With this newfound divorce situation, I have officially entered into the “dating” phase –or as I have dubbed it, “The Hunger Games.” And it is as I had expected it. Harsh AF. I’m not even going to lie, I got married super young and was in my previous relationship for almost a decade. I’ve been thrown to the wolves per se. I’m a guppy now swimming with sharks. I created a Tinder account and a few others that shall not be named!
But this ain’t about me being Muslim and entering the dating scene and how wrong it is, nor is it how the “Haram” police are going to troll me to death for writing this. This is about the countless men who have objectified me during the process. Let the bashing begin — (told ya it was “The Hunger Games”).
So not only am I Muslim, but I’m fat. So you can see my predicament here.
On my little Tinder profile, I talk about my likes and dislikes and so on and so forth. Trying to make myself appealing to the Metro-Detroit bachelor. I’ve hit a new low. I’ve accepted it. HAHA. On each of the photos I chose to share, I’m covered from head to toe. I have no boobs out, no backside shots, and no type of anything that would warrant unsolicited dick pics or “50 Shades of Grey” freaks.
Oh, no. You and I thought wrong. That doesn’t matter at all. Because whether I’m naked or not, all the guys see are my curvatures. Mainly the butt and hips. And for some reason, they can’t see past those attributes. Yes, America. I’ve been objectified.
I’ve gotten unsolicited/unwanted dick photos. I’ve been asked to “sit on” someone’s face. I’ve been asked to participate in a threesome. And countless inappropriate comments regarding what they would “do” to my butt, hips, and lips.
And these comments were all before even saying hello, asking my name, or inquiring about how I was doing… After I finished grimacing and taking multiple showers to scrub the filth away left by these nasty dudes, I either deleted or blocked them. If they happened to have had my number, I gave them a chance to redeem themselves. Hey, we all need a second chance to bounce back from being a sleezebag. It can happen to any one of us. Honestly.
One White guy, in particular, was the worst. After he let me know that he was obsessed with my lips and ass, I told him upfront that I wasn’t anyone’s fetish and to basically treat me like a “normal” person, aside from my curvy parts. I even went as far as to ask him to tell me what his rendition of what feminism meant. He told me. I was satisfied with his answer. The next day, he texts me referring to my hips. Then got an attitude when I told him that it wasn’t acceptable to greet someone referring to a body part. DELETE!
I get it. Men are very visual and physical beings. I also understand that ever since the Kardashian/Nicki Minaj/Amber Rose faux curve revolution began, fat and curvy women have been overtly sexualized, fetishized, and objectified. I mean, we are sexual beings. But make sure you gauge the freak radar before you start asking people to, let’s say, sit on your face.