Too Fat For The Rollerskate Industry.
The early 2000s are back! Deftones are bumping, recession-style partying is hot, and restrictive eating is in. As we watch celebrities shrink and the buccal fat melt away, it’s impossible to deny that, as a society, being skinny is also back. In keeping with the rest of the world, skating is also thinner than ever. I can’t speak for everyone's experience, but I can tell you what mine is. As an active twenty-nine-year-old, by US standards I am “mid-sized,” but by skating culture am considered a “bigger skater,” and the real kicker is that my frame isn’t even that big. With that said, let me paint you a picture of the lifestyle I live to fit into the largest-size knee pad most skate companies make, and have GLP-1s relentlessly advertised to me.
I commute to my restaurant job by walking or biking, and I skate at least once a week in winter and almost every day in summer. Living without a car means I rely on my body to get around, including walking to the local skatepark with my skates strapped to my back. I eat well enough; fast food is a rarity, I don’t drink, and for the most part, don’t eat the super-processed foods that were once a staple of my middle-class childhood. I’m not saying I’m the perfect skinny candidate; I don’t go to the gym, and I love me a chocolate treat and a whole-milk latte. This complete refusal to restrict my eating habits, combined with my Italian-American genetics and American Girl Doll legs, makes me a little chubby, and I’m not afraid to say it. Standing in my own identity of non-binary has helped me be at peace with my back rolls and belly. When I let go of the pressures of performing idealized patriarchal femininity, I feel I can live a life that balances being active in my everyday with the simple human joys of being a little lazy after work and having pastries. Not to say I always feel confident or sexy in my own skin, because the lasting effects of being socialized as a woman for most of my life will always be there. However, as I write this, shirtless and heavily tattooed, listening to Crowbar (iykyk), I feel pretty good, rolls and all. Now, with the context out of the way, I come to you at 5’4”, 170ish pounds, comfortably in a size 36 jeans, to talk about how I feel like I am at the tipping point for being “too fat for rollerskating” per industry standards.
I hate to make this all about the infamous Lazo pants that only go up to a US size 12, but luckily for them and unfortunately for the rest of us thicc-er people, it’s not just about Lazo. When I started skating in 2021, there was more non-skinny representation in the market than there currently is. I won’t name the specific bigger-bodied skaters who had more visibility, but if you were around, you have to admit there was a prevailing message: “skating is for everyone.” Fast-forward to 2026, and I fear our culture is falling into the idea that only two types of girls can skate: those who are naturally, effortlessly thin, or gym-powered, muscle-mommy type. Undoubtedly, thinness dominates every skate team out there, and that's not to say a woman can’t be fit or thin. A girl secure in her strength, body, and femininity is, in fact, one of the coolest people out there. However, only one side of that scale seems to be celebrated, let alone supported. I know what you patriarchal assholes are thinking, “Well, maybe fat people just aren’t as good at skating.” To that, I raise you a question: “Do you think thinness equates to athleticism?” Other sports like rugby, football, and even our dear cousin, roller derby, feature successful athletes with bigger bodies, so why not aggressive skating? Well, it’s a twofer:
Bigger people are not afforded the visual relatability of seeing themselves represented on skate teams and in skate media, thus they feel as though “That's not for me.”
Gear sizing restrictions.
The lack of bigger bodies on skate teams is disappointing, but the lack of inclusivity in gear sizing is egregious. As mentioned before, I am the absolute largest size (XL) in triple8 knee pads and Old Bones therapy compression sleeves. If I, god forbid, got bigger, I would have to skate without protective gear. Not too long ago, I ordered an adult knee pad size large from S1, and what arrived in the mail wouldn't fit over my calf. This, of course, triggered an episode of body dysmorphia that I walked myself back from, but if I were a baby skater yet to feel the rush of their first drop-in, this might have halted me in my skate journey. Without gear that fits people who are hardly considered mid-sized by real-life standards, how can we expect the average soft-bellied person to pick up rollerskating? It’s almost comical that a woman-dominated action sport built on this ethos of “inspiring little girls” can’t seem to celebrate or support anyone with an above-average BMI. The icing on this big fat cake I planned to eat a hearty slice of is the god-damned Lazo pants. Not going to lie, originally I was stoked on them. With the success of Dickies skate, Carhartt WIP, and even a few inline brands whose names escape me, everyone was keen on skate pants. All this builds up and product tease in their full-length edit, Shell Shock, only to roll out pants with the largest size being 32, is a huge fumble for a brand that proclaims “women empowerment”. This release led me down the rabbit hole. I looked at their collection through a more critical lens and realized that even the city-print sleeveless graphic tee I really liked would look awful on me. My C-cup tits would stretch the graphic on these tanks, making the buildings bulge and bow. Upon checking out the rest of the Lazo collection, I measured myself to see if I could fit into any of their clothes. My findings were conclusive: I am too fat for Lazo.
Now, before you start the pity party and playing Christina Aguilera’s “I Am Beautiful, " that’s their loss. I’m almost thirty, and I like myself enough to wear my weight as a badge of honor. The most punk thing a girl in an action sport can do is be a little fat. I skate, I mosh, I bike, and I work hard. I don’t need to shrink myself and declare 2026 the year I get skinny in an effort to fit in with the sport's current representation. What we’re not going to do is infantilize ourselves and say “I can’t do that” or “I don’t belong here because of my size.” Make brands feel embarrassed for making products that don’t fit you, challenge the skinny narrative that conservatism is pushing on us, and eat fucking food. Prove them wrong and do it fat.