Breaking Down the Roots of Anti-Fat Bias

This blog is the last of our series of blogs on the experience of fatness in urban India, and is written by Vallari Shivkumar.

Content warning: mentions of bullying, anti fat discrimination, sexual abuse

When people discriminate against fat people, they often chalk it up to preference, concern, or advice. Fat people experience hostile environments, judgment, and ostracization on a daily basis because of their bodies. This discrimination was met by the rebellion in the 1960s. As with any political movement, fat liberation started out as a way to fight oppression. As fat people organized and mobilized against fatphobia, the early fat liberation movement gained traction. Fat people were at the center of theory, actions, and radicalism. The impact and ripples of these movements are still felt today, as the fat liberation movement evolves and continues to be a part of the zeitgeist. 


The fat acceptance movement has facilitated the creation of a community that carries forward that fight for equality. Although the message in the movement evolves and takes different forms like body positivity, anti-diet culture, intuitive eating, etc, it has led to a platform that fat people can use and take up space in and has established a community of people that are working towards eradicating anti-fat discrimination. Fat activism has led to a pushback towards people who discriminate against fat folks. Whilst this movement has led to real change, there is still a long way to go.  Is this all there is to anti-fat bias?  Or does it go much deeper than that?


Fatphobia is a Systemic Issue


According to the Collins Dictionary, fatphobia is an “irrational fear of, aversion to, or discrimination against obesity or people with obesity.” Fatphobia has been reigning terror over fat bodies for centuries. Fatphobia, rooted in racism, classism, misogyny and other forms of oppression, spiraled into the oppression fat folks face today. Systemic fatphobia is a societal issue. Saying fat people are at a disadvantage in society is like calling a cut a scrape because the extent of this disadvantage has strong roots in structural and interpersonal violence. 


There is a level of violence when a fat person is denied equal opportunities, denied access to be able to meet basic needs like clothes, to not just live but thrive as a complete person. What does that mean for me when I am not given proper care at the doctor’s office? What does it  mean when support systems like the HR at my workplace or a police officer have an internal bias against fat people? What does it mean when I get on an airplane and the airline doesn’t have seats that fit me or resources like an extendable seat belt in place for fat people? 

In the fat community, fatphobia is the most commonly used term, but I think we, as a community, need to start narrowing down exactly what fatphobia means. Phobia means fear, but people aren’t afraid, they’re biased and hateful. Perhaps systemic anti-fat bias is a better choice of words. Weight-based oppression on a large scale affects marginalized groups more deeply. It’s common for the experiences of fat folks’ to get downplayed because they think ‘fat’ is an ‘excess of flesh’, which can be easily changed with hard work and determination and being fat is still viewed as a choice or moral failure. There is so much emphasis on obesity care, but how about making sure therapists understand weight discrimination and how to accommodate our bodies? Often, particularly, in systems of structural care, there is both a glaring lack of experience and infrastructure to deal with fat bodies in a safe, equitable and dignified manner.

While society at large still uplifts and prioritizes thinness, fat bodies are continuously exiled and ridiculed. For fat individuals and people with nonconforming bodies, society adversely attacks and belittles them as ‘responsible’ for their sizes and takes the onus upon itself to recast them into ‘acceptable bodies’. This is done through the flooding of markets with products and services to ‘address’ fatness. ‘Thin’ sized bodies are given more value and desirability by society because those bodies are considered “normal.” This value system is a hierarchy of size that focuses on personal choice but doesn’t take into account geography, culture, poverty, or genetics. Through such a value system, people are blamed or held responsible for their body types.


Institutional and Interpersonal Violence


A fat body is invaded by comments, measured with hatred, pathologized by fear, and diagnosed with ignorance. It is weighed down not by its weight, but by the force of hatred, contempt, and pity. This violence also can be of fat people towards themselves and their own bodies in self-talk among other things. Fighting systemic fatphobia is all about equal access, equal respect, and fair treatment. Anti-fat bias permeates multiple structures and interpersonal relationships which in turn make existing and thriving in a fat body challenging. 


