We had two friends over today. They’re dear to me specifically because we got to know each other intimately during our eating disorder recovery. We promised we’d one day get together and watch Love Actually, much-beloved by each of us.
I’ve developed a habit of watching this film at least once a year. Despite its soft romcomness, homogenous cast, and general lack of depth it has taught me volumes on relationships. I love it more with each viewing.
Today, for the first time, perhaps, I saw its fat-phobia for what it really is. It left a sour taste in my mouth; one that reminds me I’m not the audience of the film, or at least not part of the audience who should feel good after the credits begin to roll.
It’s annoying to see how a home cinema afternoon can make my body experience drop so significantly. I suppose if there’s any month in the year to be confronted with this, it would be International Diet Culture Month, ay?