“If He Dies He Dies”: A Timeline of Fat Sexuality in Contemporary Television
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When Empire’s Becky (Gabourey Sidibe) wrapped a big, beautiful leg around love interest J Poppa while reclining on a rooftop settee, the mood was electric. Lust ricocheted through the night sky in this intimate scene from 2015 - arguably one of the first TV moments depicting a visibly fat, feminine character so overtly owning her sexuality. The scene went on to spark the #MyFatSexStory hashtag on social media, through which fat people the world over shared their sometimes blissful, sometimes heartbreaking, always powerful stories about fat sexuality.
Prior to this moment, representation of fat sexuality on our home screens was limited. There was Miss Piggy, who has been embraced as a plus-size roll model (get it) over the decades. With her bold ensembles and bolder personality, the horny hog has hinted at the existence of fat sexuality since the 1970s. Yet she is but a small pink pig and therefore intrinsically limited in what she might achieve for the visibility of fat humans shagging.
The ‘90s saw sprinklings of fat and randy characters on our home screens as well. Dawn French as the titular Vicar of Dibley was a spiritual plus-size gal who clearly wanted to jump the bones off of eventual husband Harry Kennedy. The voluptuous Janice Soprano (Aida Turturro) of HBO’s iconic The Sopranos exuded fiery, flirtatious energy and was obviously getting laid - on screen and off. Then there was big brother Tony himself. Arguably no fat character has had as much sex on TV than Tony Soprano, portrayed by the late James Gandolfini. Tony was a powerful man though and despite the show’s attempts to portray the consequences of toxic masculinity, the reality is that the screen has always been more partial to big, strong men getting it on than their big, strong feminine counterparts and Tony’s partners were always relegated to petite blondes and brunettes.
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That said, the 2010s and early 2020s have graced us with more fat feminine sexuality on TV than ever witnessed before. While it’s true that visibility politics and representation do little to change systemic policies that harm fat people in our day to day lives, there exists an undeniable ‘transformative power of seeing fat girl sex on TV,’ as journalist Emily McCombs described in 2019. In cultures that still like to suggest that fat people are inherently undesirable, and that pleasure and joy can only exist if we shrink our bodies, fat TV sex can (if done well) certainly help dismantle these narratives.
“While it’s true that visibility politics and representation do little to change systemic policies that harm fat people in our day to day lives, there exists an undeniable ‘transformative power of seeing fat girl sex on TV.”
The question remains of whether it is indeed being done well. Is fat sex being depicted as thin sex often is - sometimes good, sometimes bad, sometimes horrifying, sometimes enormously pleasurable, but always nuanced? Or, does it remain tokenised and taboo - relegated to small moments in otherwise vast works of art that still vastly prioritise the thin experience?
The same year Gabourey Sidibe got it on in Empire, the final series of Channel 4’s My Mad Fat Diary premiered. Sharon Rooney’s Rae Earl was one of the most nuanced teen characters telly had seen in years - navigating friendships, romance, mental health, body-image, family life and everything else that makes adolescence a bonafide hellscape with the awkward beauty of girlhood. She was horny as hell too, whilst simultaneously being afraid of exploring intimacy in a fat body. She ultimately faced her fears and boned a long-time crush who became a full time boyfriend, before choosing to prioritise her dreams outside of hooking up.
Chrissy Metz’s portrayal of Kate Pearson on This is Us (2016-2022) did what it could to depict fat feminine sexuality within the confines of a more PG broadcasting network. From raw flashbacks of an emotionally abusive teenage partnership, to a fat-for-fat first marriage, to her ultimate pairing with a rather petite Englishman, sex was always part of Kate’s narrative, even if NBC couldn’t show us that much of it.
The 2018 screen adaptation of author Sarai Walker’s Dietland was marked by a wholly different tone to any fat telly before or after it. The drama revolving around plus-size protagonist Plum’s entry into an underground vigilante feminist organisation didn’t necessarily centre on sexual exploration but when it did, things got dark. Plum’s encounter with Jack, who was initially very celebratory of her body, ultimately became a critique of fat fetishism. We watched as their make-out sesh went from pleasant to horrifying, with Jack assaulting Plum while whispering ‘I love you, fatass.’ It was a brutal scene - and one that arguably reinforced the notion that ‘fat admirer’ and ‘predator’ are one and the same.
Significantly less traumatic were Aidy Bryant’s explorations in Shrill (2019-2021) as Annie Easton. Loosely based on Lindy West’s memoir, Shrill was a coming-of-age story for grown-ups. Annie suffered mediocre sex until she became more empowered in herself, eventually uttering phrases like “I’m the one with the fat ass and big titties, so I get to decide what we do” while straddling her boyfriend. Importantly, Annie’s house mate Fran (Lolly Adefope) was also one of the first queer plus-size characters exuding sexual energy and regularly bonking to grace a streaming service.
The hit Netflix series Sex Education (2019-2023) had its moments of fat sexuality, too, most notably Chinenye Ezeudu as Viv embracing some kinky Renaissance role play in the earlier series, and the gorgeous Alexandra James as Aisha, a queer, ethically non-monogamous babe who gets several steamy scenes in the final series. Netflix also birthed Survival of the Thickest this year, a story about protagonist Mavis Beaumont’s newly single life in New York in her late thirties. After leaving her LTR, Mavis enters a new world of sexual exploration: sometimes messy (drunken one night stands), sometimes hilarious (bubble gum in pubes) and sometimes romantic (Italian heartthrob, anyone?).
It’s undeniable that there is more fat sex happening on telly than ever before, but what’s equally undeniable is that we are living in an age of constant production, with Netflix alone releasing approximately 788 and 891 Netflix Originals in 2021 and 2022, respectively. In relation to the overall numbers, TV shows depicting the fat sexual experience are but a drop in the ocean - and fat queer sex remains almost nonexistent. The stories that exist are certainly varied, featuring romantic sex, traumatising sex, funny sex, kinky sex, weird sex, and totally not-a-big-deal sex. Outside of shows specifically seeking to create fat visibility (like Shrill or Dietland), however, fat sexual narratives remain rare. Compared to the steamy screen time thin characters on Sex Education receive, for example, Viv and Aisha’s narratives are brief and far less naked. They are moments, though. Moments that simply would not have existed a couple of decades ago.
Still, it seems nothing short of fatphobic that the amount of fat feminine sex scenes over the decades can be counted on a few hands, and possibly some toes. There’s something comforting in knowing they exist, but the fact remains that there are nowhere near as many rolls and wobbly tummies and soft powerful bodies getting it on through our screens as there should be. The dearth of options ultimately perpetuates the long-held belief that thin bodies are always more desirable, more worthy, and more enjoyable to watch in intimate scenarios than their fat counterparts.
Words: Marie Southard Ospina