Confessions of A Former Fart Girl 💨

I just spent a half hour deep-diving into Kelly Diels, her recent weight loss, and the things she's been writing and saying lately—not just about her body, but about her life and work.

And yes, I said her name right up top, because she puts her work and words out into the public sphere, and I want to discuss them—and I know I'm not the only one—so I'm not gonna pretend like we all don't know who she is.

Body neutrality, fat positivity, Health At Every Size (HAES), Lizzo—in the last decade, these movements swelled and crashed over us like a wave, releasing so many of us from fat phobic beliefs and practices, healing our eating disorders (or starting to), and cracking open a heavy door that had long been sealed shut by oppressive, Eurocentric beauty standards and misogynist diet culture.

That crack let in some fresh air, and for some of us (me), it gave us enough strength to shove the thing right off its hinges.

I remember one day I was on a trail run—my favorite—remembering the way running used to feel when I lived in Boston. The way I used to constantly tell myself it wasn't fast enough or long enough or "real." The way I always used to feel like I was running FROM something.

The message I received as a kid, as a young woman, as an adult: You have such a great body. DON'T FUCK IT UP.

I was raised believing that getting fat was the absolute worst thing that could happen to a woman (read: that someone could do to themselves). Worse than getting in a car accident. Worse than having your identity stolen (although that wasn't really a thing in the 80s). Worse than anything except maybe sexual assault.

If you're reading this and you're fat, I know how fucking awful that is.

I realized on that trail run, I always thought it was something I did—being straight-sized. Based on that delusion, I could believe that I was somehow better or more virtuous than those in larger bodies.

But the truth is, I didn't do shit.

I just existed. I ate food; I drank beer (a lot of it); I liked chocolate cake; I housed pizza and Ben & Jerry's like any self-respecting 23-year-old stoner. The size of my body was something I had—not something I did.

In a fat body, you're directly and openly discriminated against. Assumptions are made about your motivations and moral character. You're mocked on Friends. Your body is hidden in the "Barracuda" video, even though it's your voice shredding those high notes. Every bite of food you eat is judged.

In a thin body, "fat" is a shadowy threat you're constantly on the run from. I look back at photos of my younger, much thinner self, and they make me so sad. Not because I miss being that size, but because I still wasn't free.

I didn't enjoy my thinness, because I was always scrambling to keep it.

I think I was just the right age to stop giving a shit about all of this when the body-positivity wave was at its greatest swell. The first time I saw Lizzo perform—at the VMAs, maybe?—I cried.

Shedding that fat-phobic bullshit is a huge deal, Reader. Not only because it unlocks a level of self-love that was previously inaccessible, or because it frees up so much headspace and energy to focus on things like writing, making art, having orgasms, being an activist, etc.—but because it dismantles one of the key principles of oppression: keeping women busy. And small.

This was an awakening that needed to happen in me, regardless of who was famous at the time or where my inspiration came from.

But it came from Lizzo (partly), and I loved her so much for it. I was so happy for all the kids who got to grow up in a world that had Lizzo in it. I still am.

So when Lizzo lost weight recently, I understood when so many people perceived this as a kind of betrayal. (Note: when Adele lost weight, it was not seen as a betrayal, but as a triumph, even though she very publicly said that it was due to the stress and trauma of a painful divorce. That's called racism, kids.)

I felt that same way when George Clooney, after publicly stating many times that he didn't want or plan to have kids, decided to have kids.

When you're different, and someone super visible and famous is different in that same way, it releases this giant well of gratitude and relief you didn't know you needed to let out.

So when they go back to the perceived norm, or change their mind, or do whatever they do in their lives that is absolutely their business and their right—it's hard to stomach. It feels like they drew out the darkest, most vulnerable parts of you, and tricked you into believing those things were safe and worthy of love...only to abandon you out there in the shrieking light. Psych! You ARE different, and it's NOT okay.

Kelly Diels built her brand on the difference, too. She offered a marketing framework built on feminist principles, and often wrote about owning and celebrating her own fatness.

She opened that same liberatory doorway for SO MANY business owners, and she made a very big deal—and a lot of money—by coining the term "Female Lifestyle Empowerment Brand" (FLEB).

Now, her Instagram content looks very suspiciously like the FLEBs she used to critique:

I went from being a broke single mom to the owner a multi six figure business where I can work as much or as little as I want, with brilliant, change making people I respect and admire and adore. I went from paying for groceries $20 at a time for two babies while despairing at the life I was giving them, to being able to pay for tuition and dorms for those same two kids in university and being able to be proud of the life I provided them.

If you ask me, Kelly's work has been a little problematic for a while now—before the move to Mexico, before the weight loss. And if you ask others, she's an outright hypocrite. And if you ask even others, they'll tell you she straight-up stole their work, which is definitely not a feminist thing to do.

I don't know her, and I don't know what's behind the decisions she's making. I can't tell if the internet is skewing my perception of her, if her work is just not to my taste, or if there's something inherently unethical about the things she says vs. the things she does.

And honestly? I don't actually care (she says as she wraps up 1800 words on the subject 🤦🏻‍♀️).

I care about YOU, and the affect this person's words and actions have on YOU. I care about providing a different, more compassionate take on Kelly's transformation from the mean-girl feminist outrage on Threads, or the whispered gossip we're afraid to say out loud.

In a recent email titled "confessions of a former fat girl," which for some reason autocorrected to "fart girl" when I typed it and which is a way better title for an email, Kelly said something I think is really important for all of us to remember as we enter the age of Ozempic:

I don’t owe the world skinny, and I don’t owe it fat, either.

Critique the work. Critique the words. Question the efficacy of her offer.

But let's leave the body out of it.

See you next Tuesday.