Every institution and agent of socialization in our culture — schools, health-care organizations, media, marketing— promotes the propaganda of weight control, so that it is nearly impossible for individuals not to believe that “fat is bad.” Fat people have to face multiple levels of interpersonal violence as they navigate life and spaces. 

People who are fat get discriminated against in a multitude of areas, including healthcare, work, education, and transportation. Discrimination against fat people is the fourth most common type of discrimination and it has increased drastically over the past twenty years. This marginalization has consequences over the entire lifespan of fat people. It starts as early as school. Bullying is, unfortunately, a lived reality of school. Fatness is one of the many reasons that kids are bullied and socially excluded in school. Students do so by making nasty comments, and the fat body once again becomes the site of humour. Teachers sometimes also contribute to this. For example, teachers can be insensitive towards fat kids and make them feel excluded from certain activities. Often, teachers choose conventionally ‘attractive-looking’ students as representatives. Teachers perceive fat students as less academically, physically and socially able. Anti-fat bias can also affect friendships. In a clique, people who are fat get reduced to the ‘fat friend’ like a token. A study by the University of Southern California found that children who are overweight have more unreciprocated friendships than others. It was further found that they are excluded from friendships. All of these take a mental, social and physical toll on people who are fat. The constant ostracization of individuals who are fat is likely to lead to the risk of loneliness, depression, poor eating habits, and chronically feeling isolated, lonely or socially disconnected experiences. 

In the workplace, fat people are harassed and bullied. They face a significant “wage penalty” for employment, even when controlling for socioeconomic status and health. They are less likely to be hired and promoted, and more likely to be fired. Many people think overweight employees lack self-discipline, are lazy, aren’t competent, aren’t conscientious, are sloppy, disagreeable, and are emotionally unstable. Even when fat candidates/employees are better qualified than their colleagues, reservations like these result in unfair hiring practices, low wages, and job termination. Places like schools and offices structurally fail fat folks. Usually, there is no consideration for inclusive seating, uniform sizes and policies in place that help reduce this alienation and discrimination. India also completely lacks an anti-discriminatory legislative framework to deal with weight bias in the workplace. The Delhi High court rejected a flight attendant’s appeal of Air India’s decision to ground and further terminate them for being overweight in June 2008. The decision was “taken strictly as per the terms of employment,” according to the state-owned airline. The court justified its decision by stating, “In the highly competitive industry of civil aviation, the company has to focus on the personality of its employees. By the very nature of their jobs, their overall physical personality is one of the primary considerations.” However, in a more recent turn of events, the Delhi High Court ordered the reinstatement of three employees grounded by Air India, citing that excess weight does not necessarily impede optimal performance

In mainstream media, fat bodies get limited representation, reaffirming thin supremacist preferences for bodies that follow hegemonic body size and beauty standards. This leads to dominant conceptualizations controlling discourses about fatness: fat bodies are lazy, disgusting, and lacking control. As Marilyn Wann notes, “[e]very person who lives in a fat-hating culture inevitably absorbs anti-fat beliefs, assumptions, and stereotypes, and also inevitably comes to occupy a position in relation to power arrangements that are based on weight.” This creates a hierarchy of bodies. People who experience weight discrimination report more psychological distress, lower well-being, and greater loneliness as a result of weightism.

Based on one’s size, specific performance is expected. In our society, this same performance creates, stabilizes, and legitimizes ‘fat’ as a concept. In courtrooms, the same association can be made with fat defendants by jurors, who expect a particular performance. Fat makes people feel guilty, lack self-control, and lack respect. Then studies on social reaction and response to size become applicable to the courtroom. Researchers found that male jurors found female presenting defendants guilty more often if they were fat than slim in a simulated check fraud case. In cases where a defendant’s body expresses a size and situation not allowed to be explained by the voice, bias based on fat may also harm them. Fat defendants’ and fat victims’ bodies are seen as beyond their control, which reflects an entrenchment within the justice system too.

Court actors  who conceptualize victims of abuse as thin might not take fat women seriously when they tell stories of abuse. In State v. Ruhlman, the defendant said he wouldn’t assault the victim/survivor because she was “fat and ugly.” It’s especially visible in domestic violence. Abusers use size as a tool to insult and attack a romantic partner’s sexual attractiveness. Several police officers refuse to take reports of sexual assaults by fat women, saying they’re too unattractive to have been raped because of their size.  These experiences of cultural, structural, and interpersonal violence only get worse for people whose fatness intersects with other marginalized identities such as age, disability, race, caste, among others. Even within communities, not falling within the expectations of the community, may lead to a disconnect and further alienation.

