When ‘One Size Fits All’ means anyone but me (Emma Carew)

“We don’t have your size.”

I had barely set foot inside and the shopkeeper blurted out the words in Korean. Literally, the words she used translate to mean, “As for us, your size does not exist.” Not the best way to start a sales pitch.

One of the biggest culture shocks for me when I went to Korea this summer was the way Korean people judged me by my body type – which is curvy but not plus-sized by American standards.

My 5’6”, size 10 body felt huge next to the 5’0”, size 0 girls I stood next to on the subways. I was afraid if the trains stopped suddenly, I might crush the person standing next to me. I felt like my size gave me away instantly as being American. I hadn’t felt that self-conscious about my body since middle school.

In the States, I buy clothes in size medium at most stores, and my pant size is smaller than the American average for women (size 14). In Korea, I had a hard time finding clothes that fit at all, especially from street vendors, where most of the items are “one-size-fits-all.”

One of the first things my Korean grandmother said to my translator when I visited was, “you’ve gotten fatter.” My Korean isn’t great, but I distinctly heard “tdeung-tdeung-hae,” which is the word Korean kids use to call other kids fat. (Later, my Korean friends assured me that she probably was happy to see I was “healthy” and meant it endearingly, not as an insult)

In America, our movie stars and models don’t all descend from the 1960s icon Twiggy. We see women like Emme and Queen Latifah in magazine advertisements and billboards. I recently read an article in Glamour that was written by the actress who plays Dr. Callie Torres on Grey’s Anatomy. It was entitled “I’m a size 12 in a size 0 town” and talked about her experience with weight in Hollywood.

In Korea, the characters in dramas and films were usually depicted by short, skinny actresses. In one program I watched, one character’s boyfriend started a fistfight with another boy who called the girlfriend “at least 50 kilograms.” 50 kg is the equivalent of 110 lbs, which would hardly be considered an insult by US standards.

I have basically accepted that I love food as much as I hate exercise. I try to work healthier foods into my diet from time to time, but I know I’ll never buy a size 0 pair of jeans. It’s a balance that’s only gotten more difficult in college, where I eat out frequently and struggle to adapt family-sized recipes to cook for one.

In Korea, I felt as though someone had tattooed the title of that magazine article across my forehead. Women tried to sell me tea in the grocery marts, repeating in broken English, “is good for diet” as I walked by. Every time I passed a reflective surface (mirrors are everywhere in Seoul) my belly looked rounder, and my arms looked bigger than usual.

I knew from my adoption papers that my birth mother was petite, about 5 feet and 100 lbs when I was born. My half-sisters are slim and tiny like she is. I long ago out grew and outweighed not only my birth mother, but also my birth father.

And although my Korean grandmother called me fat and nicknamed me her “little piglet,” I’ve accepted that it’s only a part of their culture. (I am, however, less forgiving of those sales ladies)

I’m not sure my grandmother understands how I came to be the size that I am growing up in American. As a farmer in rural South Korea, fast food and Starbucks-to-go do not exist in her world. I learned that because of the periods of hunger in her past, my grandmother would not offer her food to just anyone. And yet, she tried to feed me time and time again when I was in Korea, me: her piglet, American granddaughter.

My Words Are A Vessel, My Body is My Temple (Ishle Park)

It’s Tuesday afternoon and I want to lose 4 pounds by Saturday for an awards ceremony. Today if I’m good, I’ll drink 7 glasses of water, down a strawberry-banana smoothie, and eat seaweed & rice for dinner. I’ll dance with my iPod for 30 minutes and go to bed a little hungry. Repeat for 4 days, and I’m good to go. I’ve become a scientist when it comes to my own body, and I’ve finally figured out the formula for my weight loss. Crazy! Why? Why do I care?

Because this society rewards beauty, and my own livelihood depends on people booking me for shows. The more physically attractive I appear, the more shows I get, the more school loans I can pay off. It’s a mathematical fact that has nothing to do with poetry or music. This frustrates me, but this is the foolish world I am living in. And this is how I pay rent. A wise musician once told me, to make a living as an artist, you must sell the outside, but keep the inside. It’s a fine line, one I’m trying to balance on every day.

