
When I was young, I was overweight—and I wasn’t allowed to forget it. From clothing-store clerks saying, “He’s husky,” to family friends noting, “You’ve got a spare tire there, buddy” as they poked my belly, I was constantly reminded about the fact.
My mother put me on a diet, much to the dismay of my Jewish grandmother who, true to the stereotype, delighted in stuffing me with my favorite foods from fried chicken to chocolate pie. To her, I was fine just the way I was and shouldn’t be deprived of my deepest cravings.
But if I had been an overweight child today, my mom might very well have agreed with my grandmother. She might not have even dared raise the issue out of fear of fat-shaming me and triggering an eating disorder.
Such thinking is now in vogue largely because influencers and activists warn that focusing on body size exacerbates weight stigma and inflicts lifelong emotional and physical damage in kids. They preach that parents should not try to manage a child’s weight or even limit how much junk food they eat. Prominent “fat activist” Virginia Sole-Smith explained her approach to The New York Times this way: “What happens when your kid goes on a play date to my house? I can tell you. Your kid eats nine Oreos.”