As a fat person, living with a fat body is hard considering that the world feels like it isn’t made for someone like us and is actively trying to work against us. There are constant battles, big and small that need to be fought so that we as fat people can take up the space we deserve. It is imperative to look out for and act on the intersectional needs of fat people so that every person has more than the basic necessities to thrive and be their best self. Fat people need to be heard and taken into account in a way that tackles systemic anti-fat bias by making laws, policies, and recommendations, and having fat people in the room helps make those so that people whose needs are being met are represented and are part of the process. 


Thank you for reading this blog, which is the final blog in our series of blogs on the experience of fatness in urban India. This blog series is a part of our upcoming research study on Fatness in Urban India, focusing on building counter-power narratives on the experience of fatness in Mumbai; as well as developing an evidence base for documentation of the discrimination and oppression faced by fat people in urban India, with a focus on 


(1) built environments

(2) health and medical infrastructure

(3) careers – educational institutions and workplaces

(4) intimacies and interpersonal relationships


Further, we hope to document the ways in which fat people embody different physical-emotional conditions. Finally, we hope to use this research study to co-create recommendations for changing norms, policies and infrastructure to meet the needs of fat people in urban India. 


To become a part of this study, please consider participating in our data collection process by giving us 30-45 minutes of your time in an interview. To learn more about the process, check if you are eligible and to sign up, please visit:


Breaking Down the Roots of Anti-Fat Bias

The Performance Of Fatness

The Joy of Movement – Conditions Applied

Gig Workers and Social Security

The urgent need for access to secure and fair workplaces for all is a key focus area as we imagine the future of work in the post-pandemic world. The precarity built into systems that depend on the seemingly dispensable, on-demand labour of gig workers is an issue of particular importance as we assess the ways in which exploitation is a direct consequence of a lack of social security in the workplace. 

Even as the Social Security Code, 2020 extends social security schemes to unorganized workers, including gig workers, it is crucial to understand the vulnerabilities inherent in gig work which were exacerbated by the pandemic, and what it might take to embed accessible social security in gig work. 


Meanings and Definitions of gig workers and social security


India’s Social Security Code, 2020 defines a gig worker as “a person who performs work or participates in a work arrangement and earns from such activities outside of a traditional employer-employee relationship”. Essentially, a gig worker performs on-demand, task-based labour upon being connected to a consumer through an online platform business. This can look like a food delivery aggregator connecting orders to delivery ‘partners’, or a ride-hailing app connecting drivers to passengers. Also referred to as ‘platform work’, the Code recognises such platform-enabled gig work as “work arrangement outside of a traditional employer-employee relationship in which organisations or individuals use an online platform to access other organisations or individuals to solve specific problems or to provide specific services or any such other activities […], in exchange for payment”. These definitions are central to the discussion of gig work in the Indian context because they are the first of their kind indirectly addressing and including gig workers within the ambit of labour codes and the associated benefits in terms of seeking safe and fair work environments.


As we begin the conversation on why social security is crucial for gig workers, particularly in the context of the pandemic in India, it is key to remember that social security in the gig workspace essentially translates to “the measures of protection afforded to employees, unorganised workers, gig workers and platform workers to ensure access to health care and to provide income security, particularly in cases of old age, unemployment, sickness, invalidity, work injury, maternity or loss of a breadwinner”, per the Code of Social Security, 2020. In our discussion of gig work and the many vulnerabilities to which it exposes workers, it is useful to define how social security can provide comprehensive safeguards against insecurity in the workplace, leading to more equal and inclusive workspaces, where economic survival does not come at the cost of the health, well-being and dignity of workers.