So I confess ~ yes, I too, worry about weight. I too, am caught up in this national fascination with body and image. It’s disturbing and crazy, and I can’t say that it doesn’t affect me. Especially now, as a female poet and entertainer in this small Asian American spotlight, I feel the pressure to be as “perfect” as I can be. The truth is ~ I do want to be at my physical and spiritual best while the lights are on, but let me tell you, honey, it’s hard work.

Sometimes I wonder how psychologically damaging it must be for us to constantly be rewarded for all the wrong reasons: appearance as opposed to substance, surface as opposed to self, the beautiful illusion and not stark reality. But as one of the magicians, who am I to complain? I’m here to serve magic.

And we play the game in order to put rice on the table. All I can do to escape it is meditate and remember that none of this matters ~ we’re all going to die anyway, so just be the biggest light you can be while you’re here, girl. That’s it. Simple.

If my words are a vessel, my body is my temple. What I do requires a lot of physical energy, stamina, and chi. In order for me to perform my best onstage, I need to not just look healthy, but BE healthy. After years of trying every diet known to woman ~ low carb, no carb, lemonade & cayenne pepper ~ I’m learning that what works best for me is to simply eat less (don’t go for seconds), eat right (lots of fresh fruit, no pasta, and nothing from a can or a box if possible), and exercise more (30 minutes of poi a day can do wonders for the upper arms). My friends are a little shocked at this change. After all, before I was the Poet Laureate of Queens, I was most definitely queen of Haagen-Dazs ice cream bars, Hershey’s Kisses, and Cool Ranch Doritoes.

A year of eating greasy diner food while touring with Def Poetry Jam changed my diet. I got so sick of burgers at chains ending with y’s (Friendly’s, Arby’s, Wendy’s,) and downing handfuls of Peanut M&M’s for breakfast, I started seriously looking for a lifestyle change. Living on a diet of weed & junk food erodes the body and soul, and it almost broke me down.

After the tour, I lived in New Zealand with a young boy-chef. We had our drama, but one good aspect of our life together is that everyday we ate fresh pineapples cashews, daily multi-vitamins, and tuna-avocado sandwiches. Yes, we had our stash of chocolate bars too, but in general, it was a pretty nutritious time. My skin glowed, I felt 5 years younger, and had energy to dance or sing every weekend. Eating well really did give me a new life.

It’s been hard for me to maintain this health kick because I’ve been a junkaholic since the early 80s. As a latchkey kid growing up in Queens, I’d sit alone with a mountain of comfort food while my parents worked at the fish store; I’d let ramen, DingDongs, and Ruffles babysit me while I watched Ricki Lake. Always a chubby girl growing up meant thick thighs, stomach rolls, meaty arms, and insecurities galore. Only now, decades later, do I realize what works best for me ~ eating healthy, meditation, and exercise ~ in the form of salsa, swimming, sex, poi, guitar-playing, and singing.

I’m a grown woman, and I want to live this life to the fullest while I’m here. And enjoy it with the best body that I can manage. And it definitely feels like work! Annoying homework. But it’s worth it, because being fit helps me feel more confident and gives me more energy to tackle each day. I’m slowly coming to understand that part of loving and respecting myself mean respecting my body’s needs by nourishing it with as much pure, organic, fresh food as possible, and cutting down on toxins, chemicals, or chemically-treated junk that passes for food. I eat less, but I have so much more energy! Enough to fly around the world three times in a year and have life-changing collaborations with amazing musicians. I wouldn’t be able to do this if I was still living on Happy Meals & Applebee’s.[1]

Visiting other countries, you also see how overweight America is. Our gluttony and greed as a country seems to be reflected in our overflowing waistlines. Visiting North Korea in particular had a huge impact on me because everyone there is on a permanent diet ~ not by choice ~ but because of years of the U.S. embargo, draught, and famine. It really puts things in perspective, and make you want to stop eating as much, if only in some small, guilty gesture of personal solidarity.

So when I start to stress about my weight, I try to remember to chill out. It’s a luxury to even have such trivial concerns. Many people in the world are struggling to live. So if I lose those 4 pounds by Saturday, great. If not ~ hey, so what. Life goes on. I’d like to think I didn’t get the Sister of Fire award for my ability to fit into tight jeans, but my ability to live life beyond those type of constraints. In the end, all I truly need to do is love and respect myself with my words and actions. That is my biggest job, and living up to my own ideal of Self will be my greatest award. For now, I’m signing off. Writing this article was tiring! I might go reward myself with a low fat fudge pop. Peace.