“Too Fat to Be Loved:” The Dark Truth of Fatphobia in Youth Theatre

by Shannon Gaffney

TW: weight, eating disorders, fatphobia, body shaming

When I asked actors to anonymously disclose their experience of fatphobia in youth theatre, it was painful to read – not just because of the abuse that they suffered, but because I know they expected better. Shows like Glee and High School Musical the Musical: the Series preach a world where theatre is a safe space for all, especially in educational contexts. Young people use this art form to escape parents who don’t understand, bullies, heartache – and often, even worse. To be hurt by your own cuts so deep.

That is why it is difficult to dig into the darkness of something that we, as a community, love so much. Many people who identify as an “actor” or even just a “theatre fan” caught the spark at some point in childhood, brimming with imagination and joy. There is a fondness in those memories and rightfully so. But it is also important to peel back the curtain and recognize where we are failing. And the only way to do that is, to be honest.

So I asked fourteen former youth theatre performers, now all grown up, to share their experiences of fatphobia and body shaming with me.

By far, the most resounding message in responses was, “I felt unlovable.” It is clear that that self-worth and thinness are convoluted in theatre spaces, even those reserved for children. Ingenue and leading men roles, which typically encompass romance, youth, and whimsy, are reserved for thin actors. Many respondents reported being pulled aside privately by directors, where they were “gently” informed that they had not been cast based on voice/acting type due to their size. One was told she did not “look like someone you could fall in love with.” It is egregious to suggest to children (or to anyone) that only thin people experience reciprocation of romantic love. Musicals feature talking clocks, mermaids, magic spells, and elephants who sit on eggs – yet portraying a fat person in love is too much to comprehend? “I always thought no one would love me,” said one actor, “because nobody would even consider me for a fake love interest.”

Another fatphobic practice that came up was the pigeonholing of children into motherly or matronly roles. Many surveyed actors reported being told that it was “unrealistic” or “not believable” for them to be seen as children, even though the leading roles would have actually been much older than their actual age.  These incidents were reported in children as young as thirteen years old. The practice of casting larger actors in these roles is commonplace in professional settings (which is problematic in itself). However, even if it did make sense to cast roles in this manner professionally (which uh…it doesn’t), is there any reason that children in youth or school settings need to be cast according to so-called industry standards? These productions rarely feature any of the actors playing their own age. While all roles in a show are valuable, offer a learning experience, and require dedication and hard work, it is unsettling that children in larger bodies are restricted to older characters.

There is another possible consequence of perceiving a child as an adult: hyper-sexualization and shame of bodily maturation. Although many respondents reported not being cast as love interests, others shared that they were cast in promiscuous roles due to the nature of their bodies. “[I was] told at a young age that my body isn’t innocent enough,” one actor said. “I had large breasts and was shamed for it,” read another reply. “I wore three sports bras for years.” Another respondent eventually chose to have a breast reduction later in life, in part because of the way she was treated. This perceived lack of innocence deprives children of their ability to simply…be children. Not to mention that it inspires self-hatred at a critical time of development. As one respondent shared, “[A costumer] shamed me for gaining weight in my chest between my first fitting and second fitting. I was going through puberty.”

Children experience fatphobia even when they do get roles outside of matronly and hypersexualized archetypes. One respondent was cast in a dance ensemble based on their audition, to which a castmate replied, “You’re in the dance ensemble? No way.” Another was cast as Maria in West Side Story and told she was “too fat” to play the role. Again, this is a common theme we see in the professional world as well – judging actors based on size, rather than ability.

Although it is imperative to acknowledge that fatphobia disproportionately affects larger people, I was shocked to find just how small you could be to experience it in amateur theatre. One respondent, a size 12, was told she would “never play a lead unless [she lost] weight.” Another, cast in the role of Tracy Turnblad as a size 6 (an arguably fatphobic casting decision in itself), was still shamed for her size by a costumer. This sheds light on a glaring problem in theatre as an entity: we not only glamorize and praise thinness, but our perception of what “thinness” even looks like is incredibly skewed. From childhood, we are taught to fear fatness to an inconceivable degree.

The consequences of fatphobia in these settings are devastating. One respondent reported being “given a diet of 430 calories by a director to lose twenty pounds in about three weeks.” Others were advised to “eat less,” try weight loss pills or go on restrictive diets, eliminating sugar or carbs entirely. When asked if they had experienced an eating disorder, only 21% of surveyed respondents gave a definite “No.” A few decided not to pursue theatre, or left the industry later in life, despite their passion for it – and the ones who stayed struggled to reconcile the discrimination they’d experienced with their Broadway dreams. Perhaps the most unsettling anecdotes were focused on how larger actors felt deserving of the treatment they experienced, even years later. “That high school experience informed so much of what the real theatre world expects from me,” one respondent wrote. Another added, “I thought the fat-shaming was ‘for my own good.’ I put up with years of abuse, thinking it was for my betterment.”

Youth theatres have a responsibility to foster an environment of safety and trust. Performance requires an immense amount of vulnerability – not to mention the fact that, for many kids, theatre is the only place to feel seen and appreciated. Instead of telling young actors, amateur or otherwise, to get ready for a “real world” that promotes fatphobia, disordered eating behaviors, and shame, it’s time for us to create a new “real world” – one where equity for actors is guaranteed, regardless of size and body type. We can do better.