Jess Fuchs: A Fat Person's Guide To Petty Resistance
Power
〰️
Power 〰️
Image: Chris Hilary
The Edinburgh Fringe is back for 2026, and with it, our annual feature series! This year, we’re taking on POWER: Who’s got it? Where is it? Where should it be? How do you get it? Our comedians are the only ones with the answers.
By Jess Fuchs
I once went to a doctor with a broken wrist and he asked: "Have you considered losing weight?"
In the thirty minutes since being hit by a car? I unfortunately hadn't landed on that as a solution for my mangled radius.
Welcome to fat healthcare, where no matter why you step over the threshold, whether it's an ear infection from a filthy waterpark pool or a rash from a nickel necklace an ex swore was real gold, you are leaving with an unsolicited weight consultation.
At times some doctors think themselves smart, like a parent sneaking broccoli into their fussy toddler's dinner, disguising fatphobic micro-aggressions as pseudo-medical concern, even when it's utterly irrelevant.
This barrage of weight-related comments often leaves plus size people exhausted, perpetually braced for the next remark…as if we aren't already surrounded by enough messages telling us to be smaller.
But I’m fighting back.
As a stand-up comedian professionally trained to handle the drunkest of hecklers, my ability to bite back is unmatched. Unfortunately for whichever doctor gets stuck in an exam room with me, in a world of fight, flight, and freeze, I have been trained to deploy a fourth F: fuckery.
Here are the small, petty, deeply satisfying things I do at the doctor's office to bring joy and whimsy to the experience. Not all of these will faze your doctor, some are just for you. Because even if they don't realise they're in the throes of war, you know. And sometimes that's enough.
On the scales: Instead of looking down at the number, I turn to face the doctor. Direct, sustained eye contact. And if I'm feeling particularly theatrical: one foot on, one foot off, holding half my weight on the ground…just enough to make them wonder if their machine is broken.
When they leave the room: Move things on their desk. Hide a pen, put the stethoscope in a draw, unplug the mouse from their desktop. Now they'll spend the rest of the afternoon quietly wondering if they're losing their mind.
And if you have the time: switch the small, medium, and large gloves into different boxes. That way their next rectal exam is just a little more awkward when a too-roomy glove gets sucked off the doctor's hand by a powerful sphincter.
When they hand you the gown: If it's too small, repurpose it vertically. I wrap the length of the gown around my waist, leaving my tits out like a mermaid, basking in the stale medical centre air as I stride across the office.
When they pull out the wooden tongue depressor: Do a full shaft lick and say: "Old habits die hard. Those usually come with ice cream on it." We're dangerously close to dad joke neighbourhood, but low-hanging fruit is still fruit.
For the overt body-shaming practitioner: Ask if they're okay. Tell them they seem nervous. Reassure them they're doing a great job and it'll get easier with more experience.
This technique can be used in various environments, from your entitled boss at work to the obnoxious guy hitting on you at the bar. I personally enjoy using it on any rude comedians right before they go on stage.
None of these petty resistances fix the problem of fatphobia within the medical field. Fat patients are routinely undertreated, dismissed, and misdiagnosed in ways that cause real harm.
But while we wait for fat patients to be taken as seriously as their thinner counterparts…they say the best medicine is laughter, so I, for one, am writing my own prescription.
Jess Fuchs: Feral is running at Pleasance Courtyard (Bunker 2) from Aug 5-30th (except 18th), 18:55. Tickets here
Read more about Edinburgh Fringe 2026:
