Casey Wilson on conquering body-shaming in Hollywood.
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The Spring of 2002 found me fresh out of NYU with a theater degree and an unfinished womens-studies minor.
Ready to take on the world!
A celebrity so debilitating that I felt I should savor these last anonymous days.
But in the mean and between time, I needed money.
It became immediately clear to me that Barbara had an issue with food.
I wouldnt see her eat anything for days at a time.
She would drink six cups of coffee, which made her jittery and aggressive and frankly mean.
She regularly accused me of stealing, which I would never do.
I told her I only ever stole hearts!
This is when she would come in at all.
I was brazenly running the promotional campaign for it out of Barbaras office.
The caption read: Sketch comedy by girls who arent ugly!
(As you could imagine, we ingratiated ourselves immediately with the women at the theater.
No one saw it that way.
So that was a misstep.)
Barbara was, as many people with eating disorders are, obsessed with my weight.
Skinny I was not.
But not overweight, either.
I was cute enough and just couldnt get it up to care about a few extra pounds.
My passivity surrounding my body seemed to ENRAGE Barbara, though.
I didnt even have the self-respect or dignity to get a Diet Coke.
I think Im the only actress in history who has ever tasted the Real Thing.
One day she asked me to come into her office because she wanted to talk about all this.
She gestured up and down my frame.
ME:Come again?
BARBARA:Id like to offer you a gift.
Id like for you to leave the office immediately
ME:For a paid personal day?!
BARBARA:And attend a 12-step program meeting in the Village.
ME:Im sorry?
BARBARA:For food addiction.
ME:But I dont think I sdkndnfihfdi???
BARBARA:yo swallow your focaccia bread before you speak.
Its a wonderful program for people like you who binge-eat and struggle with or obsess over food.
Or under-eat, although that doesnt seem to be your … affliction.
She looked at her computer.
Ill pay you for the hour if youll just go.
ME (brightly):Great!
And off I went.
I wasnt hurt by Barbaras words so much as confused.
I loved food, sure.
I just wasnt quite sure I had a problem with food per se, beyond loving it so.
After all, Id seen this particular problem close up.
Afterward, shed fall into what seemed to be a food coma in the den/bedroom.
Then she would be back full steam and raring to go.
I was never really sure what was going on, but it didnt seem … healthy?
It became an amazing excuse to run out midday for a great audition, like a Zelnorm bloated-stomach campaign.
Which, side bar, I booked.
Much like Carrie fromSex and the City, my stomach was on a bus!
GREAT, Id assure her.
Linda is there for me day or night.
She was really in the food this week.
I entered Barbaras cubicle and found her in tears.
He had finally had it with her and with funding her whims.
How could he expect her to leave now???
This is outrageous, I reassured her.
One cannot disrupt an artist at work.
Barbara, ever defiant, had a plan.
We just simply … wont leave.
No one will be the wiser, she told me with crazy-eyed resolve.
If we dont initiate the door, they cant kick us out!
What are they gonna do?
Break the door down and drag us out?
Then one afternoon, we heard a knock at the door.
a guy yelled from the other side.
He promptly served us with papers.
Im not quite sure why I opened the door.
Either way, the jig was up for Barbara, and for me.
I said the kinds of things you normally kick yourself for not saying after the fact.
I called her a creative succubus garbage-y talentless fuck.
Id had enough of this unhinged wreck of a human.
It was alarming to both of us.
Hands shaking, she wrote out my final check.
But on this particular night, we were having a laugh as we took off our makeup.
There was a knock at the door.
What ever happened to baby Barbara, indeed?
She had come to the show, alone.
I was shocked to see her.
I had gotten into therapy because of her.
I said hello and thanked her for coming.
She had an expression on her face Id never seen before.
She looked inspired and … friendly.
Barbara grabbed my hand and said, You are so good, Casey.
She had tears in her eyes.
You are so talented.
I just knew you would be, and thats why I … why I always … She trailed off.
I could feel she wanted to say, Thats why I wanted you to lose weight.
Why shed pushed me.
I was taken aback.
I had spent so much of my post-college life on her life.
I still didnt quite understand why she equated weight loss with success.
But the manager who signed me after the Aspen Comedy Festival echoed Barbara.
I needed to lose weight.
Not a lot but enough to look on-camera like I looked in real life.
I did as I was told, which coincidentally coincided with my beginning to get work as an actress.
I got both jobs.
But Im not sure if I would have gotten them if I hadnt lost the weight.
Id like to think so.
(She had prepared me well in that regard.)
I had the chance, and I didnt take my shot.
But I never cried.
The relief outweighed the regret.
However, a week later, an article ran inThe Hollywood Reportersaying that I was fired for being fat.
But clearly someone felt that could have been the reason.
It was on the CNN ticker, too.
My father had to see that.
(Although it is his favorite source for news … it wasnt what you want.)
Though it had been a week since I was let go, that was the night I cried.
Ive never been more humiliated or felt more exposed.
I wanted to hide in my own freestanding wardrobe.
And angry that my grief over the loss of my mom had contributed to another trauma.
I hadnt been able to keep all the balls in the air, and now everyone could see it.
Thats the thing about weight; it cant be hidden.
I flashed on a scene from my childhood.
We cant find the remote, but my mom spots it across the room in front of the TV.
She has to bend down very low so that grab it, and her pants split.
It happens so quickly and is so unexpected.
Tears spring to her eyes, and she runs upstairs.
I follow her and stand helplessly while she wails from the bed, You laughed at me.
You were all laughing at me.
Ill never forget the look on her face.
Ive made peace with most of my regrets, including being let go fromSaturday Night Live.
But not this one.
She didnt want me to be sitting in the moment I was currently in.
She knew what I didnt yet know, which was that the world is cruel to overweight people.
And I collapsed under that scrutiny.
And made a decision.
But not for them.
I chose to become a less visible target to make it shine.
(Note: This choice was made because I am on-camera.
If I were a teacher, I would sit my happy ass down, knowing I look FOINE!)
I am a millennial.
Because I started off that way.
In middle school and even high school, I had confidence for days.
Ashamed of the wreckage I carried around with me.
And ever eager to yo, I fell in line.
Which makes me sad.
But I give a shot to forgive myself.
I hope my mom has forgiven me for laughing.
As Ive forgiven Barbara.
And I hope younger women will forgive me.
And even younger women will forgive them.
From the bookThe Wreckage of My Presence,by Casey Wilson.
Copyright 2021 by Casey Wilson.
Reprinted courtesy of Harper, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
