I was sitting around yesterday trying to do some writing just for me, or to share with you all but not to sell. I decided I would write about the first thing I saw on TV when I turned it on. Lucky me! It was a Jenny Craig commercial with raspy ol’ Kirstie Alley and new spokesactress Valerie Bertinelli. Kirstie was on the phone with JC telling her about Valerie; she described America’s seventies sitcom sweetheart as “fat” and the former Mrs VH said, “standing right here.” (That’s a total sitcom punchline, isn’t it?) Anyway, Kirstie amended her original statement by saying, “she’s not as fat as I was.”

It occurred to me that what Kirstie has done for us, besides hawking overpriced diet food, is reclaim the word “fat.” Her show was titled “Fat Actress.” Now she’s calling her former self fat and implicating cute little Valerie, who has about thirty pounds to lose. I prefer to refer to myself as “fat” as well. Any other term seems so undignified. I’ve seen clothing manufacturers refer to me as “Today’s Woman,” “Extra Cool” and “Plus.” Using any of these phrases for me would belie my cool exterior and make we feel like a panderer.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining about “political correctness.” In fact I’m quite sure that scornful term was coined by some asshat who is bitter because he can’t call black people by the n word anymore. What I’m complaining about is marketing speak.

Think about it: even the term “marketing” used to be “advertising.” “Advertising” evokes someone who is trying to sell you something you don’t want, don’t need and can’t afford to profit for themselves. “Marketing” sounds like the poor marketing execs are selling you produce in some medieval outdoor market in exchange for a chicken so that you both (you and the marketer, probably not the chicken) can survive. Buy this car from me or I’ll starve.

I figure dumb words live about ten years, since I’ve seen them in cycles of threes and I’m thirtyish. For someone who loves language as I do, it’s fascinating in a Sunday afternoon car crash way. The beautician who cut my waist length hair into a mullet in 1984 became a cosmetologist and is now a stylist. The home I live in was a trailer, then a mobile home and now is a manufactured home. I was a housewife, then a homemaker and now I work from home, although I am sitting in the coffee shop again because I’m so 1994 hip.

And as I take another sip of my large, not venti, iced chai latte, I’m glad that at least my ass is allowed to be what it is again: fat. What are you allowed to be?

This entry was posted on Saturday, September 26th, 2009 at 2:53 pm and is filed under Manufactured Homes. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.