“The problem is, either I’m going to be
too big for the world, or the world’s going
to be too big for me.” For years, one of the worst things
a female character could be was fat. To be overweight was seen
as a fate worse than death. “You died, and they
turned you into a size 16?” “Pretty much.” “That is so unfair.” The fat woman was often
portrayed as a cautionary tale, the antithesis to
the popular skinny girl. And for her failure
to starve herself, she was mercilessly
mocked by her peers. But the Funny Fat Woman
turns it around. She owns her size—
and those laughs. As a character,
she can be identified by: Her willingness to be the punchline. “What are you doing?” “I’m doing horizontal running.” She’s also usually confident
about herself and her appearance. “I know I’m the hottest bitch
in this joint.” She takes bold risks, and she doesn’t worry
about other people. “Yeah, blind person walking here.
If this person would just move over— would you mind, sir?”
[gropes Josephine’s chest] And she’s quirky and upbeat, “Oh, my God.
Why you looking at me like you Stacey Dash
and I just told you you black?” except when she’s being
a sarcastic smart-ass. “You did not get Montreal, and that’s only because
you did one of the worst sets I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life.” Above all, the Funny Fat Woman
is, well, funny— and compared to a history of characters who were made
to feel nothing but shame, this might seem like
a tentative step forward for body positivity. But the trope also reinforces
the old idea that women characters should be sexy or amusing— and often we’re still laughing
at her, not with her. “Monica, why don’t you
finish off these pies? I don’t have enough
room in the fridge.” Here’s our Take on the many
complexities of the Funny Fat Woman, what makes her different
from the Funny Fat Man, and whether we can ever
get over her size. “Look, give me what she got,
but while you at it, make that skinny ass protein patty
a fat-ass double beef patty with extra mayo." This video is brought to you by Mubi,
a curated streaming service showing exceptional films
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in this complex, messy world. So, thank you for watching,
and check out our limited-edition designs
available on the merch shelf now before they’re gone! “Fatty Patty’s huge.” The Funny Fat Woman is,
first and foremost, an object of ridicule. “They used to try to blow me up.
They threw firecrackers at my head.” Beyond the jokes, the bullying,
or the outright mean comments her character might endure,
movies and TV often treat her body itself as a joke. “Jesus, Megan.” “I wanna apologize. I’m not even confident
on which end that came out of.” She’s often depicted as a glutton,
seen shoveling food into her mouth with no self control. “You didn't sit on my
Kit Kats, did you?” Meanwhile, she’s typically reduced
to a supporting character, given goofy subplots that see her
providing comic relief for the real storylines involving
her more conventionally attractive, emotionally intelligent female friends. The Funny Fat Woman is often
made to seem socially awkward and even downright annoying,
desperate to be everyone’s friend. “You monopolize my time,
and then you make me feel guilty about not spending time with you.” If she’s slightly older,
she’s often typecast as matronly and overbearing,
domineering and robbed of all her femininity. This is especially true among
women of color, who are often cast as sassy,
plus-sized Black mothers and grandmothers who dish out
insults and unsolicited advice. “Men lie. Kurt sure as hell lied.” Their lack of sex appeal— often combined with
a hyperactive libido— becomes a source of comic disgust,
as seen in the common trope of Black men donning
fat suits to play them. “Show me a lovely evening. Then I would take him home
and give him the hot lovely relations.” The Funny Fat Woman is thus
presented as a contrast to the feminine ideal— unsexy, coarse, and with
a dark and abrasive sense of humor. "I look like someone's
homophobic aunt!" Sometimes we’re shown
how her behavior actually masks a deep insecurity
and even anger about her weight. “It’s easy for you to spout
your self-esteem BS. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be a teenager
and look like this?” For example, the title character
in Netflix’s Sierra Burgess is a Loser is funny, but she can also be cruel— engaging in cyberbullying
and catfishing, and manipulating her friends
and her love interest to her own selfish ends. “You think I’m mean? You should check the mirror,
because your looks are the least ugly thing about you.” Still, we’re meant to see how
she justifies her actions because of her body image issues,
as well as the understanding that, if she didn’t act out this way,
she’d otherwise be invisible. “Honestly, had we not met
the way that we had, maybe I wouldn’t have noticed you.” But there’s another kind
of Funny Fat Woman, one whose boisterous personality
is born not of just acceptance of her size, but ownership. With her eponymous ‘90s sitcom, Roseanne Barr came to epitomize
this kind of plus-sized woman— cool, cocky, and uncompromising. “Doesn’t a fatty diet…
won’t it make you fat?” “So?” Roseanne viewed being overweight
not only as no big deal, but a rejection of being
inauthentic and uptight. “When I watch that show
Friends, you know, that has all those whiny girls
that are nothing but hair and bones, and they're like drinking
those triple expressos and stuff and I'm just like
‘Hey! Go for the muffins!’" In more recent years,
we’ve seen her descendants in characters played by
Melissa McCarthy and Rebel Wilson, who have further redefined
the Funny Fat Woman as someone who doesn’t care
what anyone thinks about her. “They called me a freak.
