


In Francine Prose’s book Gluttony: The Seven Deadly Sins she ponders the stigma that afflicts the obese in
our country. She writes that the overweight are often perceived as being
“self-indulgent, sloppy, lazy, morally lax, lacking in the qualities of
self-denial and impulse control that our society (still so heavily influenced
by the legacy of Puritanism) values and rewards.”
Prose goes on to point out that this stigma turns into
outright resentment in situations where the obese infringe on our personal
space by taking more than their fair share of it. She provides the example of
the non-obese person who shudders at the thought of having to sit next to an
obese person on an airplane and how this imposition has compelled airlines to
charge obese people for not one but two airline tickets since it’s apparent
that the obese require two seats.
In a country that sees obesity as a spiritual problem, it
makes sense then that the cure for obesity is sought in the spiritual sphere.
Thus many try to cure their overeating with repentance, prayer, Twelve-Step
Programs and other forms of contrition that might temper their ravenous
appetites.
While it’s apparent that the causes of obesity—poverty, lack
of education, the ubiquity of cheap, calorie-dense foods, to name a few—are
complex, we do have a reflexive moral revulsion toward the obese, as if some
rotten core in their soul is at the root of their loathsome condition and it is
this visceral reaction that makes obesity so painful and humiliating.
But our hostility toward overeating is contradicted by our
celebration and gleeful worship of it, evidenced by the growing popularity of
eating competitions, which are chronicled in Jason Fagone’s Horsemen of the Esophagus: Competitive
Eating and the Big Fat American Dream.
Fagone observes that eating competitions embody many
components—some good, some bad—of the American Myth. On the sunnier side,
eating competitions are a light-hearted, “low-brow” pastime that brings
communities together in a benign shared experience.
Nothing like taking the family to an event in which grown
men and women stuff thousands of cannolis, donuts, or hotdogs down their
throats and ingest so much food as to cause their organs to swell and their
intestinal lining to stretch more than a woman pregnant with sextuplets.
Fagone also asserts that eating competitions embody the
American can-do attitude of optimism and he recalls the film Cool Hand Luke in
which Luke, played by Paul Newman, defies the harsh prison conditions of his
captors and inspires his fellow prisoners to endure by eating fifty hard-boiled eggs.
Indeed, eating gargantuan quantities of food seems to be a
show of strength, triumph, and enduring masculinity.
Of course, this sense of strength and triumph can veer too
far and become part of America’s arrogance and gloating—qualities rooted in
America’s sense of world domination and undying abundance.
Fagone points out that American critics relish in eating
competitions as evidence of our dystopian excesses: “If anti-American zealots
anywhere in the world wanted to perform a minstrel show of our culture, this
what they’d come up with. Competitive eating was a symbolic hairball coughed up
by the American id.”
For Fagone, the eating competition embodies the strengths
and grotesqueries of the American character so powerfully, that his prose
becomes excessive as he rhapsodizes shamelessly in the presence of an eating contest:
"Whatever’s happening doesn’t feel shabby or small, but
instead—I swear to the Virgin Mary Grilled Cheese—broad and big and
consequential, as though America has vomited up its deepest hope and deepest
dread in one place and now something worthwhile having to do with this big,
fat, infantile, stupid country can be
learned, or accomplished. The whole goopy range of it, everything that makes
America so undeniably great and infuriating, loved and hated . . ."
Fagone is a witness of a country enamored by eating
competitions, a country that sees virtue in being able to consume over 11,000
calories in one mad eating frenzy.
How can we reconcile this worship of overeating with the
contempt toward gluttony that Francine Prose describes?
It appears that Americans don’t condemn overeating per se,
but a particular symbolic meaning of overeating. If overeating represents
personal defeat, sin, and being an imposition against others, then overeating
is a sin.
On the other hand, if overeating represents masculinity,
domination, and power—qualities highlighted in a competition—then it is not an
expression of overeating so much as an expression of American ingenuity,
discipline, and competitiveness, qualities that inflate America’s collective
self-esteem.
Of course, America’s paradoxical attitude toward gluttony is
not logical or rational; it is rather rooted in the symbolism and mythology of Puritanism, the religion of our forefathers that taught us self-flagellation for our personal failings and pride for our God-inspired entrepreneurial successes.
We are additionally a nation easily seduced by the manner in which something is packaged. Market
overeating as the sin of indulgence and we will disdain overeating. Market
overeating as a competition and a show of strength and we will embrace
overeating as one of life’s most treasured virtues.
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