I’ve been going back and forth on whether to comment about a certain singer’s apparent weight loss, dramatic such as it seems. In general, I agree that people in the public eye can find the gaze too harsh and, frankly, inappropriate. Bodies change. Many have weight fluctuations—up, down, up again—that, for various reasons, seem hard to control. As a man in my (early) sixties, I’m finding weight stability tougher to attain even though my exercise and food intake are the same. Part of my life’s journey…my business and no one else’s.
But there may be exceptions when someone has to comment, not out of criticism but concern. I have written many times on this blog about the fact I have anorexia nervosa. The perceived weight issues I’m struggling with now aren’t much different than they’ve been since I was ten; I can just use the aging process as a “legitimate” excuse for my current weight concerns. It truly feels harder but I’d have said that when comparing fifty to forty and forty to twenty. One reality that underlies all the unrealistic personal body scrutiny is that it may always be there for me. An eating disorder can be a relentless impostor. It moves in to stay.
When I was seventeen, anorexia fully took over for the first time. I stumbled into a new eating regimen and the weight was coming off with ease, week after week. I was giddy. I had discovered my own special diet, one I will not share here since I know how easy it is for people with disordered eating to latch onto anything people proclaim is an effective way to lose weight. We all face scrutiny, even if sometimes it is only perceived. Over the course of a semester in university, I got down to fifty pounds below my current weight which is the same weight I was forty years ago, allowing me to still fit into a Hugo Boss suit I bought forty years ago.
Do you sense the desperation in my writing? I am always trying to tell myself I am a reasonable weight. I have to affirm this over and over because my eating disorder brain is just as persistent in saying otherwise.
I managed to halt that prolonged eating disorder episode from when I was seventeen only on account of friends saying something. I would have kept on with my newfound dieting tricks but a small group of people I respected and cared about held some form of casual intervention. Yes, they were concerned. They could see the weight loss. I looked gaunt. I appeared unhealthy. Basically, I didn’t look good.
This is not what someone with an eating disorder wants to hear. I regularly beat myself up over many aspects of my appearance but weight is the biggest issue. When my eating disorder is really clicking—pounds are coming off; I can see ribs and abs—I think I am looking better. It’s quite a jolt to have people around me say, no, I am not.
The message was not just a shock. It scared me. Here I thought I looked not just better but healthier. Slim and trim! (Back then, I wasn’t a gym goer and muscles didn’t even think of making an appearance.) Something about the tone of voice and the looks on my friends’ faces made me listen. There was no doubt they were speaking out of compassion. The jolt they gave me allowed me to let go of my tricks. I regained weight and managed to spend a lot of time shirtless that summer in my role as a lifeguard without feeling any more repulsive than I had before. Merciless criticism over certain body parts has been a constant that I’ve been learning to live with. I tell myself the eating disorder voice is quieter, that I can muffle if not mute it. Maybe I’m just exhausted from decades of telling myself I’m not good enough. Yeah, yeah…broken record.
I am certain that, if friends hadn’t spoken up, I would have kept losing weight and I could very well have shifted from “too thin” and “unhealthy looking” to medically at risk. That may have only been a few weeks away.
I have great reluctance to see a medical doctor for anything. I have a fear of all-things-medical. This includes blood tests and any and all needle pokes, drops in my eyes during vision tests, and apparently diagrams of organs. (I once fainted during a hearing exam due to glancing at the diagram on the wall.) It takes considerable mental preparation for me to consult a doctor about concerns my eating disorder is spiking. The first time I confided in a doctor that I thought I had an eating disorder, he immediately dismissed the matter, concluding that I was just very fit. I don’t want to feel like I’m a hypochondriac. I don’t want to waste a doctor’s time. All this goes to the matter that I would greatly appreciate if a friend, family member or anyone at all questioned whether I had an eating disorder and expressed concern. There were times I suffered and didn’t seek help. I couldn’t do it myself. All the while, I wondered, Doesn’t anyone see? Why isn’t anyone saying anything?
I once had an essay published by CBC about my eating disorder and it opened doors to other people, including complete strangers, reaching out to talk to me about their own wonderings whether they had some degree of disordered eating. I can’t say enough about how gratifying it has been to be someone they could confide in and to share my own experiences with them while encouraging them to seek help.
It shouldn’t be members of the public having to express concern whether one of the world’s most successful singers has an eating disorder. At first, I wondered if the issue was being fanned by paparazzi and publications that feed off them. Capturing celebrities at their worst has long been a practice that means a big payday. I suspected photos were being photoshopped to accentuate thinness to generate online clicks, to create a buzz and to entice outlets to purchase (or produce) more severe photos.
I’d been concerned when the singer promoted a movie last fall. At the very least, she looked fragile. But then I watched a video for her latest song yesterday—until a scene with a chainsaw and spewing blood. (Fear of blood, remember?) Presumably the scene represented the artist’s response to critics. The eating disorder can become stronger and more resistant when it’s poked at. The most alarming part of the video showed the singer as incredibly emaciated. Her exposed, protruding clavicle was disturbing. In various treatment programs, I’ve met many people with eating disorders and, while people who are afflicted have a range of body types and sizes, the singer’s body resembled the classic poster image of a young woman with an eating disorder. I’ve also noted that some people with eating disorders cover it up with loose-fitting sweatshirts while others seem to flaunt it, perhaps thinking they look good or crying for help or doing both at once.
Like others, I wonder if the performer’s “team” has tried to intervene. Publicly, a statement on behalf of the singer has only implied she and her staff are doubling down, blinking so much so as to announce a cancellation of an upcoming commitment, but asserting it’s on account of the harshness of “public scrutiny” rather than based on a need to get help.
Too often, I suspect a celebrity’s team enables concerning behaviour (think, Michael Jackson, Mike Tyson, Amy Winehouse, Donald Trump). Teams are paid to say yes. They’re general role is to fulfill their employer’s wants. Saying or doing otherwise risks being fired. (Um, again…Trump.) As with any job or relationship, however, the difficult conversations should not be avoided.
Perhaps it’s partly because of my own anorexia, but I think often of Karen Carpenter, one of the few female crushes I’ve had in life. As a kid, I used to sit on the step down to our sunken living room and stare at her image on the cover of Close to You while playing both sides on repeat on my father’s stereo. While I wasn’t born at the time so I can’t say, “I remember where I was when JFK was assassinated,” I do know where I was when I heard the news on February 4, 1983 that Karen Carpenter had died. (The date is permanently etched in my brain, no tattoo necessary.) It came nine months after my friends intervened. When I look back on photos and videos of the Carpenters, Karen often looks far too thin, particularly as shown in her face. I’ve always wondered if people in Karen’s world said enough, persisted enough and remained strong even as Karen’s ED voice presumably resisted.
The current singer being scrutinized has, no doubt, plenty of haters. People resent success. For some inexplicable reason, they pit female singers against one another, as if there is only room at the top for one fave. For the most part, however, I think people are speaking out due to genuine concern. It should not have gotten to the point where it’s public opinion that is making pronouncements, but given images produced by the singer’s own team (e.g., her current music video), I don’t believe her fans want to be complicit in the silence.
I sincerely hope that during some time off, the “yes” people, including enabling doctors, will step aside and allow those who truly care to guide the singer to proper assessments and, if there comes a diagnosis, then all possible treatments will be explored. Imagine if this artist comes out healthier on the other end. She doesn’t have to become a role model but she could positively impact so many.
For now, a toast to the artist, maybe with a can of Boost or Ensure which I saw many times during my hospital admission: To her health!
