When I look back on all the diets I tried (and failed at) as a chubby teen, all the ones I tried (and failed at) as a struggling-not-to-backslide early-20s chick, I have to sit back and think, "Whooo -- what was I on?" Only in hindsight can I see that the desperate longing of ordinary women for buns of steel is so over the top that it can be absurd. And nowhere is that both better and more horribly demonstrated than in "The Skinny." Not since "The Rules" has so much warped logic been doled out in one slender volume.

At several points, Marx and Sistrom seem to get their own joke just fine. They let loose with giddily Swiftian corporeal insanity, contemplating the caloric difference between ripe and unripe fruit (unripe is skinnier, by a hair) and asking whether you'd gain weight if you ate your own leg (they vote no). When they're breaking down the nutritional value of a shot of Nyquil or tallying the calories burned in wood chopping or floor mopping, they're brisk and blackly comic, making a wild, winking statement about the lengths to which women will go to get into the juniors department.

But at other times they seem to be excruciatingly sincere, dishing out earnest -- and rabidly nutso -- wisdom from the sisterhood of the svelte. In addition to spouting such noncomedic pearls as "salt your dessert" and "never eat breakfast," they espouse the belief that women are so biologically incapable of rational thought in the presence of a jar of peanuts that they need to restrain themselves in any way possible. They urge wannabe skinny girls to refuse to stay in hotel rooms with minibars (just not eating from them isn't an option) and suggest sleep as a fat-free alternative to eating meals. And they say it with utter conviction. They certainly don't say it to be amusing, because it's not. After a perfunctory word to the wise about eating disorders, in which they warn you not to use the book if your "dieting habits are destructive or out of control," they go on to embrace yo-yo dieting, fasting, taking Tylenol Sinus as a metabolism booster, chewing gum instead of eating lunch, sprinkling bleach on food to keep from finishing it and going to the movies with a date because "it's embarrassing to overeat in front of someone you might later kiss." Makes you wonder what their idea of destructive or out of control must be.

In our 30s, most of my friends and I have developed a healthier, friendlier attitude toward our bodies -- even the parts of them that aren't in the same places they used to be. Fifteen years down the road, I've kept off all the weight I lost in college not by flipping out over every fat gram but through a moderate mix of sensible eating and self-indulgence, regular exercise and, frankly, serendipitous genetics (thank you, my small-boned parents). I'd like to believe that as we mature we don't have to be as susceptible to diet-industry hype or to our own residual adolescent self-loathing, that we can be like those European hotties who are too busy drinking wine and eating cake to worry about their butts and who manage to have perfectly respectable butts anyway.

THE SKINNY: WHAT EVERY SKINNY WOMAN KNOWS ABOUT DIETING (AND WON'T TELL YOU!) BY PATRICIA MARX AND SUSAN SISTROM DELL TRADE PAPERBACKS NONFICTION 207 PAGES

I originally lost weight because I thought that thin people had more fun, and speaking solely for myself, I've got to say that I was right. But there's nothing fun about a hunger headache or the shakes. And if you've ever had a meal with someone who looked at you like you were a child murderer for ordering something with bacon in it, you know that being around that kind of person isn't fun, either. Despite their occasionally entertaining jibes at dietary madness, Marx and Sistrom are both that kind of person -- the kind who tells you that eating airline food is "crazy" and that sandwiches are "stupid." Welcome to Overreaction Island, population 2. How can such a book be an endorsement of the joys of slenderness?

Had "The Skinny" stuck to its weird theories about dieting in outer space (zero gravity does wonders to the scale) and the weight-loss benefits of Third World travel, it might have been a devastating pastiche, a bracing tonic for all of us who have ever optimistically thawed out a Lean Cuisine in the hope that it would magically change our lives. Instead, it appears that, all kidding aside, the authors and the sylphs they've drawn inspiration from mean business. And it's hard to laugh at the jokes when such a sad, twisted undertone mars the big picture.

Early on, Marx and Sistrom vow not to lecture or "push sensible eating down your throat," which is, in its own way, a gutsy alternative to all the bunkum posing as expert advice out there. And by God, they stick to their promise. But when writers who are so clearly and unashamedly funny turn around and offer an unwitty neurotic-waif party line that never begins to consider the concepts of health, sensuality, pleasure or even, heaven forbid, moderation, you're left feeling as empty and useless as a Snackwell. Though "The Skinny" ultimately fails as both a humor book and a diet book, Marx and Sistrom would at least be pleased to know that they've followed their own advice to a T. They've given us an appealing little bonbon and then dumped a painfully nasty flavor on top of it.
salon.com | June 14, 1999

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