Lessons in Fat Studies: What Academia Got Wrong (and What I Did Anyway)

As I began writing for DamesTalk, I revisited a blog post I wrote three years ago about my introduction to fat liberation and body politics. At the time, I had just finished college, moved home, and started my first job at Body Empowerment Project. Looking back now, I see how much I’ve learned. In this piece, I’ve included that story with some additions and reflections from a slightly older, (potentially?) wiser, and still very much learning young woman.

Growing up, I always knew I was fat. Before 2020, I can't remember a time when I wasn’t trying to change my body. Five years ago, I started engaging with fat liberation, and everything shifted. I’ve written and spoken about the sometimes cute, sometimes ridiculous diets I tried as a child, but what matters is this: I was told my body was a problem. And I believed it.

Then, one day, I didn’t.

At 19, I was sent home from college during the early months of the pandemic and fell into old habits. Like many, I was back in a cramped apartment with my family, and food was the one thing I could control. Then, one night, I sat up in bed and realized I was doing the exact same things at 19 that I had done at 7. And frankly, that was a hard pill to swallow.

Luckily, I also had a lot of time on my hands. I picked up Fearing the Black Body: The Racial Origins of Fatphobia by Sabrina Strings, and suddenly, my entire worldview made sense. Learning about the connections between anti-fatness and anti-Blackness, how fatness had been used to deny Black people medical care, and how fat Black women were blamed for being an “undue burden” on the U.S. healthcare system flipped everything I had been taught on its head. It wasn’t just me. It was never just me.

Returning to school in fall 2020, I wanted to study these ideas further, but there wasn’t a space for it within my institution. So, in a classic overachiever move, I created one. I developed a syllabus and proposal for a group independent study project (GISP) called Diet Culture and Fatphobia in the United States.

The curricular resource center (CRC) did not share my enthusiasm. Their feedback came down hard:

My one concern is that it would be good for the students to include some arguments they disagree with. The syllabus is a bit one-sided and, on balance, has an anti-science message. Surely there is a debate around what “health at any weight” means, for example.

I revised, resubmitted, and got the same response:

This application is better than its previous draft, although it still fails to engage with the opposing viewpoints that the readings are critiquing.

Now, I had read those comments at least fifty times, and not once did I find them remotely compelling. The real issue? They weren’t interested in the substance of my course. They misrepresented Health at Every Size as “health at any weight” (which, if you say it out loud, sounds ridiculous) and dismissed an entire syllabus of research as “anti-science” without ever defining what they meant.

The reviewer even pointed to Christy Harrison’s Anti-Diet as an example of a book with “an anti-science message,” despite the fact that it includes research on weight stigma, weight cycling, and bariatric surgery—all well-documented in medical literature. When I asked the dean what “anti-science” meant in this context, she didn’t have an answer. Science has long been used to justify racism, sexism, and ableism. Dismissing critiques of diet culture as “anti-science” wasn’t about academic rigor—it was about defending the status quo.

After my second rejection, I realized the course I wanted to teach would never get institutional approval. Instead, I found faculty who supported it, and the American Studies department gave it a home. The class thrived, but not everyone has the time, energy, or privilege to fight an uphill battle just to study ideas that challenge dominant narratives.

More than five years later, I still get asked about my college self—the bold, barely-adult woman discovering a passion for the first time. What started as a frustrating experience led to some of the most important moments of my life. I met classmates who became friends, connected with activists and authors I had admired from afar, and started working with organizations like the National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance.

Today, I run Body Empowerment Project, where I teach young people the lessons I wish I had learned earlier. Even the institution that once rejected my course eventually admitted they got it wrong; the CRC dean later apologized for the committee’s language, and the Dean of the College acknowledged the barriers I faced in getting the course approved.

But change doesn’t come from just looking back—it comes from pushing forward. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this work, it’s that conversations about body size, race, and power are not just academic; they shape real policies, real healthcare outcomes, and real lives. Fat liberation and body politics impact everyone. If you’ve ever questioned the messages you’ve received about weight, health, and worth, I encourage you to keep learning. Read, listen, and challenge the narratives we’ve been taught to accept. More importantly, support policies and movements that work toward equity in healthcare, education, and beyond. Together, we can move toward a world that values people for more than their body size.

Clara Pritchett is the Executive Director of the Body Empowerment Project, where she leads eating disorder prevention programming and advocates for body liberation and mental health equity. A graduate of Brown University with a B.A. in Africana Studies, she has extensive experience in curriculum development, fundraising, and social justice advocacy. Clara also serves as an advisor on the NAMI Next Gen Board, and in 2023, BEP was recognized by Great Dames as the winner of the Remarkable Ideas Pitch Competition.