May 6 is International No-Diet day, and as per usual I found this out on May 7 (thank you,GMT +12 timezone!). So no belated post from me.
However, Maia at The Hand Mirror blew my mind with her post Cake is not the opposite of diet.
I don’t think dessert is the opposite of dieting. I think to suggest that it is is to perpetuate a shallow, unhelpful understanding of the role of food in our society. Food and control are so tightly linked that the only other alternative to controlling your food intake is losing control of your food intake.
I think I’d still have to grant the Worst Use of No Diet Day to the twerps who still sincerely opine about “healthy body shapes” and “eating healthily”, but this is a fucking good point.
If we are stuck in a society which makes us question our food intake, which turns food into points, a society in which I literally cannot go a day without hearing a woman putting down her own body or pre-emptively apologising for putting butter on her hot cross buns for morning tea – and especially when the diet/guilt industrial complex has already quite thoroughly co-opted the idea of “cheating” or “taking breaks” or “letting yourself go for a special occasion” … well, one day’s eating two whole cakes, specifically for the purpose of displaying our rebellion, just doesn’t grab me as either effective or particularly esteem-building.
Not when a shit-tonne of women are likely spending May 7 feeling weak-willed and like failures, cutting their portions even more than normal to “make up” for “being naughty”. Not when the patriarchy doesn’t even have to punish us for our rebellion because we’re busy punishing ourselves.
You know what actually messes with The Man? Eating dessert when you want dessert. Eating salad because you love salad, and saying so to any smug assholes who take it upon themselves to comment on your choice. Refusing to mouth the rote apologies for ordering a tremendously delicious cake for a coworker’s going-away do (/personalrant).
I still like No Diet Day. Its mere existence, its statement to the world that you don’t actually have to spend every day policing yourself, mind and body, is a great thing. But when we say, “it’s no-diet day, so let’s be naughty!” we’re still saying that food is naughty. We’re still thinking it. And that means we lose.
ETA: And in case Cactus Kate is out there, here’s Food from Bavaria’s page on Prince Regent Cake. Enjoy!
So, the Eskimo lollies issue, which apparently is a Symbol of the Loss of Identity And Culture Created By Globalisation, New Zealand Tradition Under Attack My God Won’t You Hypersensitive Brown People Just Shut Up It’s FUNNY Dammit.
First, a world to international readers: “Eskimos” are a “traditional” Kiwi lolly, pictured in the above-linked article. They taste like death. Their sales success is due to only two things: (1) everyone consumed a metric ton of them as children because they were a vital component of the fabled, long-lost One Dollar Lolly Bag, and (2) nostalgia makes people do STUPID SHIT like eat rubber-spongey candies that TASTE LIKE DEATH.*
I swear, even gargling all-sugar Coke doesn’t kill the VILE AFTERTASTE OF CHEMICAL FLAVOURINGS.
Of course, now we can add (3) this has somehow become spun into a watershed moment of Kiwi xenophobia I mean, maintaining our National Identity. This is fracking GALLIPOLI 2.0, PEOPLE.
But here’s what bothers me.
If Eskimo lollies are so iconic, so part of our heritage … what, pray tell, does that say about New Zealand and New Zealanders? If Eskimo lollies are representative of it?
And what the fuck does it say when the media are able to get this much of a beat-up out of a single person voicing the mildest objection to it? I mean, fuck, there’s the classic automatic “feeling personally attacked due to attack on something held dear” and then there’s HOLY MASSIVE OVERREACTION BATMAN. Over a fucking lolly. A nasty-tasting, crappily-molded lolly.
This crap ain’t iconic of any New Zealand I’m proud to live in.
*And watch 1980s Transformers reruns, and sing the Captain Planet theme song in public. Am I showing my age?
PS. Editing the Herald, I love ya, but seriously:
Or perhaps ‘Eskimo’ just really isn’t up there with World’s Worst Insults.
Please shut up, your privilege is showing.
Feministe has good coverage of the Angie Zapata murder trial, with predictable headdesk-inducing bullshit from the defence well underway.