That Dog Won't Hunt:
How I Discovered Dr. Phil is a Big Fat Liar
©Christine Olinger for Ladybug Flights: Body Image

I used to like Dr. Phil McGraw even though he made me squirm a little. My mother always said he was unnecessarily mean. I should know by now not to question my mother about pushy southern men. She married one. But he was funny, and he was direct, and hell... Oprah liked him.

First red flag on the play, right there. Remember how we all met Dr. Phil? He was hired as a consultant when Oprah was being sued by Texas beef people. His job was to spin the situation with Oprah, to attack it from a psychologically manipulative position. He taught Oprah how to play the mind game and win.

I also remember every early interview with Dr. Phil, in which he would unabashedly proclaim that he'd never been any good at counseling. He was lousy as a therapist because he lacked patience. He could see the problem and wanted to “cut to the chase” without all that bothersome growth and self-awareness.

Hang on. Err. Rewind that for me.

Anyone who has been through therapy (and if you haven't you should sign up now) knows that therapy is not about locating the troublesome behavior and shouting “quit that!” We don't gamble compulsively because we are too stupid to know that gambling compulsively is not a great idea. Compulsive gamblers are filling a need. The trick is to figure out what need is being filled, where that need first arose, and how addressing these early sources can educate, enlighten, and unburden us. Shouting “quit that!” has a certain backwoods, dumpster-diving, down-home, we-don't-need-no-book-learnin' charm, but it doesn't work.

So, needless to say, the more I actually saw of Dr. Phil the less I liked him. He seemed, when he got his own show, to emerge as a more honest image. The quick-fix expressions didn't seem to be so heavy on the fix. His loudness was no longer exuberant; his loudness was offensive and... I hate it when my mother is right... MEAN.

And then he started harping on size. I will acknowledge that this is a sore spot for me. The funny thing is, I can promise you it's a sore spot for Phil, too. I spoke to a few psychologist, psychiatrists, and therapists (some of whom have sociological backgrounds, others educational). I mentioned the disturbing habit Phil had of referring to himself as “a big guy,” occasionally alluding to weight problems in his family, but skimming over his own size. Phil is more than just “a big guy.” Big guys can be muscular, tall, athletic, or, in Phil's case, tall and chubby. Was it just me or was Phil in denial?

Call him Tut, baby, he's the King of Denial, a Pharoh of Freudian theory run amok. This guy's got more masks in his wardrobe than Zorro. Set a bird dog on him and flush him out of the brush, cause this quail needs a shot in the ass!

See how incredibly annoying that gets?

Lest my friends be mistaken, or perhaps overly supportive, I looked into Dr. Phil. Sure enough, he not only has a rap sheet, he's been outed. Holy exposure, Batman, there's a big old gaping rip in Phil's super-guy-tights!

Not too long after Dr. Phil took to the airwaves on his own he invited Sally Smith, editor of BBW magazine, and Maryanne Bodolay, executive administrator of the National Association to Advance Fat Acceptance to appear as guests on his show. The two women, who are counted as experts in the field of size acceptance, were asked to join in a discussion of discrimination against people of size.

What actually happened when they arrived in Los Angeles was a little bit different.

The producers of the show, along with Dr. Phil, thought it would be cool to send Smith and Bodolay to Las Vegas with a hidden camera crew. The idea was to capture footage of people being cruel to two fat women. Smith and Bodolay, both veterans in the size acceptance movement, tried to convince the Dr. Phil folks of the futility of this expedition. Those of us who know anything about the movement know that most BBW, Fat Acceptance, and Size Support gatherings and conventions take place in... you guessed it... Las Vegas. The city has a long history of warmth with the People of Size community.

Sure enough, all attempts to find ridicule in the city of sin failed. Not to be deterred, the camera crew gave it a second shot in Los Angeles, where everyone hates fat people. The two women were sent into a trendy restaurant, where they were seated near skinny guests, who were belligerently polite, spoiling yet another night of hidden camera work. Well, when you can't get the possum to play dead, kill it. They paid one bystander to make rude comments.

The show was taped. Smith and Bodolay were introduced by first names only, with absolutely no mention of their credentials, professional achievements, or positions within the Size Acceptance movement. The taping was edited creatively, strung out into two shows, and was met with outrage by those involved with the activist community. Sally Smith wrote an article in the spring of 2003 detailing the debacle of Dr. Phil's dirty little plot.

And yet, soon thereafter, his new diet plan, book, and side-show launched to squeals of delight throughout the land. The funny thing is (funny weird, not funny ha-ha), even the most simple minded person can see the flaw in this master plan to slim down America. Dr. Phil is a fat guy who doesn't respect fat people. He's a fat guy who doesn't respect fat people who shouts “get real” at a nation that is, primarily, fat.

Scuse me, Pot? Kettle on the phone with a message for you: you're black!

Sorry, Dr. Phil, but you drove your side-show and all its clowns off into a ditch a long time ago. Oprah may be fooled, but I'm not. Maybe she should have listened more closely to Maya Angelou, who said “when people tell you what they are, believe them.” I remember what you told me way back when, Phil. You quit counseling people because you were bad at it. You lacked patience. You wanted to shout “I can see what your problem is, we're wasting time!” You didn't want to let them find their way, learn their lesson, and grow to an understanding that guides their lives rather than just steering their lives with blinders on. That sort of thing gets you driven off into ditches, dammit!

I don't know about the rest of America, but I'm not buying what Phil is selling. My mom was right: he's mean. He's a fat guy who hates himself. He's a failed therapist who learned to spin in order to avoid addressing truths and finding true meaning. He can sell that snake-oil til the cows come home but it won't grow hair. Put your rifle away, boys, that dog won't hunt. Dr. Phil is a big, fat, bald, insecure, lying flim flam man.

ALWAYS listen to your mother.

Sources: Smith, Sally E. “Shrink Wrapped: My Encounter with Dr. Phil” BBW Magazine, May/June 2003.