Poor Cintra Wilson. Since writing her cruel, snide review of J.C. Penney for The New York Times a few days ago, the Internet has been roiling with rage. Directed at her, for the most part. (If you need more information, please read my previous entry.)
She apologized on her blog three times, first mentioning she'd interviewed Beth Ditto ("Some of my best friends are fat people!"), then telling her readers to get the knot out of their panties. When neither of those apologies assuaged anyone, the Times apparently ordered her to take a big-girl pill (pun intended) and issue a radiantly insincere apology:
Because of my personal beliefs as a Buddhist, I very much regret that my JC Penney article in the Times caused any wounded feelings whatsoever, particularly to people who already feel they take more than their share of abuse from our very shallow and ridiculous society.
Your faithful correspondent admits to her lack of knowledge about Buddhism. It's something to do with not owning anything and staring into space while uttering profound aphorisms, I think. Because of my personal beliefs as an atheist, I very much regret that Ms. Wilson, as an abusive member of our shallow and ridiculous society, writes for The New York Times.
As does nearly everyone else with a keyboard, apparently. The blogosphere is filled with rants; everything from calling Ms. Wilson a horse-faced crack whore to calling her critics fat slobs in sweat pants who drive up the cost of health care.
One hastens to add that I have written neither of these things. I prefer civilized discourse. Although yes, I have contributed to the discussion on a number of blogs.
What fascinates me, because I am the center of my universe, is the amount of hate mail I have received since my previous entry. Since I have been dictating this blog-thing for three years or more, I have long since become inured to being called a "fat twat", a "retard", a "stoopid snob who dont know anthing"[sic]. Perhaps I should have published the comments I have received, since they have veered quite far from the standard insults I receive.
Two commenters are convinced I am actually a man.
One commenter said I was robbing Mr. Blackwell's grave. I still don't know what that means. Should I be offended or proud?
Three commenters wrote [paraphrasing] that I should shut my fat hole up/stuff my mouth with food and write about something I know something about.
In a way, I actually feel bad for Ms. Wilson. Now she's having a double-sized portion (again, pun intended) of how most plus-sized women feel treated by society all of the time. Especially by the fashion establishment and the media.
Her mistake was to publish an article in The New York Times that was the equivalent of those signs one sees in taverns of the the more sordid sort: "No Fat Chicks".
I promise to move on to happier topics, such as the lovely holiday line coming soon from Silhouettes!
Elisa & Bucky the Wonderdog