Do you think I let that break me? Do you think I went home
to my mommy, crying ‘Oh, I don't have any friends.
Oh, Megan doesn’t have any friends.’ No, I did not.” In movies like Bridesmaids,
Ghostbusters, and The Heat, McCarthy portrays women
who are not only comfortable with themselves, but who can’t
understand anyone who doesn’t live as freely as they do. “What are those?” “What? Stop! Stop it,
they're my Spanx! They hold everything together!” “Why, what's gonna f---ing
come popping out?” They’re also unapologetically sexual. “You feel that steam heat comin’?
That’s from my undercarriage.” “Okay.” “That can go even higher.” Similarly, Rebel Wilson’s Fat Amy
in the Pitch Perfect movies has an abundance of self-esteem,
wielding her size as her superpower. “Crushed it.” Both McCarthy and Wilson
have been outspoken about using their roles to promote
body positivity— although Wilson in particular
has also faced criticism for failing to acknowledge
the path laid by women of color. After Wilson called herself
the first plus-sized woman to lead a romantic comedy,
some were quick to point out that others had gotten there first—
including Queen Latifah and Mo’nique. In fact, the Black woman
has largely been a pioneer for the Funny Fat Woman. Her early depictions were largely
rooted in the Mammy stereotype, with plus-sized women playing
housekeepers who dispensed funny, no-nonsense wisdom
to her white employers. “Now, don't eat too fast. Ain't no need a having for it
come right back up again!” But beginning with movies
like Mo’nique’s Phat Girlz and Queen Latifah’s Last Holiday
and Just Wright, they assumed agency
over their stories— and themselves. “Hello, Denzel.” More modern plus-sized
Black women, like Parks and Recreation’s Donna,
are strong, confident individuals, who know they’re desirable,
and their comedy comes from how much quiet power
they exert over others. “Donna?” “Gentlemen.” Insecure’s Kelli exudes
a similar self-assurance. “Selfie! Uh-uh.
I'm fine as f---.” Kelli is still a sharp wit,
and she owns her sexuality in a way we’ve become accustomed to
with the funny plus-sized woman.
“That white boy took me
apple picking. End of story.” “Really?” “Fine. We fucked
in the orchard. End of story.” But more importantly, she’s a genuine person
with complex feelings— one who’s not just there
to make us laugh. “I'm not trying to be selfish, but I'm losing my best friend
to a goddamn baby.” “I thought fat guys
are supposed to be jolly.” Long before the Funny Fat Woman,
there was the Funny Fat Guy— the jolly, good-natured fat man
who’s been making audiences laugh since Shakespeare’s Falstaff.
“Do I not dwindle? My skin hangs about me
like an old lady's loose gown!” The Funny Fat Guy was a lynchpin
of early onscreen comedy: Silent film star Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle became one of Hollywood’s first
and most famous stars, raking in unheard-of millions
to play bumbling oafs. The duo Laurel and Hardy mined
most of its comedy from juxtaposing the pompous, portly Hardy
against the skinny, guileless Laurel. “We've only got a couple more steps! Now move together! Heave!”
[Hardy falls into the pool] And Jackie Gleason became
one of TV’s earliest stars as The Honeymooners’
Ralph Kramden, whose weight is a constant
source of jokes. “I’m not the kind that eats and runs.” “Eats and runs? The way you eat,
you’re lucky if you can walk.” The Funny Fat Guy has long been
the star of the show, from John Belushi
to John Candy to Chris Farley— and his weight has always been
an essential part of the act. “Fat guy in a little coat.
