia in Netflix’s Roald Dahl’s Matilda the Musical. To be clear, I loved many other aspects of this film adaptation- the performances were powerful, the sets were vibrant, and the songs brought me to cathartic tears. However, parts of this iteration of the character Bruce were painful to watch. 

Let’s begin by acknowledging that Roald Dahl, as a writer, has historically been unkind in his depictions of fat people. Bruce, as well as Augustus Gloop from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, are prime examples of Dahl falling into the all-too-common trap of using fatness as literary shorthand for moral ineptitude. 

This is not great, but the Matilda book was published in 1988 and could have remained a relic of a more unabashedly fatphobic time but for the fact of the portrayal of Bruce in the 1996 film of the same name. As a fat child, I was traumatized by the infamous cake-eating scene. It made me feel shame in my body like there was something wrong with me. It was brutal then, and it’s brutal now. However, it is worth noting that the film version of Bruce was played by an actor who I would describe as fat, Jim Karz. I don’t know if Karz identifies as fat, feels comfortable with that language, or if he even remains a large-bodied person navigating the entertainment industry. I do know that fat actors are often overlooked (even for fat roles!) in favor of thins ones in fat suits. This is not only insulting and damaging to fat performers, but it deprives everyone of valuable fat representation.

This brings me to the iteration of Bruce in the latest Netflix adaptation. Fat suits are problematic enough, but the choice to throw a literal pillow under actor Charlie Hodson-Prior’s shirt and call it a day, baffles me. Additionally, this version of Bruce falls into many harmful fatphobic tropes:

1. He is eating/ talking about food in nearly every scene he is in. It’s just so lazy- he’s “fat” so it must follow that his whole personality revolves around food. What I want to know is, who is Bruce outside of this? We don’t even know why he stole the cake other than “because he’s fat.” Maybe his family experiences food insecurity. Maybe he wanted to give it to a friend or to spite Ms. Trunchable, or hell, maybe he just wanted to eat some cake. But what is Bruce good at? What does he love? What scares him? These are the building blocks of rich character development.  

1. He loudly burps, the smell of which alerts Ms. Trunchable to the fact that he stole the cake. This contributes to the preconceived notion, deeply held by many, that fatness and fat people are disgusting. They did make the visual of the burp pink and orange and swirly when they could have made it green and black and noxious, but this reads as a lame attempt to cover their tracks. Fat characters in TV shows and movies are forever burping and farting and generally demonstrating a lack of bodily control. It’s a widespread assumption that those of us in fat bodies “got this way” by failing to control the amount of food we eat and thus the size of our bodies. The reality is that fatness is much more likely the result of a person’s genetic makeup or a medical condition. The reality is also that there are lots of reasons for fatness, and most importantly fat people do not owe anyone an explanation. The stereotype of the disgusting fat person also creates a justification for societal fatphobia, “We don’t dislike them because they are fat, we dislike them because they are gross.” All of this is harmful, and it needs to stop.

1. He acts as Ms. Trunchable’s little helper instead of participating in the physically demanding “phys ed” scene. Granted, I am assuming that this is because they were worried that getting muddy would reveal (even more) the aforementioned pillow, but it communicates the idea that fat people are not capable of moving their bodies in athletic ways. He does do some high-energy choreography later in the movie, which sends a more positive message about the physical capacities of fat people, but they are undermined by the fact that at the end of the day, he is still a straight-sized person in a fat suit.  

In considering who I think should play this role, I recognize that doing so might be traumatic for a fat actor, especially if they are a child. I am thinking specifically of being forced to publicly eat far past the point of satiation as PUNISHMENT in front of a room full of straight-sized people. Even if those people are cheering for you while simultaneously arguing about whether or not you can finish the cake in front of you. And do you really even win if you do? The trauma has already done a number on you.

As such, I have always wondered about the triumph that permeates every version of this scene, so let’s unpack it. As Bruce is eating, the cheers build around him, and when he finishes the cake the crowd of students and school staff goes absolutely wild. After setting down his fork every version of him looks at Ms. Trunchable with a mixture of defiance and satisfaction. Why? Can it really be as simple as he accomplished something difficult that an oppressive authority figure thought him incapable of? As basic as, “That’ll show her!”? Part of me thinks that while perhaps this is the intention behind this scene if we examine it more deeply, a much more sinister motivation emerges. Making food a punishment complicates the simplicity of the potentially intended message. Food should never be a punishment. Then add to this scene the fact that it showcases a fat child’s relationship with “unhealthy food,” and the complexity grows. 