What gig work looks like


Many sources, like Boston Consulting Group’s 2021 report titled ‘Unlocking the Potential of the Gig Economy in India’, highlight the gig economy’s contribution to the creation of jobs for the unemployed in India, estimating that there will be nearly 90 million gig working jobs created in the next 8 to 10 years. Gig-work, this report asserts, is not a new concept in the country. Instead, the large informal sector in India, comprising nearly 90% of the workforce, has always comprised of gig workers in the form of agricultural labour, construction workers and household help.


Participation in gig work, proponents claim, allows for convenient, flexible work. Further, it builds an entrepreneurial spirit in workers, who are directly responsible for their earnings, which depend on their ability to maintain positive ratings for the platform’s algorithm. It also allows for organisations to work in efficient and cost-effective ways. Gig work saves platforms time since it includes little formal contracting and training. Further, since the pool from which gig workers can be drawn is immense, they are easy to replace if performance is not found to be up to par. It also requires very little economic investment from employers, since infrastructural costs are largely borne by workers towards investing in a more economically stable future, as part of what Kuehn and Corrigan refer to as ‘hope labour’.  


In reality, however, a key defining characteristic of gig work is a lack of access to social security and control over conditions of work afforded to workers who are treated as independent contractors or ‘partners’ of an  ‘asset-light’ platform


Although their work has some features of formal employment (access to a grievance redressal for individual concerns, for instance), gig workers straddle the line between formal and informal work. For example, workers are forced to leverage informal unions like the All India Gig Workers Union (AIGWU) and the Indian Federation of App-based Transport workers (IFAT) to effectively rally against collective concerns with their respective platforms in the absence of ‘formal’ channels of redressal for collective grievances, since gig work can often be isolating and does not present opportunities to form collectives within organizations. Another example of the blurring of the boundaries of formal and informal work is that of pay. Although gig workers may be paid in predictable cycles, the amounts they are paid are unpredictable due to a variety of reasons – varying demand, frequently changing payments per task and lack of clarity on how payments are decided. Thus, a degree of informality gets built into the nature of gig work done for otherwise organized workplaces. This gap can be observed in the ways in which social security and benefits like minimum wage protection, maternity and paternity benefits, leave plans, gratuity plans, social security schemes, etc. are unevenly applied to gig and permanent workers. 


A different aspect of gig work that leads to loss of control for the worker is the opacity present in the working of the algorithms of various platforms, as well as algorithmic control. First, with very little understanding of and control over how task rates are determined, workers are often forced to undertake tasks at rates which they had no hand in determining, and which may not necessarily reflect the cost they incur in order to complete the task. Second, most platforms depend on a reputation or ranking-based system of assigning work. While at first glance, this may seem to promote a merit-based system of success, in practice, that may not be the case. What it may mean is that a worker’s ability to find work depends on their ability to secure arbitrarily assigned positive ratings, often in the face of difficult customers or uncomfortable conditions. Third, the constant surveillance of workers’ activities through management systems and GPS tracking has negative psychosocial effects. 


As a result, while gig work does generate employment and income opportunities for many, the quality of work in these opportunities per the ILO’s standards of decent work is questionable, considering the lack of social security, such as income security and healthcare cover, offered by systems that operate the gig economy.  The employment generated by gig work should also be assessed for its ability to provide safe, inclusive and dignified workplace conditions, even under the most difficult socio-economic circumstances. 


Doing gig work in the pandemic without social security


During the COVID 19 pandemic, workers and working conditions globally were impacted in significant ways. As multiple lockdowns were imposed and more and more people began to socially distance and isolate at home, the demand for ‘gig worker jobs’, such as home delivery, rose exponentially. In some economies, people who had lost their jobs in the organized sector also began to turn to gig work as a secondary or primary source of income. However, this rise in demand for gig workers came with its own challenges. 


Many platform-based businesses chose to capitalize on the demand for delivery services during the pandemic by promoting delivery workers as ‘COVID warriors’ or ‘heroes’. These ‘heroes’ were forced to work even during the height of the first and second waves of the pandemic. 


Their work often involved making deliveries to containment zones and coming in direct contact with a number of people, risking their physical safety. In most cases, the onus of vaccination, temperature checks, masking, social distancing and ensuring no contact was on the gig worker and not on the customer, which was indicative of the control the customer had not only on the gig worker’s income but also on their safety. 

This, when there was very little clarity on the issue of the essential worker status of delivery personnel, leading to many having to face police violence in the absence of relevant passes or government mandates. There were also a host of other concerns – many regions saw a decline in delivery requests, meaning workers received little to no payouts during this period. In some cases, they were also having to independently buy protective equipment and fund petrol costs. Many gig workers who had migrated back home early in the pandemic also lost jobs and any financial security. Ultimately, these social, physical and financial risks that gig workers were forced to take in order to ensure economic survival led to negative effects on their quality of life and their ability to perform labour. 


Bajwa, et al. (2018) classify these negative conditions into three categories of vulnerabilities associated with gig work – occupational vulnerability, precarity and platform-specific vulnerabilities. These vulnerabilities offer a particularly useful framework to navigate the conditions of gig work during the pandemic. The first, occupational vulnerability, is associated with risks to the health and wellbeing of workers in their line of work, such as the risks posed when coming in contact with potentially infected individuals during a task. The second, precarity, refers to the dangers posed to gig workers by unstable working conditions – incurring their own infrastructural costs, no job or income security, pay discrimination and low wages for women or other marginalized groups, misclassification as contractors rather than employees and associated loss of benefits etc. Lastly, platform-specific vulnerabilities refer to opacity in the platform’s algorithmic logic, worker surveillance, etc. 


Even as we discuss the negative impacts of gig work during the pandemic on the health, well-being and security of workers, it is important to recognize the role of intersectional identities in the shaping of the experiences of different people. Women, in particular, were hit by the pandemic in very complex ways – many left the workforce to perform care work full-time, while others who were primary earners found it difficult to manage working long hours (to earn uneven wages compared to men) in their seemingly ‘flexible’ gig jobs alongside care work responsibilities. Another significant issue for women gig workers were the algorithms of their platforms, which had been designed with varying degrees of bias against women and their work. Algorithms and systems had, over time, learnt various means to restrict women’s ability to earn as gig workers – assigning domestic work tasks specifically to women, gamifying work in a way that women’s shorter or scattered hours (in line with their care-work schedules) earned them less money, etc. Therefore, women gig workers’ ability to work was impacted not only by the pandemic but also by the patriarchy and associated power relations. 


Overall, the pandemic served to exacerbate and throw into sharp relief the various precarities that shape gig work in the current socio-economic context of the world. Now, more than ever, the pressing need for rights and justice in the form of social security for gig workers is apparent. Evidence such as Fair Work India’s dismal ratings of work conditions for gig workers in several big platform-business players in the country identifies the various issues with fairness in pay, representation, conditions, contracts and management which must be addressed in order to solve for the multi-faceted exploitation of and lack of social security for gig workers. 


As we begin the conversation on what social security can look like for gig workers and why it is important, it is key to remember that social security in the gig workspace essentially translates, among other safeguards, to “the measures of protection afforded to employees, unorganised workers, gig workers and platform workers to ensure access to health care and to provide income security”, per the Code of Social Security, 2020. 


How does social security solve the issue of precarity? 


The Social Security Code, 2020, referenced earlier in this text, is a crucial piece of legislation to discuss when assessing viable solutions for embedding social security in gig work, particularly in the Indian context. Also known as the Code of Social Security (CSS), it is “an act to amend and consolidate the laws relating to social security with the goal to extend social security to all employees and workers either in the organised or unorganised or any other sectors and for matters connected therewith or incidental thereto.”


To summarize, the Code extends social security benefits, including “access to health care and to provide income security, particularly in cases of old age, unemployment, sickness, invalidity, work injury, maternity or loss of a breadwinner”, to all employees, gig/platform workers and unorganized workers, per relevant welfare schemes. These schemes would be funded by the central and state governments (as relevant), beneficiary contributions, and contributions by aggregators at a rate of 1 to 2 per cent of turnover, and not exceeding 5 per cent of the total amount paid to gig workers. It also states that the central government would institute a Social Security Fund for gig workers. The Code also provides for the making of a National Social Security Board with a tenure of three years, which would oversee the recommendation, monitoring and administration of welfare schemes. This board would include, among others, five representatives of gig workers and five of aggregators. 


The Code of Social Security (2020), although it is an important piece of legislation in terms of ensuring social security to gig workers, is not a comprehensive solution for the issue of social security.  The Code is part of four key labour codes in India – the Industrial Relations Code (2020), the Occupational Health, Safety and Working Conditions Code (2020), and the Code on Wages (2019). The Code of Social Security is crucial to the discussion on precarity and gig work since it is the only labour code in the country which recognizes gig work, platform work and workers. This means that as yet, gig workers are not explicitly mentioned as being part of the national legislation on unionization, collective bargaining, occupational safety and minimum wage protection. This is troubling, since industrial relations, occupational health and safety and minimum wage are all central issues for gig workers in the post-pandemic world. Because these issues form the larger context of precarity in the gig working sector, no conversation or legislative action on one can be considered complete without the others. 


As we critically analyze the labour codes as policy tools to aid social security and justice in the workplace, it is important to note that they currently stand deferred, at least since April 2021. This deferment has been attributed to a variety of factors, such as states not having finalized the rules applicable under the codes, as well as delays due to COVID. Until the Code of Social Security remains deferred, no legislative action can be taken towards the goal of providing social security and control to gig workers and their precarious workplaces. 


Most importantly, it is crucial to remember that the mere enactment of legislation will likely not ensure safe and just working conditions for gig workers. Apart from the implementation of the Code of Social Security in comprehensive ways and the dispensing of welfare schemes in a timely and effective manner, sustained advocacy and organizing against exploitative working conditions and continued conversations on the issue of workers’ rights, algorithmic justice and holding platforms accountable for working conditions are important steps towards reimagining the future of work as being more just, inclusive and safe.


By Karishma Shafi, Senior Program Officer, Knowledge at One Future Collective

Breaking Down the Roots of Anti-Fat Bias

The Performance Of Fatness

The Joy of Movement – Conditions Applied

Culture, Conformity, and Care


Welcome to ‘Decolonizing our Practices: Conversing about Care’, a three-part blog post series. This series is a culminating conversation between Tangent MHI and One Future Collective as a part of our collaborative initiative, which was undertaken in October of 2021, to work towards decolonizing the perceptions and practices of mental health in India.

This is the second post of this series – ‘Culture, Conformity, and Care’. Be a part of this conversation as our speakers ponder on the impact of culture and normative narratives on the practice of care. [Please note that for the purpose of readability, the speakers’ responses have been divided into paragraphs.

Each new response begins with their name (Ankita and Anvita), followed by their initials (A.B. and A.W., respectively).]

Disclaimer: Before you go ahead, we would like you to remember that this conversation is informed by the personal and professional stances of the speakers, by their respective socio-political location, and by the resources, they have been able to access. We recognize that this is not the only way one can think about the ideas mentioned here. We would encourage you to bring your perspectives, share your thoughts, and any other resources in the comments below!


Ankita [A.B.]: (continuing from the earlier conversation)…I think what you started talking about automatically moves into the next question: what are the factors that influence the idea of care? Since you already kind of moved the conversation in that direction, when you spoke about privilege and being able-bodied, do you want to go ahead and talk about what according to you are factors that play a role in the idea of care? 


Anvita [A.W]: Definitely. Thank you. I think–so many thoughts in my head–I don’t know which one to like, pick [laughs]. But when I think of the factors that influence our ideas…firstly, as I mentioned, just our social identities, right? Like, considering how care looks different for different social groups. And it also makes me think of how–how anyone who has a mental health issue–it’s not always a visible issue. We don’t always acknowledge or even realize that the person may need care. And of course, there are physical manifestations that come along with it, but they don’t necessarily show for every issue. So, that’s one thing: the invisibilized nature of a lot of mental health issues and the implications it can have for caregiving. 


A.W.: And again, the way that we provide care, too. People from certain social groups are required to provide care, whereas those from other groups just expect to receive it. Or when they do provide it, they’re expected to do so in a different way. And that’s also where paid, productive labour comes in, right? 