Fat guy in a little cooooat!” “Don’t.” In fact, being a fat man is often
seen as being inherently funny. “Shouldn’t have lost
all that weight, man. There’s nothing funny about
a physically fit man.” On the surface,
these Funny Fat Guys
would seem to have a lot in common
with the Funny Fat Woman: They’re portrayed as socially awkward, [mouthing] “I swear,
by the moon and the stars,” bullied with mean comments and portrayed as gluttonous
and even disgusting. “Get in my belly.” But the Funny Fat Guy
and the Funny Fat Gal are not on equal footing— and it’s not just in terms of
which one gets to be the lead. For starters, women face
a double standard as to what even constitutes “fat.” “I am not overweight.
I fluctuate between chubby and curvy.” The term “Hollywood fat”
has been used to describe actors who are perfectly healthy,
yet are deemed overweight by the size zero
standards of celebrity. “Weight... 138 pounds.” And of course, this most often
applies to women. “They're like, ‘It's so refreshing
that Mindy feels comfortable to let herself go
and be a fat sea monster.’" The notion has also been propagated in movies like
the Bridget Jones trilogy, where Renee Zellweger’s Bridget
obsesses over her “ideal weight,” convinced she’ll die,
in her words, “fat and alone.” “Weight, 4000 pounds. Am enjoying a relationship
with two men simultaneously— the first called Ben, the other Jerry.” As Zellweger herself has said, “Bridget is a perfectly normal weight and I’ve never understood why
it matters so much. No male actor would get such scrutiny.” “Why are you dancing around
in that tent business?” “Because I don’t want you
to see any of my wobbly bits.” Indeed, men don’t have to worry
about that standard. “Does she take the cake, or what?” “She takes the whole bakery, Hal.” There’s far more latitude
for what constitutes a truly “fat” man— and their weight is far from
a hindrance to their happiness. “Woo-hoo! Look at that blubber fly!” The Funny Fat Man is considered
a viable romantic lead, no matter how out-of-shape
he might be— and he’s regularly paired
with beautiful love interests who don’t mind,
or even seem to notice, his size. “Want one?” “I'd better not.” On TV, the trope of the fat guy
with the beautiful, skinny wife is so common, sites have devoted
entire lists to the phenomenon. In these pairings,
the men are implied to be sweet and affectionate,
smart and good providers, or otherwise boasting
the kind of attractive personality women can’t help but be drawn to. “You are still the most handsome
man in the world to me.” [laughing uncomfortably]
“It doesn’t make any sense.” This is the stark opposite
of the Funny Fat Woman, who’s almost wholly desexualized
and regarded as an object of disgust and pity. The fat woman’s sexual desire
is usually played for laughs, “I’m glad he’s single, ‘cause I’m gonna climb
that like a tree.” and when men are attracted
to fat women, it’s fetishized, or regarded as a sign of a character’s
generally low standards. “Chubby chaser.” Meanwhile, the plus-sized woman
is saddled with partners who are less than ideal,
someone they’re forced to settle for. Hulu’s Shrill presents a generally
body-positive spin on the Funny Fat Woman, casting Aidy Bryant as someone
who learns to embrace her size, and disregard anyone who doesn’t. “But you need a trainer. Come on girl,
you owe it to yourself. You don’t have to settle for this.” “Fuck you” Yet for most of the series
she’s stuck with Ryan, an embarrassing man-child
who thinks only of himself. “Hey, my roommates are here. You’re cool with going
out the back again, right?” As Ali Drucker speculates in The Cut, Annie sticks with
her “bare-minimum boyfriend” in part due to the “fraught ways
society has leveled the self-esteem and romantic aspirations
of plus-size women.” “Maybe if I was just sweet enough
and nice enough and easy-going enough
with any guy, that that would be
enough for someone.” “Honey, you’re being
so mean to yourself.” The Funny Fat Man is seen as
more than just his weight. The Funny Fat Woman is defined by it. As the very existence of Shrill suggests, we’ve become slightly
more mindful of body positivity, creating movies and TV
that center overweight characters without making them
the butt of the joke. “People like pretty things.”
“You’re not a thing.” We’ve even seen actors like Melissa McCarthy
and Rebel Wilson moving away from the Funny Fat Woman roles
that made them famous, toward more dramatic work
that shows their full range. “I need you to get ten thousand dollars. I'm months behind in my rent,
and my cat is sick." There are arguably more
overweight characters in prominent parts than ever— though it’s still only
a smart percentage of overall roles. “What? No. No, I’m not
the Joan of Arc of fat girls.” According to a study
of the top 100 films of 2016, a mere two women
larger than a size 14 were cast in a leading
or co-leading role, while there were only three
to be found among the leads of the top 50 TV shows. Meanwhile, even a marginal increase
in representation doesn’t necessarily mean that the fat woman’s story
will be treated with any greater empathy,
or diversity in the stories they get to tell. The lives of even those more
body-positive characters still tend to revolve
around their weight. “His life is going to be
challenging enough, he doesn’t need to have a dad
who’s gonna drop dead trying to teach him
to tie his shoes.” “Oh, like his mom might.” And whether or not
it’s played for laughs, the plus-sized woman’s weight continues to define the way
others perceive her, and how she perceives herself. “Maybe it’s the people
who judge you who need to change?” “Well good luck with that.” In shows like This Is Us or films
like Brittany Runs a Marathon, the character’s weight-loss journey
often is her story arc. “Let’s get you healthy. I want you to try losing
between 45 and 55 pounds.” On screen, overweight women’s
relationships are dominated by conversations about their size— and more often than not,
their friends and family still end up implicitly shaming them for it. “Well, are you doing
the almonds between meals?” “Yeah, I’m doing the almonds.
They’re so satisfying. Sometimes, when I have six almonds,
I feel like I had twelve almonds.” Even when she is supported,
and reassured that she’s perfect just the way she is,
the plus-sized character herself will be overcome with self-doubt— seeing herself as undesirable
and unworthy of love. “You’re an 11. And I’m a 4.” “I’ve got no idea
what you’re talking about.” “You should be going out
with people like Stacy. Not someone like me.” Women continue to face
disproportionate scrutiny of their appearance in the real world, leading to internalized body image
and self-esteem issues— so it’s understandable that movies
and shows would attempt to reflect this with stories focusing
on a character’s own weight struggles. But as Evette Dionne writes
in YES! Magazine, “Fat-acceptance activists
also want a world where people of size
are on screen in narratives that don’t center on their weight.” “Oh, I’m sorry baby.
You want a bite?” “What do you think I’m doing
on this machine, making butter?” Reassuringly, we have seen
some examples of this. Booksmart’s Molly doesn’t
look like the usual rail-thin teen we’re used to— and refreshingly,
the film doesn’t comment on it at all. As actress Beanie Feldstein
told The Independent, she’s actively resisted the idea
of women being defined by their weight, saying, “...as I got older,
I just refused to accept it. And so I want to be a part of art
that refuses to accept it as well.” “Who allowed you
to be this beautiful?” “Who allowed you
to be this beautiful?” “Who allowed you
to take my breath away?” And while the characters
in Shrill and Dietland do make their weight
part of their story, they’re also more concerned
with changing their worldview rather than themselves. Shrill's Annie doesn't just learn
to accept her body, but to celebrate it— and to not let other people’s
opinions of it impede her from getting what
she truly wants out of life. “And there were so many people
just, like, living in their bodies and enjoying their life, and that sh-t was
un-f---ing-believable to me.” The Funny Fat Woman has evolved
from being an awkward sidekick into a confident lead— and just as she’s become
more than just her weight, she’s also become something
more than just funny. She’s a complex human being
who can laugh or cry, go wild or get angry,
just like the rest of us. “I’m 16— 16 stone,
and I’m desperate for a shag. Oh yeah, and I’ve been
in a mental hospital for a while.” And even when she is played for laughs,
more and more she’s in on the joke: After all, Melissa McCarthy
and Rebel Wilson aren’t just starring in these films, they’re often producing
and writing them, too. That said, should we still be
laughing at fat jokes at all? “Freeze, nobody move!
Ugh.” [slams against counter] There is an inherent shame
to the fat joke that will never cease to be problematic,
no matter how willing the participant. “I’ll have the club sandwich.
And an order of fries. Order of onion rings.
And then two slices of cake. Do you want any cake?” “No.” “Three slices of cake
and a Diet Coke.” At the same time, as Refinery29’s
Sadaf Ahsan writes, “Sometimes when I’m watching
McCarthy and Wilson, I get the feeling that they’re
making fun of themselves so others can’t.” “You call yourself ‘Fat Amy?’” “Yeah, so twig bitches like you
don’t do it behind my back.” And there’s an argument to be made
that the Funny Fat Woman is a form of empowerment in a society
that continually marginalizes her, a way of reclaiming the agency
and attention she would otherwise be denied. Further denying her the right
to poke fun at herself would only be telling her what she can
and can’t do with her body— and that would be no joke. “Even though some of you
are pretty thin, you all have fat hearts,
and that's what matters.”