Would it change the meaning or impact of this scene if Bruce was forced to eat broccoli instead? Well, then it becomes that scene from The Office in which Michael forces Kevin to publicly eat raw broccoli. Both scenes are meant to inspire shame in fat characters and blame them for their fatness. Kevin says, “This is a new food for me…” and appears not to know how to eat it. This indicates stupidity (the one common fatphobic trope that Hodson-Prior’s Bruce seems to have evaded) and implies that Kevin’s fatness is his fault because he made the wrong dietary choices.

If Bruce was forced to eat broccoli the goal would still be to shame him, the message being, “This is what you should be eating and clearly you’re not so you’ve made the wrong choice.” This was also the message to Kevin. However, there is something extra vindictive about the choice to make the fat kid eat cake. Chocolate cake in particular is decadent without being nutritious. It flies in the face of the “food as fuel” argument. In other words, it’s not “necessary”. The shame being communicated to Bruce with this set of circumstances is, “You made the wrong choice of what to eat, and now you must suffer the consequences.” Ultimately, the messages of shame are the same. So, while the kind of food does not change the impact of the scene it does alter its tactics for conveying its message.

The biggest difference though between the Office scene (for the record I mostly love this show!) and the Matilda one, is the responses of the witnesses. It could be argued that Michael Scott, like Ms. Trunchable is an oppressive authority figure who the employees of Dunder Mifflan might want to “stick it to.” However, rather than doing this by giving in to mob mentality and egging Kevin on to eat the broccoli, they support him by saying, “you don’t have to do this,” and by admonishing Michael. Conversely, the triumph of Bruce’s spectators communicates a ghoulish glee, a morbid fascination in watching a fat person eat. This is masked as support for Bruce as he faces a challenge, but it feels barbaric to me.

Miss Honey, who is an adult and portrayed as kind and nurturing, has the most extreme reaction, noteworthy because it’s read as her standing up to Ms. Trunchable, so it cannot be argued that this is a case of children not knowing any better. No one says to Bruce he doesn’t have to do this. No one seems to have a problem with what is happening until Ms. Trunchable goes back on her promise that if he eats every crumb of the cake, he will be forgiven for stealing the original piece. Only then does Matilda say, “That’s not right! You can’t just change the rules, that’s cheating!” As if that were the only issue here. This scene removes Bruce’s humanity and reduces him to a bear on a unicycle, enduring incredible cruelty in the name of entertainment. 

Also, as a side note, the lyrics of Bruce, the song they sing about him in the musical during this scene, are appalling:

“The time has come to put that tumbly tum to use.
You produce, Bruce,
Fantastically enthusiastic gastric juice! Oh …
Eat it up! Lick it up! Suck it up!
Whatever you do, don’t chuck it up and muck it up!”

“You’ll never again be subject to abuse
For your immense caboose,”

“No excuse, Bruce,
Let out your belt, I think you’ll want your trousers loose.
Ohhh stuff it in!”

So, here’s a thought: Cast a straight-sized actor as Bruce! Why is it important that this character is fat? It isn’t. Guess what? Thin people like cake too and could be just as likely to steal it. As for the argument that he needs to be fat to show just how messed up it is that Ms. Trunchable would force him to publicly eat to excess- we get it, she’s abusive! This punishment would be awful for a thin person too. 

By the way, there is a whole other essay I could write about how the various depictions of Ms. Trunchable use fatness, and lack of femininity/ conventional attractiveness to convey her villainy, but I’ll save that for another day.

It would not derail the plot if Bruce were thin. In fact, it would likely enhance the viewing experience of fat audience members who are likely experiencing completely unnecessary shame and trauma. My intention here is not the erasure of real fat representation where it exists (pillows don’t count!) but to shift the focus of it from a character’s only contribution to a story to a descriptor that just so happens to be true for them. Let’s cast fat actors in leading “virtuous” roles, instead of habitually relegating them to be stereotyped at the sidelines. What if Miss Honey was a fat impactful educator? What if Matilda was a fat kid who was also brilliant and compassionate with an affinity for stories? Maybe then Roald Dahl’s Matilda the Musical would be a step toward nuanced fat representation, rather than a reductive step back.

It’s disheartening to me that across the many adaptations of Matilda that we’ve seen, creators reimagined so much of the original source material, but were unwilling to interrogate this glaring fatphobia. It’s 2023 now, we need to be more discerning about fat representation. 

Sources

Dahl , Roald. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. George Allen & Unwin, 1964. 

Dahl, Roald. Matilda. Jonathan Cape, 1988. 

DeVito, Danny, director. Matilda. Sony Pictures, 1996. 

Kemper, Carrie. “Ultimatum.” The Office, season 7, episode 13, NBC, 20 Jan. 2011. 

Warchus, Matthew, director. Roald Dahl’s Matilda the Musical. Netflix, 2022.