Fat is Not Fabulous

We all have dreams, goals, and fantasies that motivate us to rise and shine every morning. But no one in their right mind sets their sights on becoming morbidly obese like “The Nutty Professor.” Certainly not moi, but that would happen to me after I returned to New York from my two-year modeling stint in Europe.

I was 5’11” tall and 130 pounds when I crawled back into therapy to calibrate my re-entry into racist America and deal with the volcanic level of Black rage from my traumatic childhood spent in foster care.

Little did I know, however, that my gifted therapist, Anath Garber, would hit me with a formidable intervention: Stop drinking and taking drugs, or she would stop seeing me.

I was shocked that she could see through my get-high gambit, but there was no way I could lose the only person I trusted. The second I put the plug in the jug. However, I found myself enticed by Twinkies and tarts galore. Instantly, the pounds piled on, and my modeling career was over.

I was furious at Anath, but she assured me to “trust the recovery process.” As usual, Anath also had a new plan for me: She reminded me of the many letters I sent her from Europe and coaxed me into pursuing a writing career. Voila! I went back to college and got a degree in Writing and English Literature, then navigated my way into the offices of Essence magazine, where I landed the cushy position of Fashion and Beauty Writer.

Filled with fear, I sat in my tiny appointed cubicle, glued to my desk (often till the wee hours), and secretly lined my desk drawers with packs of Twinkies, Reese’s pieces, and other sugary delicacies.

See, I was waiting for the inevitable tap on the shoulder that was sure to come. The daily societal reminders of not belonging, not being adequate, and hiding my orphan status made me a prime candidate for the “Imposter Syndrome.” Article after article, deadline after deadline, the not-so-silent chant in my head persisted: Who was I kidding? I wasn’t a writer; one day, I would be escorted off the premises!

By the time my weight climbed to 230 pounds, I was hiding my fortress of fat under black attire.

But my writing career progressed to writing about health, women’s issues, and pop culture trends, including my fave—girl groups such as Seduction, Spice Girls, Destiny’s Child, En Vogue—and personal essays about dating (Debbie Does The Personals” visits to psychics (`Psychics and the Skeptic”), my elusive family background (`Searching for Mommy”), etc. In the late 1990s, liposuction was all the rage, so my chef girlfriend Ishbel and I went to Dr. Benito Rish and underwent fat-sucking plastic surgery.

I received a call from the producers at Oprah requesting my presence as a guest. Whoo hoo! For this occasion, I donned my signature spotted attire (I was adjusting to the fatter me) and was hilariously honest to Oprah about the bottom line on lipo:

“Oprah, it was like throwing a hot dog down the hallway—I should have taken the money and gone to Tahiti for vacay instead!” After my appearance on Oprah, I received a call from a book editor requesting a meeting.

Another trend was brewing on the literary horizon: creating literature for children with characters of color. I created “The Cheetah Girls” book series, which embodied the childhood I would have wanted: to be in a girl group and finally belong. I even put my beloved bichon frise pooch Toto into the mix for the fictional ride.

 As “The Cheetah Girls’’ franchise grew (16 books plus ten movie-tie-in books, three Disney Channel original movies, concert tours, albums, dolls, and oodles of cheetahlicious merchandise), so did my “fortress of fat.’’

Finally, my BFF Beverly Johnson (the same Beverly whose pages in Vogue had graced my bedroom walls during my teen years) expressed her concern: her daughter Anansa’s ex-hubbie had gotten bariatric surgery with excellent results. “Surely, I should consider such?” she pleaded. I asked around, and bariatric surgeon Dr. Che Afaneh at Weill Cornell came highly recommended. After several appointments in 2018,

I decided that bariatric surgery was not for me. After all, ‘I was fat and fabulous!’ I told anyone who would listen. That is until 2022, when I went for my annual physical exam with my primary care physician and weighed 301 pounds.

