“When The Fat Lady Sings" - Fatphobia on Stage

by Shannon Gaffney

I’m sick of seeing fat women sing about being fat. There, I said it.

I’m sick of seeing fat women sing about being fat -- because we have so much more to say. Every second that I have to see a fat woman sing about being fat, I miss out on seeing her sing about achieving her innermost dreams, falling in love, going on a journey, or even just having a good time. I’m sick of seeing fat women defend their fatness or worse -- cry because of it. I’m sick of seeing people love fat women not because of their bodies, but in spite of their bodies.

I want to see fat women barrel over in laughter, love passionately, dance joyfully with no apology, make discoveries about life and their place in the world. I want to hear them sing sweet songs, breakup songs, longing songs, fun songs, inspirational songs. I guess what I really want is to see them being human -- and that is missing from the stage.

Musical theatre constantly asks fat women to be sad about being fat. Take, for example, Nadia in Bare. She sings an entire song called “Plain Jane Fatass,” where she bitterly talks of herself in third person, saying, “She'll have your piece of pie - Then inhale another ten. There's a thin girl inside her with twelve of her friends.” Later, she sings “A Quiet Night At Home,” where she reveals that her mother used to tell her, “Slim down, dear. Things will change. After all, you’ve such a pretty face.”

Consider Rose in Dogfight, who is asked on a date by a boy who purposely tries to find the ugliest girl possible, to win a competition. She sings “Pretty Funny” -- arguably one of the saddest songs that exist in contemporary musical theatre. Or take, for example, Martha in Heathers -- who is the butt of a cruel joke, called a pig, and later attempts suicide. Any moments of happiness these characters experience -- Rose’s unbridled joy in “Nothing Short of Wonderful” or Martha’s excitement over a note from her crush -- come crashing to the ground when we realize that once again, the fat woman has been betrayed. Thin characters are sad because their hearts are broken, because they fell short on a goal, because someone they love has died, because they are dealing with a difficult decision.

I want to be clear that I consider Bare, Dogfight, and Heathers to be exceptional pieces of theatre -- and Nadia, Rose, and Martha to be exceptional characters. But these shows and these characters become harmful when they are all we have. Fat women are not going into a call for Nadia on Monday, and Ado Annie on Tuesday. They are specifically being asked to think about and be shameful of their weight, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

While I think it is important that we tell stories about fatphobia, and we do not overlook the pain that many plus size women experience, we do not exist to play out this pain over and over again with no relief.

The other accepted box for fat women is the opposite trope -- the character who is fat and loving every minute of it. These women are proud of who they are, and they ask, “So what if I’m fat?” The best example of this would be Tracy in Hairspray -- again, a character I believe to be exceptional, and one that is not inherently harmful. In fact, this show does a lot of things right. “Good Morning Baltimore” is exactly the kind of joy we should be aiming for in roles for plus size women. That being said, there are still insidious lyrics and lines, such as when Tracy says she is “hungry for something that (she) can’t eat,” that beg the question -- are we always laughing with Tracy? Or are we sometimes, without even realizing it, laughing at her?

Another issue with the “fat and loving it” trope, is that whenever the character experiences joy, her fatness needs to be pointed out. For example, when Link gives Tracy attention, that love is, in itself, a prize. Even after the leading man falls in love with her, he feels the need to say that he loves her “no matter what she weighs.” It always seems like he feels the need to apologize for his attraction to her -- like it needs to be explained.

Not to mention when Tracy attributes his admiration of her beauty to the “low-watt institutional lighting,” he doesn’t argue. It is implied that Link does not love Tracy and find her sexy because of the way she looks -- but that he has learned to see past the way she looks. This isn’t the kind of love that I want to hear fat women singing about.

I can already anticipate some of the comments I will get on this piece. “But some characters need to be thin so that the plot can make sense!” Sometimes, this is true -- such as Amber Von Tussle in Hairspray or Regina George in Mean Girls. But I ask...is there a genuine reason why Cinderella can’t be fat? What is the reason that Elphaba, Julie Jordan, Marian Paroo, the Baker’s Wife, Katherine Plumber, Mrs. Lovett, or Maria Von Trapp can’t be fat? Why can’t ensemble members be fat? Are there no fat people in communities?

This brings me to another rebuttal - “But musical theatre actors, especially ensemble dancers, have to be physically fit!” To that, I say...why are we equating fitness with thinness? Tracy Turnblad, arguably musical theatre’s most beloved fat character, auditioned and was cast on a dance show! We love to listen to Hairspray, but we have apparently learned nothing from it. We should not be bringing people into dance calls on the basis of their thinness but on the basis of their ability. 

Another argument I am sure I will hear is, “You’re asking for too much! The industry will never be fair! It’s all about money!” Trust me, I know. Fatphobia is only a small fraction of the unfairness that occurs in this industry. But here’s the thing...why do we believe that casting fat women will not make theatre companies money? The average American woman is between a size 16 and 18, as reported by a study in the International Journal of Fashion Design, Technology, and Education (https://www.byrdie.com/average-body-weight). The Center for Disease Control and Prevention reported that 71.6% of adults aged 20 and over are overweight or obese (https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/fastats/obesity-overweight.htm). If this were about money, we would be casting plus-size people all the time. They represent the majority of the American audience -- so why are we resisting humanizing them? This resistance is a clear result of ingrained fatphobia and is no basis for a business model.

I have hope for fat women. I do. The first time I felt that hope was when I saw Head Over Heels on Broadway two summers ago. Princess Pamela is a character on a journey that has absolutely nothing to do with her weight. She doesn’t sing, “Beautiful is all that I see when I look at me...even though I’m fat!” She is beautiful, and that’s the end of the sentence. She struggles to come to terms with her sexuality, she learns how to truly love and grow out of her selfishness, and she starts to recognize how the society she lives in can change for the better. None of these journeys rely on her pain or her performative joy about being fat.

Men are attracted to Pamela, and they don’t feel the need to explain themselves. Mopsa, the woman who loves Pamela, does so proudly. There are barriers to their relationship -- but those barriers have nothing to do with Pamela’s body. Although their relationship certainly has ups and downs, those obstacles have nothing to do with how Pamela looks, and everything to do with their genuine love for one another. Until seeing this show, it was hard for me to put into words exactly what plus size women were missing in musical theatre, but now, it is so clear to me. We aren’t letting fat women be human, outside of their fatness. We aren’t listening to their genuine joy and pain, as complex, multi-dimensional beings. 

The next time that fat lady sings, I want her to tell me about her greatest hopes, her biggest fears, her proudest successes, and her hardest failures. I hope she will sing legit soprano ballads, sexy alto jazz numbers, and mezzo laments. I hope she will sing duets with people who really care about her, and dance in the front row if she nailed the routine, and be celebrated for her whole self. Most of all, I hope she won’t tell me that she’s fat. I already know. I have her headshot, and I’m calling her back for Jenna in Waitress. ‘

Next, please.