In April , I rode a train from Boston to New York for one purpose: to attend the famed Fat Girl Flea Market, a massive bargain sale of donated plus-size clothing to benefit a fat-positive activist organization. The flea was in its third year, and I was so excited to finally be there and do some heavy shopping. But as I walked in, something else happened. I looked around at the wide-open space of the community center, crammed with tables heaped with clothing, and I saw bodies that looked like mine. People laughing and sharing their finds, smiling, sweating I felt at home in a way that was unfamiliar to me.