A.W.: This makes me think of the value we place in different forms of care. The effort and skills that go into forms of care that require empathy and nurturance and interpersonal sensitivity are relatively devalued, even today. But also, if a cis-het man were to provide care in this way, it’s likely to be celebrated because it’s so rare or, you know, to be condemned because it’s going against the norm. Either way, it’s spotlighted. Even in the field of mental health and social work, I haven’t come across a lot of cis-het men. I think that speaks for itself. The norms that define the nature and scope of care provision are gendered. Our culture really shapes how we perceive, provide, and receive care.


A.W.: And the idea of care has evolved over time as well. You know, I’ve observed that people from my parents’ generation usually talk more about communal kinds of care. But when people who are around my age talk about care–it’s a relatively individualized form of care. I’m not sure that this is necessarily related, but it’s something I find quite interesting. Would you like to talk about the factors that influence the idea of care as well?


Ankita [A.B.]: Certainly! When you pointed out that there’s a clear, albeit unwritten, distinction between the group receiving care and the one providing care, it struck a chord with me. Also, for example, let’s think about cis-het men and the kind of care-related expectations that patriarchy expects of them. Like they are going to be breadwinners,  the ‘logical’ and ‘emotionally stable’ support, ‘manly’, the list goes on and on. And I wonder what this means for male-identifying individuals who do not necessarily ascribe to this particular narrative? 


A.B.: When we are talking about care, we can’t not talk about patriarchy and the kind of messages that we’re taught to take as the word that was just meant to be followed. Like, a rule that you can’t break, and this is exactly what you do if you want to be rewarded. So it’s like, okay you silently ascribe to these rules and we give you the privilege to access, space, stability. The privilege to be visible and exist. That means a lot. 


A.B.: I’m probably repeating myself here, but I would once again like to highlight how ideas of productivity influence ideas of care. As you’ve mentioned, irrespective of the fact that you’re doing…I’m just taking up from what you were sharing about your own personal experience. I hope that’s okay for me to do? [Anvita] Yeah!


A.B.: Okay, thank you! Um, when you say that despite putting in hours of work, taking 10 minutes of break feels like “wasting time”, “being lazy”, etc. this tends to be a common experience for so many people right now. We’ve been made to understand that, if we’re taking time to take care of ourselves or focusing on our needs, the systems around us expect us to come back (as soon as possible, if I may add!) and be “productive again”. So a person can do whatever it takes to care for themselves, do yoga, take a break, go on leave, go on a holiday, et cetera, but they have to come back and “perform”. What is even more fascinating to me is how well this expectation is hidden under the garb of care, mental health, and well-being. 


A.B.: I wonder when we made the transition from seeing human beings as human beings, to seeing human beings as just pieces in a machinery that need to be there; need to be functioning well, need to be well-oiled so that the system can function. And I wonder what that means for, like, generations of individuals and their mental health. If I could take an example from my personal life, I’ve seen my mother consistently place her health and pain on a lower pedestal in the face of responsibility. And I can say with confidence that others have had similar experiences with people in their lives. I don’t understand why you need to be in pain; you need to play second fiddle to the role that you’re playing. When did we make the decision that the role is more important than the person fulfilling it? So yeah, I think that, is there anything else that comes to mind? Something that you just want to say, because you’re nodding your head, which feels good. So please go ahead.

Anvita [A.W]: I really resonated with what you said; it highlighted how we can’t think about this in a black-and-white way. Like, how even though cis-het men form the privileged gender group, there are still certain social norms that bind them. If a man would rather provide care in the sphere of his home for no income, what would that mean for him? Do most men even have that choice? These patriarchal ideas of care affect men, too; not just by defining how they’re allowed to provide care, but also by shaping how they seek care–or how they don’t a lot of times. 

A.W.: You’d mentioned that self-care is seen as a means to an end. I think the way we currently perceive it is close to the general perception of productive labour and individualized success, which is supposed to generate an outcome. But it’s not necessarily about the product–it’s a process in itself. And over the last few years, we’ve been making a commodity out of this process. Across social media platforms, caring for ourselves is being equated with going on a vacation or going to the spa or treating ourselves to a meal in an expensive restaurant. These are great forms of self-care, but when they are seen as the only form of taking care of ourselves, then that poses an issue. This isn’t to say that people should stop posting about it altogether, but it’s important to simultaneously acknowledge that these are very privileged forms of care. And, as we discussed earlier, it’s usually people from privileged groups who set the norm or the standard. We’ve come to adopt a one-size-fits-all perception of care without thinking about what care can actually look like for different people with varying, intersectional identities. 

