The Frederick Phenomenon

My sister recently finished her first year of university. Like most first-year university students, she made new friends, learned to adjust to dormitory living, and gained weight. Not enough to have to buy a new wardrobe, but enough that it's noticeable. Most of it is situated, as fat tends to do, on her stomach. Keep in mind, my sister's not grossly overweight, nor does she have a basketball-sized, pregnancy-type bump at her middle. I wouldn't even call her "fat." But she's got a pudge. She can hide most of it under "fat-sucking" tank tops, and she usually does. But we both know it's there, and we both know it has a rather discouraging tendency to, well, jiggle. She calls it Frederick.

Frederick isn't her stomach, per se, just the fat on top of it. Frederick is not, mentally, a part of her - they frequently disagree, usually about whether she needs another cookie. Frederick has distinct likes and dislikes. Frederick has a personality of sorts. Frederick complains, usually when he hasn't had enough cookies. And Frederick is slowly shrinking, due in part to my sister's habit of running two miles a day and in part to her growing resistance to the lure of cookies. Good for her.

I have my own "Frederick," only his name is William. William, unlike Frederick, is not shrinking, mostly because William and I agree that cookies are delicious. (In my defense, William isn't growing, either.) In a way, William and Frederick and others like them (apparently one of my sister's friends has a "Charlie") make eating right and working out easier - we're trying to get rid of them, not "lose weight." We look forward to the day when we can say good-bye to William and Frederick, not "the day I can wear size x again." It's more personal than a battle against weight and sounds more achievable than a battle against ourselves. In short, the William and Frederick concept works.

But it also disturbs me a little. Why the need to anthropomorphize our fat? Are we too self-indulgent to face the realization "I need to lose weight and live in a more healthy way"? Have we grown used to anthropomorphizing everything, from cats to office supplies, so that we can no longer live in a world of inanimativity? I think the answer lies in both of these considerations. The Frederick Phenomenon, as I like to call it, represents the most telling aspects of our culture: we can't face our shortcomings honestly, and we can't face the idea that we're alone in the world.

We, especially the "we" that is the younger (though increasingly older) population, have been taught that nothing is our fault - the school system has failed us, the economy has failed us, even our loving but inept (or unloving and abusive) parents have failed us. It's not our fault. It's not my fault I have... well, William, let's say; I don't want to call it "pudge," or, heaven forfend, "fat." It's not my sister's fault she has Frederick, or her friend's fault she has Charlie. It's this culture: we live in a world, and an area of the world, dominated by fast food places and over-filled schedules. We have to eat fast food junk because we have no time for real food - and no knowledge of how to cook real food; sorry, Mom, you failed us on that one - and we have no time because we have to work multiple jobs (thanks, Economy) to pay for our university degrees (Culture, you programmed us this way; this one's your fault). So, obviously, thanks to a culture that demands higher education, expertise and a fast-paced lifestyle - along with an economy that can't support it and parents who didn't raise us to know any better - we have been doomed to our victimhood.

The Frederick Phenomenon has another side to it, though. Because of this busy, people- and accomplishment-filled lifestyle, none of us are used to being on our own. It's frightening; we don't feel equipped to deal with loneliness and solitude; we haven't experienced it before and when we do, it's new and different and uncomfortable. We watched I am Legend a couple of days ago, and seeing Will Smith's character conversing with mannequins, my sister asked, "Is he crazy?" "What do you think?" I replied. "After all, he's been alone for the better part of three years. How would you do, being alone for three years?" She looked mock-horrified. "Oh, man, I'd never make it. I was lonely when you were out of the room for a few minutes!" She was exaggerating; at least, I hope she was exaggerating. Either way, she had a point - when are we without other people, other presences, for more than a few minutes? Without other people around, we tend to substitute whatever is around us for human interaction. As a character in the webcomic Questionable Content says in an early strip, "...have you ever lived completely by yourself before? After a couple weeks, you find yourself talking to the kitchen appliances." We continually surround ourselves with others, even fictional others, to avoid the knowledge that we are, in fact, alone. Perhaps it is a defense mechanism, designed to prevent ourselves from realizing our aloneness and therefore having to face ourselves and our shortcomings. Thus humanity explains itself in one slightly jiggly package: the Frederick Phenomenon.