Don’t Call Me Fatty

So . . . apparently I’m obese, at least according to some reliable sources (I’m talking to you, Wii Fit).  While I would be the first   to admit that I could stand to lose a few pounds, I really don’t think of myself as obese.  And I should know – probably look at myself in the mirror far more than anyone else looks at me.  This was over the summer, and as my tuxedo-rental guru predicted, I have lost a little weight since then.  But being fair, I don’t think the label applies.  So is the problem with me or the way we categorize body fat?

(Now I thought it important to mention that today’s blog title is one of those highly risky ones, if only because it could be severely misinterpreted if I placed an incorrect comma.  So, to clarify, I’m not writing “Don’t Call Me, Fatty,” which would be mean and unfair considering I really don’t know the body mass index of my readership.  It’s “Don’t Call Me Fatty,” which places the blame for name-calling on you, the reader.  So you’re the mean ones.)

When it comes to changing standards, I’m usually on the side of maintaining them and fixing the problem.  For example, the newly-re-elected Liberal government of Ontario had a problem a few years ago when not enough students were meeting provincial standardized testing standards.  Their solution was quick and effective, if not logical: they changed the standards.  Suddenly many more schools were up to snuff.  This example typifies the drive to change what is an acceptable level.

But when it comes to what classifies as overweight and obese, I really think the standard is wrong.  The classifications are based on Body Mass Index (BMI), which is calculated from height and weight (the formula is (weight in pounds x 703)/height in inches squared).  Anyone with a BMI over 30 is considered obese, and anyone with a BMI between 25 and 30 is overweight.  So far, so good, right?  Wrong.  And not just because it said I was obese.

By this standard, someone who is five foot eight inches tall and who weighs 200 pounds is obese.  And this person may in fact be rotund, but he or she may also be muscular and fit.  Think of an athlete in prime condition.  Does 6’4 and 250 pounds seem reasonable?  Sorry, he’s obese.  It’s clear that BMI is not sufficient to capture the fattiness of people. 

And this would be fine, but remember all those stats we read in the papers about how everyone is getting fatter?  Those are based on BMI and these categories.  I look around at the people I interact with (profs, students, retail staff, family & friends) and I don’t see a whole lot of people I’d call obese.  BMI may say they are, but it’s not really that accurate.  And if we’re making societal choices based on flawed statistics and categories, shouldn’t we get a better measure?

Of course, this could all be a rationalization on my part to make me feel better about my size.  But it’s not, really.  I’m hungry.