A.W.: I also agree with what you said about pain in relation to this context. I think so much of this is related to the way we are socialized. There have been instances where I’ve even romanticized this pain. After a long day, if I’d be really exhausted, it would make me feel like, okay, I’ve been productive enough today. You know, I did something today, and now I have proof of it. And I think, for me, caring for myself has included the process of unlearning this idea. 

Ankita [A.B.]: There’s just a lot of resonance in this, there’s so much to speak about. Every time we have these conversations, I also think about how different this conversation would look, if we were to speak with, like, people from different intersections as well, which I think we’ve been trying to do through our collaboration over the last couple of months. Picking up from where you were, what you were talking about – over the last two years, we’ve seen a certain kind of taking care of oneself has been, uh, getting a lot of attention. And while there are individuals who do connect with and benefit from this kind of self-care, it is not something that every person has the luxury or the desire to engage with. Neither does it acknowledge what care can mean for another individual or for communities. So, uh, would you like to speak on that a little bit as to what are some of your thoughts on this respect?

Anvita [A.W]: Thank you, Ankita. I think the issue is that this kind of care is not always accessible to everyone. If we standardize this as the sole form of care, then care seems almost unattainable for some social groups. Which, it shouldn’t. Care is not a tangible commodity that we need to buy; it’s really about our lived experiences of a process. This particular brand of care is also presented in an attractive way, which may in part explain why it’s so desirable. Why is dressing up and going to a restaurant considered a form of treating yourself, but stuffing your face with comfort food at home–which has been a form of care and coping for me a lot of times–seen as something to hide? Does taking care of ourselves have to look attractive for it to be accepted? Why are certain forms of care celebrated when others are associated with shame? It puts a lot of pressure on everyone–including, at times, the people who subscribe to this brand of care–when the purpose of caring for ourselves is supposed to be just the opposite of that. 

A.W.: When we accept that this is what care looks like and this is all it looks like, it stops us from questioning, what else can it look like? All of us come from different places and carry different histories and have different preferences, so of course, care is going to be different for all of us. This one type of care that’s currently being popularized may work for some of us, and that’s great, but not everyone is able to access this; not everyone is able to afford it; it’s not available in every geographical location; and not everyone may even like it. So, it’s important to ask ourselves, what does care really mean for us and our communities? What helps us heal? What brings us hope? 

A.W.: And I want to emphasize the role of our communities, too. We can’t speak of care without addressing the history of community care. I once read that the term “self-care” was originally used in the 1950s and 60s to describe acts of preservation and autonomy for patients who were institutionalized in this very racist, sexist, paternalistic medical system. And since this was also when the American Civil Rights Movement was rising, it came to be used by activists to protest against a system that did not care about them; to protect their communities; and to practice radical self-care in the face of oppression. There’s this quote by Audre Lorde that I love so much. She writes, “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” Caring for ourselves can be a form of liberation–and collective liberation–from these scripts we’re socialized to learn about who we are and what we’re worth and how we’re supposed to live our lives. 

Ankita [A.B.]: Thank you so much for bringing that up! 



Thank you for accompanying us on Part 2 of our dialogue around care! This conversation continues in the next blog post. 


To access resources that have shaped our ideas of care, please find our resource list here. You can also find the summaries of our Sharing Circles 1, 2 and 3 with Mental Health Professionals here, here, and here, respectively; and that of the Participatory Workshop for Mental Health Users/Survivors here.


About the Speakers


Anvita Walia is a student, researcher, and eternal learner. She is a Senior Program Officer at One Future Collective, a feminist social purpose organisation with a vision of a world built on social justice, led by communities of care. To know more about OFC’s work, please click here

Ankita is a listener, a mental health professional and one of the co-founders of Tangent Mental Health Initiative. Tangent MHI began in 2020 and works in the field of mental health service and advocacy. Their work is informed by the values of intersectional feminism, inclusion and accessibility. To know more about Tangent MHI’s work, you can click here.

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