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May 4, 2007
A question posed on BFB reminded me of the topic of “hogging”, in which desperate men seduce fat girls when they can’t get any other action. Apparently, it is a fairly common sport among the more misogynist types out there (see links).Aside from my sense of feminist indignation, the concept has been rather hurtful to me as a woman.

I went through a period in my early-mid twenties when I was open to the famous one-night stand or very short love affairs (a week or two), which at the time gave me a feeling of power and confidence. All of my “normal” friends, including some women I greatly admired, were getting laid and having a good time, and so was I. HA!, I thought, those assholes in high school were wrong. I may be fat but I’m still sexy, and I can still take guys home–and hot, smart ones, too (including members of the Special Forces, firemen, and a physics professor). I used to love to go out clubbing, dancing in a sexy way, and so on.

That all changed after I read that article about hogging, although not overnight. I was utterly horrified to think that most of these little affairs and tiny victories in the struggle for self-confidence might actually have been episodes of “hogging”. That while I was starting to think of myself as a sexy, confident woman, rather than an awkward and ugly girl, men were actually seeing me as a trophy in a game of abasement and abuse, and I didn’t even realize it. I wasn’t a woman, I was a hog.

My whole outlook on sex, sexiness, even the music I liked and the goth clubs I used to hang out at completely changed. I don’t think I had sex for a couple of years after that, because it was no longer something enjoyable, but a decision to degrade myself in order to meet what seemed like a base and dirty desire. And not dirty in a sexy way. Eventually, I stopped going to clubs except on rare occasions. It became very hard for me to bring myself to dance, because I didn’t want to bring attention to myself or my body. When I went out with friends, I usually stayed seated, drinking far too much. Usually I was a real drag to be around, because going out where men might notice me just made me feel even more depressed about how I looked, so I tried to avoid it as much as possible.

Even if I did meet someone who seemed interested in me, I couldn’t trust anyone to honestly think I was attractive. When I first met my fiancĂ©, I really agonized over whether he was sincere. I was new in town and at the university, and it was “FAF week” (that is, “Fuck a Freshman”). To me it seemed wildly improbable that he would be interested in me as a person, and I was sure that he was targeting me as an easy lay. In the end I rationalized taking the chance by saying that I could at least get laid for once. I still have a lingering fear that he will wake up one day, probably our wedding day, and his eyes will open to my hideous truth. Or I have visions of him ditching me at the altar, or saying “I can’t marry a fat girl” instead of “I do”.

Links about hogging:
A New Fork in the Road
Big Game Hunters, by Sarah Fenske

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From → Fat, Mental

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