"Not all bigoted people are obvious in their hatred."
In his candid and humour-laced memoir Manboobs, Komail Aijazuddin delves into the complexities of growing up as an overweight, effeminate, and anglicised gay child in Lahore.
His narrative takes readers on a journey that spans continents, grappling with the cultural tensions of being “too gay for Pakistan and too Muslim for America.”
Through a blend of wit and raw honesty, Aijazuddin confronts the intersections of identity, exploring themes of body dysmorphia, white supremacy, and the struggle for acceptance.
The memoir is as much about navigating the external world as confronting internal demons.
Aijazuddin’s story is one of resilience and self-discovery, offering insights into the often harsh realities of finding one’s place in a world that constantly demands conformity.
In ‘Manboobs,’ you reflect on your childhood in Lahore. How did these early experiences shape the narrative of your memoir?
It was an early lesson in unbelonging, which is a feeling most of us know well.
Being an overweight, effeminate, anglicised gay kid who belted out ballads unprovoked in an all-boys school in Pakistan was not, to put it mildly, easy.
But trauma often makes for the best comedy.
You mention feeling “too gay for Pakistan and too Muslim for America.” How do you explore this duality in your book, and what insights do you hope readers gain from it?
I use pop culture references to contextualise most of my journey throughout the book because I wanted to use something familiar to readers to describe what may seem at first like an unfamiliar story.
I believe that the more honest you can be about your experience, the more people will be able to see themselves in it.
We aren’t all that different, Manboobs or not…
What was the catalyst for writing ‘Manboobs’? Was there a specific moment or experience that made you tell your story?
I’ve been a painter and writer for nearly 20 years, and I found that despite being out since I was a teenager there were vast and important areas of my life – love, heartache, sexuality, belief, sex, food – that I actively avoided mentioning in my work because it didn’t feel safe or acceptable.
That self-censorship was something I wanted to confront, and the only way I knew to do it was to write about all the things I was terrified to write about.
Your memoir tackles heavy themes such as body dysmorphia, immigration, and white supremacy. How did you balance these serious subjects with the humour that reviewers have praised?
Humour can often transcend barriers like racism, classism, nationalism and all the other “-isms” we call culture instead of hatred.
When you laugh with someone, you are, for one brief sane moment, on the same side.
I wanted someone reading Manboobs to feel that sense of companionship.
Everybody feels bad about themselves sometimes so don’t worry, but also not everyone can pull off spandex so be warned.
Moving to America presented its own set of challenges. Can you discuss a specific instance from the book that highlights the struggle to find acceptance in a new culture?
One of the surprises of life for me has been that not all bigoted people are obvious in their hatred.
Many are quietly unassuming and it can take years for you to see the hypocrisy clearly.
Many people growing up outside the US bought into the image that American culture actively exports about the country: a welcoming, pluralistic society rooted in meritocratic fairness.
Discovering that America was a white, Christian country before it was anything else was a painful surprise.
Your relationship with your body is a central theme in ‘Manboobs.’ How did writing about these struggles help you in your journey towards body positivity?
Bringing it into the light has shrunk the shouts of my inner critics to a whimpering whisper that I can now happily ignore at beach parties and pools.
Many male presenting individuals struggle with body image and sadly there isn’t much space to talk about it without shame (particularly with all the biceps on Instagram).
But confronting it has as much to do with confronting our general culture of toxic masculinity as it does your own specific insecurities.
How do you address the intersectionality of being queer, Muslim, and a person of colour in ‘Manboobs’?
I used to address it with full-fat ice cream, but my therapist won’t let me do that anymore.
But seriously? I don’t feel the need to address that intersectionality any more than I do the fact that I have dark hair.
What I like addressing is how I navigate through the world, and how the confluence of those identities seems to p*ss other people off who, upon reflection, may be in need of full-fat ice cream themselves.
As Manboobs concludes, Aijazuddin reminds readers that self-acceptance is an ongoing journey of facing fears and embracing the parts of ourselves that society may reject.
His ability to interweave humour with heavy themes creates a narrative that is as entertaining as it is thought-provoking.
For anyone who has ever felt out of place, Aijazuddin’s story offers both solace and inspiration.
Ultimately, Manboobs is a testament to the power of storytelling as a means of healing, and it encourages readers to find strength in their uniqueness, no matter how different they may feel.
Manboobs: A Very Queer Memoir by Komail Aijazuddin is published by Doubleday and is available now.
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