Everyday acts of activism (and why fat activism can't rest on fat people alone)

I love Lucy & Yak. It's one of my favourite brands. One of the few that fits my body and my style. The kind of brand you recommend to friends without hesitation. The kind you feel good about supporting...

Before you keep reading, I want to acknowledge that this conversation is nuanced, and this is not about cancel culture. Should we be "punishing" a brand that is still doing more than many high street retailers when it comes to inclusion? No. But it is worth noting that there are brands out there that are genuinely size-inclusive and don't shy away from fatness. And while some brands (H&M, for example) don't claim to be inclusive in the first place, Lucy & Yak built their ethos around inclusion, which makes decisions like this feel different, and more disappointing. It's also important to say that many people will continue shopping with Lucy & Yak simply because the alternatives are worse, or don't exist at all, and that's completely valid. This is exactly why fat activism can't rely solely on fat people (see: the title of this post). With that in mind, please feel free to keep reading.

...which is why I felt genuinely disappointed when I learned they were reducing their size range, on both ends: XXXS on the smaller end and 4XL on the larger end.

Do I personally wear either of those sizes? No. But that's not the point.

Size inclusion isn't about whether I am affected. It's about whether a brand is willing to show up for bodies across the spectrum, including those that are consistently excluded, marginalised, and quietly erased. And once a brand starts drawing a line around which bodies are "worth" accommodating, I stop feeling comfortable supporting it.

I'm not burning the clothes I already own (because... why?), but I also don't think I'll be buying more from them anytime soon. Not out of spite. Not to make a statement. Just because my values and my money no longer feel aligned.

That decision — small, personal, unglamorous — is exactly what this post is about.

Activism isn't always loud

When people think of activism, they often imagine protests, petitions, megaphones, perfectly worded arguments, and moral purity. But activism doesn't have to be loud. It doesn't have to be massive. And it doesn't have to be perfect.

Sometimes activism looks like opting out. Sometimes it looks like choosing differently. Sometimes it looks like saying something small in a space where silence is the norm.

Those everyday acts matter more than we often give them credit for.

What everyday fat activism can look like

It can look like choosing not to buy clothes from brands that don't genuinely commit to size inclusion, even if their size limits don't affect your body.

It can look like giving feedback about towel and bathrobe sizes in hotels, chairs with arms in cafés, or equipment with low weight limits in gyms, even if you fit just fine.

It can look like gently pushing back when fatness is mocked, erased, or framed as a personal failing in everyday conversation, even if you yourself are thin.

Not with a lecture. Not with a perfectly sourced argument. But with a simple: "That doesn't sit right with me".

Because fat people are — once again — being erased from so many corners of society. From fashion. From fitness. From healthcare. From public spaces. From "wellness". And that erasure rarely happens loudly. It happens quietly. Incrementally. One decision at a time.

Why fat activism can't rest on fat people alone

Here's the part we don't talk about enough. Fat activism cannot be carried by fat people alone. Because fat people don't have the same choices.

When a brand reduces its size range, people in smaller bodies can simply shop elsewhere. They can walk into almost any shop on the high street and expect to find something that fits. They can boycott, opt out, and take their money somewhere else with ease.

Fat people can't.

Many fat people already compromise constantly. We buy from brands we'd rather avoid because they're the only ones that carry a 3XL, and even that can feel like a win when you're used to being excluded entirely. We settle. We adapt. We make do. Not because we want to, but because we have to.

So when a supposedly "inclusive" brand pulls back on size range, fat consumers are left with even fewer options, while thinner consumers still have endless choice.

That's why everyday activism from people in smaller bodies matters so much.

Because when you choose not to support exclusion, it actually costs something. When you speak up, it's less likely to be dismissed. When you withdraw your money, brands pay attention.

That's not a judgement. It's an acknowledgement of power and privilege.

You don't have to be an expert. You don't have to get it right every time. You don't have to centre yourself in the story. Sometimes the most meaningful thing you can do is notice, and then refuse to look away. Notice who isn't represented. Notice who isn't catered for. Notice who has to squeeze, shrink, apologise, or adapt. And then ask yourself: "Is this the world I want to participate in?".

Because change doesn't only come from grand gestures. It comes from accumulated, everyday decisions made by people who could easily choose not to care, but do anyway.

Fat people deserve more than survival-level inclusion. We deserve choice. Comfort. Visibility. Joy. And building that world requires all of us.

So I'll end with this: What are your everyday acts of activism, and whose bodies do they make room for?

That's all for now—thank you for being here and for making a commitment to make movement spaces more inclusive for all bodies!

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