Even worse, I had developed another obesity caveat: type II Diabetes. Beverly and my computer tech, Alfha, were still on my case. In 2018, I told him about my visits to Dr. Afaneh; lo and behold, he had the surgery with great results! I finally asked Alfha to weigh in about my 301-pound dilemma. He responded honestly: “YES. You need the surgery!”

So, I went back to Dr. Afaneh’s office. He remembered me all right and went on to tell me about the three types of bariatric surgeries: the lap band (which is now the least popular), the gastric bypass (for morbidly obese), and the very popular “sleeve,” which is the least invasive. Because of my morbid obesity (body fat index over 40) and diabetes diagnosis, Dr. Afaneh recommended the gastric bypass. I took his advice and completed the required ten pre-surgery appointments: six with a nutritionist, one psychiatric evaluation, an endoscopy procedure, blood tests, and a bariatric support group visit.

My surgery was scheduled for January 8th, 2023, and I was terrified beyond words.

As I was rolled into the operating room, I asked the nurse if she could provide me with a DNR form in case I died during surgery. My earnest request was met with a chuckle and ignored. The surgery itself is 90 minutes long and requires an overnight stay. The pain was minimal, and I was released the following day after passing a breathing test.

Steps to recovery: I was prohibited from exercising or lifting more than 10 pounds for the first 6 weeks. Instead, walking every day for 10 minutes was encouraged.

I also stuck to a particular diet and vitamin regimen. This included liquids for one week, followed by three weeks of soft foods and protein drinks (the nutritionist gave me a list of the recommended ones, which include Iconic and Unjury), egg whites, mashed tuna, and soup. After my three-month checkup, I could eat baked potatoes, pasta, rice, beans, chicken, and hamburger meat—my favorites. After six months, it was full steam ahead. Seventy-five grams of protein daily, veggies, carbs (pasta, potatoes, rice, etc), and lower-sugar desserts.

I ate anything I wanted—just in smaller portions, but I cut back on the overuse of hot sauce (yes, like my character Aqua in the Cheetah Girls, I carried a bottle of hot sauce in my purse!)

Ultimately, undergoing bariatric surgery was the right move. There was no way in hell I could have dieted again—that fantasy had failed me time and time again. (Oh, I tried them all along the way, including the Zone Diet and Weight Watchers—only to lose the weight, gain it back, plus more!)

On January 10th, 2024, I had my one-year post-surgery checkup with Dr. Afaneh. I had lost 105 pounds, and my sugar level was back to normal. I was no longer “obese,” morbid or otherwise.

My journey from skinny to obese also granted me a whole new perspective about ideal body weight: Babe Paley, who coined the famous phrase that became my 1970s mantra (“You can never be too rich or too thin’’), was so wrong.

You can be too thin—and might I add my adage: “Fat is not fabulous!” After bravely looking at myself in the mirror, I decided medium is my best body: 196 pounds on my 5’11” medium frame (6-6.5” wrist). I now wear a dress size 14 and still have my curvy figure.

During my pre-surgery appointments, I was warned about the obvious: getting bariatric surgery is not a magic formula: if you resume compulsive overeating habits, you will gain weight and join the ranks of thirty percent of post-surgery bariatric patients.

I took the warning to heart and admitted that losing 105 pounds did not fix all my problems. I was still depressed, still an orphan, still a senior citizen, and still recovering from Black post-traumatic stress disorder. The “big” difference? I feel better physically, move better, look better, and, most importantly, am no longer in denial. Hiding behind a 301-pound fortress of fat was not the solution. So, let me make a lifelong promise to myself—and to you: I promise that I will not be joining the ranks of the “30-percenters” and look forward to doing another check-in and weigh-in with you in 2025. Ciao, meow for now!

Part 2 of a two-part story by Deborah Gregory. Read part 1 here.

Deborah Gregory is the New York Times bestselling author of THE CHEETAH GIRLS and the CATWALK trilogy.