The
writer and psychotherapist Susie Orbach, best known as an authority on
eating disorders, wants a quick lunch. She has chosen Bradleys, a
smallish restaurant near where she lives in Belsize Park, north London.
It is sparse, with modern-looking pictures on the walls, and carries a
powerful whiff of the 1980s – possibly the sort of place where the chef
arranges the food into neat little towers.
She is sitting in a
booth at the back, and when I get in, it’s a tight squeeze. Perhaps
people were thinner then. Or perhaps I am fatter than I think. Orbach
is gamine and petite. She is 63 but looks much younger, partly because
she is so slender. She looks very good. Her black silk top by Ghost
hangs off her small frame.
I have met Orbach a couple of times
before. In fact, when I had a problem with overeating, she recommended
a therapist, who was very good. Now she tells me she won’t have wine:
“I don’t do wine at lunchtime.” Also, she has slight misgivings about
being interviewed. “You know us shrinks – we’re really circumspect.”
Actually,
she isn’t – she’s extremely bright and talkative. She still sees lots
of patients. Her most famous patient, of course, was Princess Diana.
But she feels she can’t talk about that. Still, Diana was her patient
for two years and it’s been said that, without Orbach’s influence, she
wouldn’t have been so open in her famous BBC Panorama interview in November 1995, in which she talked about her post-natal depression, self-harming and bulimia.
Right
now Orbach, who is a visiting professor in sociology at the London
School of Economics, is working on a paper for an academic journal
about how parents transmit their body shapes to their kids. I tell her
I’ve been looking at the effects of economic growth – one of which is
that it makes people fat.
“Growth,” she says. “In growth, we
don’t count the cost of repairing all the excesses, right?” She often
says “right?” at the end of a sentence. Sometimes this makes you want
to say “right” as well.
I order half a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
She orders mineral water. We haven’t even looked at the menu, and we’re
already into a conversation about greed in the modern world and the
problems it’s causing. We agree that greed causes pollution. “All those
chemical compounds!” Orbach says. “Obviously human beings can
accommodate a certain amount of chemicals. But we don’t know that we’re
excreting all this ... stuff into our water system, and
double-ingesting it. And there are very strange effects.”
We both glance at the menu for a few seconds but get
sidetracked into a conversation about thinness and fatness. Orbach’s
first book, Fat is a Feminist Issue, published 31 years ago,
was groundbreaking. In it, she tried to answer a simple question. Why
do women get fat? Her research led to some fascinating conclusions.
Some women get fat, she found, not because they were greedy, but
because being fat made them feel safe.
Orbach realised that, for
many women, being slim could get you the wrong kind of attention – not
just from men, but from other women too. Slim women can be magnets for
men and also attract envy, she writes in the book. This means that lots
of women have an unconscious drive towards being fat, even if they
think, in their conscious minds, that they want to be slim. That’s why
people can find it so hard to lose weight – because they secretly want
to be fat, and they don’t even know it.
But why are women so desperate to be thin? Not just slim but really, really thin. Why is being skinny such a powerful draw?
“We
have a constructed aesthetic which we’re all inside of now,” she says.
“It’s a visual aesthetic. Thinness is the desired object now. Whereas
40 or 50 years ago, there were Wate-on tablets at the chemist, right?”
I nod.
“That’s because, in those days, the desired object was Marilyn Monroe, or Sophia Loren. So there was no desire to be thin.”
When
did women start wanting to be thin? Orbach thinks that the change came
during the 1960s. Before then, if you were thin, you looked poor,
because lots of poor people couldn’t afford to eat. In 1966, Twiggy did
not look poor, or pinched, or like she might be suffering from rickets.
She looked new and challenging.
“This was a new culture,” Orbach
says. “We were no longer thin from poverty. Finally there was excess in
our society. We didn’t need to have our forms of plenty represented by
bigness. Then there was a whole generation who grew up with that. Then
they reproduced. And they have that aesthetic inside them.”
I
tell her my theory that I think women like to be thin because it
enables them to wear sexier clothes – and fashion designers are making
women’s clothes skimpier and more revealing all the time.
“No, I think that’s nonsense. Here’s where you and I might disagree. Don’t you think Marilyn Monroe was sexy?”
I do, I tell her.
“But
I don’t think she’s sexy per se. I think she’s sexy because of all
those images. It’s the fault of the fashion designers, and the critics.
But they are rethinking this, under pressure, thank goodness. It’s also
the failure of art directors, I think. Because you can make anything
look spectacular if you’re an art director, right?”
