Ventripotent
another body-image related vocab word. At least, that’s the angle I’m looking at it from.
So I first heard this word on an episode of the Allusionist podcast. They defined this jaunty term as: “belly-proud,” I think mainly because of that suffix ‘potent,’ meaning ‘powerful.’ I like, very much, the idea of wielding pride in being big-bellied: a potent middle, in fact. I have long had major body dysmorphia issues about my belly, and hearing this word paraded out like this makes me take a breath; in hope, maybe? or is that relief?
As I continued my research beyond the eminent podcast, though, I’ve found that the ‘real’ definitions of ventripotent refer to not pride in the belly, but only its ugly bigness. With an additional slang-related implication of gluttony. Like the old commedia dell’ arte character of Pulchinello, his greedy paunch preceding him. That, I don’t like as much. I like the weirder, more oddly positive interpretation from the Allusionist folks: bigness included in the meaning, yes, but also powerful, grounded. Strong.
The Belly of Burlesque
Blue Dime Cabaret has improved my longstanding hatred of my belly, but hasn’t eradicated it yet. ‘80s druggie skinny supermodel chic is a hard pattern to break, especially if it’s been embedded in the child’s psyche from the beginning. Even as a terrifyingly skinny teen, I still had a bit of lordosis (oo, another cool vocab word!) in my lower back, which tilted my pelvis forward, which perforce would make my belly hang out more than it would have. Now, that wasn’t fat at that time, just, yanno. Internal organs. But in a world where Kate Moss was the pinnacle of beauty, and even my best friend irl was thin as a whip, it was an image I hated. And of course, as we all know, the entertainment world only has room for thin women. Thin, pretty, petite women. Back then, even though I was thin, I wasn’t pretty nor was I small, and therefore I din’t fit the beauty bill. I was also super-intelligent and nerdy, which made me even less castable (or dateable), through the ‘90s and into the early aughts. No matter how desperately I coached and demoed Pilates and core yoga.
Now? Now, I actually do indeed have a truly ample tummy—a middle-aged spread, if you will. Literally everyone around me loves it, by the way, and I am fully aware of this. But at age 50, this is a new trick (and a new look) that this old dog is having some trouble learning. What’s helping, though, is the burlesque world. This regular cute thing in particular, that I discussed in my overview of Burlesque:
The co-producers of Blue Dime Cabaret always have a moment where we talk about our group and future shows, etc. onstage, as a kind of breather. My co-producer, Brandy, is a gorgeous, silver-haired beauty with a slamming bod. I’m a big D&D-looking barbarian with a beer belly, even bigger in heels. Usually, we banter: I’ll divert the audience’s attention to her abs and declare: “abs of CrossFit,” to many hoots and cheers. Then I’ll lift whatever garment I’m wearing and declare, “abs of craft beer.” The even louder cheers and whistles to my (to me) gross looking belly make me second guess my perspective on my own body, every time. Burlesque isn’t degrading; it’s empowering.
So I know it’s a delusion. I know I look good, with the conscious part of my brain. I can clearly see the many other big bellied burlesquers I admire and cast for their big bellied beauty, and join in with the sincere admiration of the audiences who love those luscious soft shapes. I’m thinking particularly of gorgeous ginger Lily Lavalocks and her excellent dance skills, and of course her ‘more curves than the coast of the Emerald Isle,’ her catchphrase. She moved to the Windy City, but these days we are blessed with the beauty of Boujie Bitch, whose stage presence and self-enjoyment as she teases her big beautiful belly is the essence of what I think of as ventripotence. Can I appreciate this in myself, though? Not really. Not fully. Not nearly as much as I can appreciate it in others.
Welcome to Big Country
In my musings about this concept of ventripotence, I was introduced to an incredible UFC fighter nicknamed Big Country. When I first heard of him, his look, and how his trademark was to rub his belly and show it off in moments of victory, his audience absolutely eating it up, I thought of course he must be a WWE heel. That kind of theatricality, and that kind of physique? Surely he was doing a similar thing I do when I do my ‘Brick House’ act. But no! He’s not a theatrical wrestler (as athletic as let’s agree those performers are). He’s a real live UFC guy—a real fighter, one who is, in the words of my partner who’s way more of an expert on these things: a ‘knockout artist,’ not in the theatrical ring, but in the freaking octagon! Not only does he rub his big gut in celebration to the ecstatic cheers of his fans, but he actually will press it up against the chain link fence surrounding the UFC ring. I just found his first bareknuckle match and I was gobsmacked! Talk about potent! The power behind this fighter’s hammer-handed swings is astonishing, and it’s easy to see how other heavyweight guys will just go right down when taking one of Big Country’s ventripotent hits. I immediately became a fan, and am holding him up as an example of what can be, for someone with a big belly. As an ideal example of ventripotence.
To be fair to my continued struggle, though: a man is much more able to get away with this type of celebration (rubbing it in your face and making you cheer for it) than a woman. Men are still allowed to be much schlubbier than women are in general, as far as cultural norms and standards of beauty. And as a childless woman, too, my big belly is even more not allowed in beauty culture. Not that women are off the hook when pregnant, either—all those ‘lose that baby fat in days!’ nonsense is. Yeah. Don’t get me started. But it is way easier for a human to be socially accepted (and even celebrated) as a Big Country than it is to be Valkyrie Rose the Brick House. But I continue to display it, others (importantly, my romantic partner in particular) love to see it, and that gives me power. Ventripotent, even.
Postscript
This op-ed came out relatively recently, and I appreciated a lot of what the author had to say, especially as someone with a big belly who yet isn’t considered plus-sized. And especially as this author is someone who had an eating disorder as a teen, something in this new world of the ‘body positive’ movements and etc. that often don’t offer very much more of a positive view of particularly women’s bodies, ignore to many teens’ peril. She makes some excellent points, especially when she discusses how vastly warped the common cultural consciousness is, that really we don’t know what a ‘normal’ belly is supposed to look like. Anything other than totally flat is considered fat, disgusting:
Our society hates and fears bellies. It is the part of the body that cameras seek out in news reports about public health, the first thing a child emphasizes when drawing a stick figure of a fat person.
I hope I’m doing my part to eradicate this idea, and maybe, the more I do this, to more people flocking to more truly body-positive shows like Blue Dime, who don’t just do lip service to inclusion of all kinds of beauty, but walk the jiggly sashaying walk, that maybe even I will one day look upon my belly with only love and admiration.
Ehh, I won’t hold my breath. (Unless I’m sucking my belly in for a photo.) (Just kidding. But not really.)
