Nos7ane? Why our Arab relatives are so obsessed with body image
It’s taking me a minute to muster the courage to open that door and put on my brightest smile, to mentally prepare for what’s about to unfold.
A year always passed between two visits to Lebanon. We’ d wait for the summer holidays to pack our bags, hop on a plane and go spend a few weeks with our cousins, encouraged by my father who had left the country during the civil war and wished for his kids to experiment their culture first hand.
These trips, although a highlight in my yearly agenda, were always somewhat dreaded by the young girl, then later on, teenager that I was. We’d stay stationed for weeks at my grand parents’ place in the North of the country, with obviously no internet connection, no international channels, a shower with a stream so weak it would take hours to rinse off the soap off my long, heavy locks.
By the end of the first week, I would have finished reading the pile of magazines I’d pack in anticipation. My crosswords would all be completed, and I’d already be a bit fed up with the rooster’s ... waking me up at the crack of dawn, everyday (no, literally.)
It was all very much the epitome of the simple life, that if unbearable at times, still had a certain charm. The smell of the warm man2oushe my jeddo would order from Claude every morning, the home made jams laid out on the breakfast table, the plate of zaatar drowning in what was my teta’s definiton of a little bit of oil, the Nescafé and Coffee Mate waiting for a splash of boiling water to come alive.
Summers in Northern Lebanon were nonetheless, fun. We’d gather with my cousins at night to stargaze, and tell each other horror stories as electricity cuts were frequent and we’d scare each other off with our torches.
But all these trips always started off by a moment I’d be dreading for weeks before I’d even set foot on the Lebanese soil. I’d have to take a deep breath before I’d open that door - the one that separated the bedroom hall from the living room area where guests gathered and always arrived unannounced. The one that would keep me protected from hearing words that would smash the already barely existing self-confidence that I had.
And while I wish it weren’t the case, every year the same scenario repeated itself, without fault. As an 3amo or friend, or just a neighbor that you didn’t even invite, all joined in a concerto of « Smallah, smallah! nos7ane!» (you gained weight!)
I would receive this comment with a tormented smile, a tear in my eye that I’d beg to stay put and a very forced hug that you give the old aunts and uncles that you know nothing about.
In all honesty, was 3amo totally wrong? No. I would gain weight every year, suffering from a hormonal-and-binge-eating fueled obesity. Now, did I need to hear something I was definitely aware of (there wasn’t Wifi but there were mirrors) to kick off my holiday in the land of oil, dough and honey? Also no. These very early memories, that still scar me today, made me believe for the longest time that being skinny was the only option to look beautiful. That curves were great but not too much and only with the right proportions. That I would never find a (Lebanese) husband if I didn’t drop that piece of knefeh, presto.
Oh how I despised that nos7ane. They really couldn’t hold it in, could they? As the years went by and my figure would start taking a different shape, one that was visually acceptable by their standards, the comments too, started to sound different: « khalas ba2a, ma ted3afe aktar». No matter how big, how small, the first comments would always be directed at the way I look. What is this obsessions Arabs have with physical appearance? In a region where plastic surgery is common practice- if not an almost obligation- deciding to not get rid of a prominent nose or larger jaw is basically an act of bravery. Turns out I wasn’t the only who had had enough. I couldn’t be.
We’ve recently open the floor to our readers, and the reactions were heart-shattering. A stronghold of girls sent us messages, all similarly tainted by sadness and anger; one read « My dad once told me he liked me better when I was younger because I was skinnier as a child.» Another: «I had a horrible reaction to Oezempic, cried and hugged my dad who then told me that the smoothie I made earlier had a lot of calories. Then he got mad because I was mad,» and another : "if you get a nose job, you will become the most beautiful girl in the family,» ...and there’s more. Much more: «My mom used to tell me that if I got rid of the bump on my nose I would finally be perfect,» «things that we said to me include: you’re thin as a brooomstick, your nose is big as a cactus and you have two black dots in place of eyes,» «I hadn’t seen my labnese-armenian family for 8 years and the first thing that they said to me was that I had gotten fatter,» «they always call me fat, with a double chin ... that’s why I haven’t been back for 2 years,» «I lost my mother figure a few months ago. I went to the motherland to bury her. Everyone spent time giving me tips on how to lose weight instead of offering their condolences,»
«I have an aunt that was always commenting on my wrinkles, even when I was 9,» «I’ve heard i was gaining too much weight, when I was pregnant, although I was barely eating and mostly vomiting," «Teta wouldn’t let me sit on the arm, she said it was so heavy it would break,» «some of my cousins check out my body before my face to see if I gained weight,» «during COVID, I gained weight from sitting at home all day and cooking. That year my family and I decided to go to Lebanon in the summer. The comments were so bad that I stayed home throughout the 3 weeks I was there and even departed earlier than planned. After 3 years, I went again but this time 20 kilos lighter. I then got so many negative comments about how underweight I look and that I needed to gain some. They also accused me of losing weight in an unnatural way ("akid mesh tabi3e") whatever that means. I’ve never been so confusded in my life.»
The testimonials went on and on. And on. The true question is: what is this collective body shaming that Arab families seem to love infliciting on their family members, friends, partners? What is so bothering about gaining or losing a couple kilos that will get them to harass us? In a region where standards imposed by the West (in this very case, long and thin body types, straight nose, straight hair) seem to always prevail, not just as beauty norms but in so many other aspects of life, what can we do as a society to rebel? Is there hope for Arab aunties to start accepting us for who we are?
While we try to make sense of the reasoning behind their actions and words, we’ll gladly take another slice of knefeh.