Right.
“Take
Rankin. He’s a fantastic photographer. He’s shot women of different
sizes, and they look spectacular. They have glamour, they have pizzazz,
they have that sense of, ‘Oh, that’s me!’ He’s taken pictures of people
who were paraplegic who were very very stylish. So art directors are
geniuses. And something happens in the visual cortex. What these art
directors do affects us, and goes into us.”
Something is
happening in my visual cortex. It is the waiter. We need to order, and
quickly. Time is rushing by. Orbach orders a soup of Jerusalem
artichokes to start – and another starter, a plate of scallops. No main
course. She also orders a green salad. I go for Dorset crab, followed
by halibut on a bed of vegetables, and a side order of dauphinoise
potatoes.
Orbach’s latest book is Bodies, in which she
tells us what has happened to our bodies in the three decades since she
wrote about fat being a feminist issue. “The problems I sought to
describe have mushroomed,” she writes. The contemporary body is a
battleground. In fact, people have never felt worse about their bodies
than they do now. Makers of face cream are telling us we are too
wrinkly; owners of gyms are telling us we’re too flabby; plastic
surgeons are telling us our faces are all wrong. We are constantly
being told that we look unattractive – and the terrible thing is that
we believe it.
In the book, she talks about “the merchants of
body hatred”. Her point is that, if people are anxious and needy, they
make better consumers; if they are anxious about something as
fundamental as their bodies, they are easy prey for marketers. And
things are getting worse. “In my mum’s day”, she says, “you needed to
be beautiful for a very short time to catch your man. It didn’t start
at six and go on until you’re 75, right?”
Our food arrives.
Orbach’s soup looks bland but she says it tastes fine. “I like
Jerusalem artichokes”, she says, “but I don’t like the way you have to
clean them out – all that scraping.” My Dorset crab is arranged in a
tower, as I had suspected it would be. It looks jellified. I demolish
it with a couple of deft jabs of the fork. It crumbles and lies in
pieces on my plate. When I try it, it’s rather salty.
Orbach
tells me she grew up in nearby Chalk Farm. Her father, Maurice Orbach,
was a Labour MP until he lost his seat around the time of the Suez
crisis. She remembers it from a young girl’s point of view: “There was
a canal. Lots of double-crossing. My father was seen to be pro-Nasser
[Egypt’s then leader].” Later her father was elected as the member of
parliament for Stockport.
Her father’s parents came to Britain
from Poland in 1899 to escape the pogroms, she says. She doesn’t know
where in Poland. They were heading for America but got off the boat in
Cardiff and stayed. Maurice was one of eight children. He started life
as a chorister but, as a young man, became interested in the labour
movement. He met Orbach’s mother on a speaking tour of America. She was
“on the rebound”. He was, Orbach imagines, giving a “rabble-rousing
talk”. He took her across the Atlantic and they married in England in
1936. They had a son, Laurence, who went on to run the publishing house
Quarto, and, in 1946, Susie was born.
THE SHAPE WE’RE IN

Our bodies have been changing over the past few decades – on average, we have become taller and heavier.
● There
have been just two national surveys of British body sizes. The first,
in 1951 was done manually (only measuring women). In 2001-2002, a more
detailed UK Sizing Survey by Size UK was carried out on 11,000 adults.
In 1951, the average woman was 5ft 3in. Fifty years later, she had
grown an inch and a half. In the same period, she had gained several
inches around the waist, going from 27.5in to 34in.
● Men
are also getting taller and heavier, having grown a couple of inches on
average in the past half century. A 2002 American study for the Centers
for Disease Control found that, between 1962 and 2002, the average male
weight jumped from 11 stone 6lb to 13 stone 6lb. In the same period,
the female average went from 10 stone to 11 stone 7lb.
● As well as
getting heavier, women’s shape is changing too. The Size UK survey
revealed that only 8 per cent of women had the classic Sophia
Loren-style “hourglass shape”, which has given way to a more
rectangular look. Busts and hips are bigger than they were in the 1950s.
● Mintel
research published in 2008 showed that the UK men’s plus-size market
had grown by 40 per cent in the previous five years (the women’s market
grew by 26 per cent over the same period). The average UK woman is a
size 16, and some 4.6m women are a size 18 or over – although Mintel
points out that retailers have made clothing sizes more generous so
that fewer women have to go up to a “plus sized” 18.
