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Publicado: Friday 03 de April de 2026, 19:42 Hello, visitor! Article about rich women looking for love: What It's Really Like to Date as a Fat Woman. I tried to lose weight to find love. When that didn't work, I decided to ditch diet culture and fatphobic men instead. ENTER THE SITE I want you to imagine Derek* (name changed to protect the guilty): tall with jet black hair and just a touch of shy swagger. His voice was deep and his pants rode low, sitting on his hips (hips I would soon know well, in the biblical sense). Before we get any further into Derek’s pants, let me back up and give you some context. Nowadays, I’m a proud fat woman who teaches people how to love their bodies, writes books about it and has a podcast where I share with thousands of people the sounds of myself eating delicious things. I also currently have a body-positive partner who unapologetically adores me with a passion and humility that warms my heart every single day. But in this story it’s around 2006, and I’m a new and wide-eyed transplant to San Francisco. I’m in my mid-twenties. I am just starting to consider that after years of disordered eating , maybe my body is okay the way it is and I don’t need to spend every moment of my life trying to become smaller. Derek is my neighbor, though we met online. Derek responds to my ad in which I say I’m a BBW (Big Beautiful Woman) seeking someone who is “into that.” Calling myself a BBW is new to me. It feels scary, but good — really, really good. And more than that, it feels safe somehow. Just putting it out there right away: “Yup, I’m a societal reject whose body is derided daily for others’ amusement, and if you’re not down with seeing me as an actual real human, well, then there’s the door.” Before I started identifying myself up-front as fat in my dating profiles, I had spent hours, days, months pondering whether I wanted to be a party to upholding the worldview that the most important thing about me to a potential suitor is the size of my body. Conclusion: I resolutely did not. But by that point I had had enough terrible first dates (and I mean terrible as in they excuse themselves to go to the bathroom and never reappear type of terrible) that I decided to take the harm reduction approach. I would simply weed out the men who didn’t like fat women. I convinced myself that this was honesty. This was empowerment. And in a way, it was. This content is imported from poll. You may be able to find the same content in another format, or you may be able to find more information, at their web site. Instant chemistry. So Derek responds that he’s interested — very interested. We meet up and our chemistry is ri- dic -u-lous. I very quickly learn he’s an amazing kisser and his desire for me is undeniable. By the end of the night he’s under my shirt, and surprisingly goes for my. stomach. He starts with caressing and then moves straight into what I would call worshipping it. And I’m into it. I’m ready for a man to sexualize my entire body, not just my breasts or thighs. And he does all that too. He probably left my place at around 2 a.m. We hang out a second time, then a third time, all in the first week. And by hang out," I mean we spend time being sexy at my house. This is another part of my fat girl dating story: Regular old generic misogyny says that straight women don’t get to be “too demanding” too soon. You know the Three Ds? Don’t ask questions. Don’t hold him accountable. Don’t be surprised if he doesn’t call. Even slender women know these horrible rules. Now take those rules and multiply them by somewhere between 10 and 1,000, and you’ve got the rules that many fat women face while navigating dating. So, even though Derek had asked to see me multiple times in the first week and was clearly attracted to me, I did not push to see him in daylight outside my apartment because I was worried I would come off as too needy. Here's Derek, "just being honest" with me. After that hot-and-heavy week, Derek asked if he could come over the following Monday. We had yet another a steamy session, and were lying in bed, talking about philosophy or Tarantino or something, and holding hands. After a pause, I gathered up my courage and asked him if we could go out next time we saw each other, maybe get coffee. After all, we didn’t just have great sexual chemistry — we had long, rollicking conversations and had talked about how much we enjoyed each other's company. There was silence. As each moment of hesitation passed, I felt more and more like a kid who just broke a vase and was awaiting punishment, vulnerable as hell. He said something about being busy. And then he leveled with me. “Listen,” he says, “you are my absolute ideal body type, okay? I mean absolute ideal , but if I dated you then my friends would never let me hear the end of it. Frankly, I’m sorry, but I just don’t have the balls to date you.” Frankly I just don’t have the balls to date you. So it wasn't a conspiracy theory. I mean, I had to hand it to Derek for explaining a mystical part of heteromasculinity that had heretofore been suspected but never, ever confirmed. Other men who were allegedly Derek’s friends would harass him if he went out with me, and in the cost-benefit analysis, they won. Not me. I had considered this sort of thing before — that men got together in a secret meeting and decided that they would use their collective bargaining power to have sex with fat girls but never date us — but had convinced myself that I was just spinning a conspiracy theory. What truly amazed me was how overt it all was — how clear the stakes were in Derek’s head. After he left my apartment that night, I cried and cried. If I’m honest, I cried less for his harsh words and more for the loss of how good his desire for my fat body had felt. Now it was gone, and I was scared I’d never again find someone who wanted me like that. I wish I were unique, but I'm not. I know this is a shockingly stark example of dating while fat, but I think it’s rare to find a fat woman who hasn’t had an experience that is similarly horrific. In my case, I’ve always been fat and have only dated men. It was at around the age of 5 that boys began to tell me that something was fundamentally wrong with me and my body. I’ve heard it all: that I’m disgusting, untouchable, gross. From first grade right up until the day I graduated from high school, the boys in my class told me no man would ever be seen with me, let alone marry me. And after a few years of a dozen boys saying the same things to me, I truly began to believe them. And so I did what many fat girls in my situation have done, I started dieting. That quickly turned into long bouts of starvation that continued into my college years. The hungrier I was, the more men desired me. It was, sadly, as simple as that. Even in the depths of my eating disorder, I never lost my chubby cheeks or my double chin. Despite all my efforts at self-destruction, I was still society’s version of fat (as well as the doctor’s.) However, when I was at my smallest and most ill I had more dates than I’d ever had in my life. Most of the men I went out with shamelessly criticized my body. I dated men who encouraged me to lose more weight, even though I basically had subclinical anorexia. Everyone and everything around me seemed to be telling me that being fat was the problem, not these men verbally berating and judging me. It never occurred to me that there were far worse things than being fat (like, for example, dating these dirtbags). Rich women looking for love Single rich ladies looking for love Rich ladies looking for love Wealthy women looking for love Rich woman looking for love Rich single ladies looking for love

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