● But if the real shape of women is growing, the fantasy shape is shrinking. As the feminist writer Naomi Wolf pointed out in The Beauty Myth
(1990), a generation earlier the average model had been 8 per cent
lighter than the average woman. But by 1990, models were 23 per cent
lighter. A recent survey by Wired magazine demonstrated that, between
the 1960s and today, the body mass index of Playboy Playmates has, on
average, declined from 19.2 to 17.6, while that of real women has risen
from 22.2 to 26.8.
As a young girl, Orbach
says, she was influenced by her mother’s fastidiousness around food.
“She was very careful. And also, three times a year, she’d go on the
Mayo Clinic diet [low in carbohydrates and high in fat]. So I think I
grew up thinking that the grown-up thing to do is diet. I copied my
mum. And there’s nothing like a diet to institute longings for food.”
The
waiter collects our plates. The restaurant is, slightly surprisingly,
one of those places where the waiter takes the wine away from the table
and pours you some when your glass is empty. He pours me some wine.
Orbach
says: “I had what now would be such a mild version of what I call
bingeing, which bears no relation to what people are doing now. And
also restricting – which also bears no relation to what people are
doing now. It would mean not having supper.”
But the Orbachs
didn’t have much fattening food in the house. “My dad kept his sweets
in the car and my mum had her chocolates at the top of a cupboard and
ate them in the middle of the night.”
Our main courses arrive.
For Orbach, a smallish plate of scallops. For me, a chunk of halibut
placed on top of some vegetables, with a layer of olive paste on top.
It is the shape of a car park – several levels in an oblong shape.
Orbach eats her scallops. She doesn’t strike me as a great foodie. Food
is just something she eats, in relatively small quantities. She eats
fish and chicken. She says she cooks pasta nearly every day, and if she
had a favourite cuisine, it would be Italian.
She has two
children – a son of 25, who lives in London, and a daughter of 20, who
lives in New York. For years Orbach lived with their father, Joseph
Schwartz, a writer and psychotherapist, but she has, according to
newspaper reports, recently started a relationship with the writer
Jeanette Winterson. I ask her if this is true.
“Yes,” she says, suddenly beaming with happiness.
She
won’t have a pudding. Nor will I. Somehow, my two turrets of seafood
feel slightly bulky in my stomach. We order coffee and get on to the
subject of addiction. I tell her my theory about why smoking is so hard
to quit – because it gives you something to worry about. When you stop,
your other worries come flooding back. She agrees. She says she’s seen
a German cigarette advertisement that worries her. “Be smart – wait
until you are 18. Well, hey, is that an invitation to a 15-year-old?”
Orbach
was, as you’d expect, very bright as a child. She got a scholarship to
North London Collegiate, an academic private school, although she was
expelled at the age of 15.
She went on to read women’s history at the school of Slavonic studies
at London University, and then went to New York to do a PhD in
psychoanalysis at the City University of New York, the college her
mother had attended. That’s where she got the idea of running
therapeutic workshops for women. And that’s where she picked up her
very slight mid-Atlantic accent.
Our
coffee arrives. I wonder if the nature of her job as a psychotherapist
has changed over the years. Do people have different problems? “No. You
get more men not knowing how to make relationships than you did before.
Let me revise my answer. It’s not a no. It’s a yes. I particularly get,
from North America, a certain kind of referral – women who will come
and say, ‘I’ve been to the best universities, I’ve got the best job,
I’ve got the great body ... I’ve even got the boyfriend.”
But these women still feel empty. Why?
“It’s
something about the whole notion of success and performance, and
creating a whole notion of yourself that you can adore and admire.”
We
finish our coffee – mine with sugar, hers without. And now it’s time to
go. The lunch has lasted exactly one hour. “It was perfectly pleasing,”
she says. “My scallops were juicy. They were perfectly cooked. I don’t
agree with olives in the salad myself. Or green beans. But that’s just
my opinion. I would just have green salad, like lettuce and rugola. And
I would have liked to have drunk wine, but I’m going back to work.”
And with that, she walks away smartly.
‘Bodies’ (Profile) is published in paperback on January 7, £8.99
...........................
Bradleys
25 Winchester Road
London NW3
Artichoke soup £6.00
Crab £9.50
Scallops £9.50
Halibut £19.00
Dauphinoise potatoes £3.00
Salad £5.00
Single espresso £2.50
Double espresso £5.00
Large sparkling water £3.50
Half bottle Sauvignon Blanc £11.50
Total (including service) £81.28
Recent Comments