Shaming Works Jibbly jowlers love to claim that fat-shaming doesn't work.  One of my favorite memories from my army service though, is shaming in action.   While in basic training in the late 90s, there was this funky chunky chick in my co-ed platoon.  How she got in to the service I'll never know, but one thing I know for certain was that she was a massive pain in the ass.  For whatever reason, I guess she assumed that the military would get her into better shape than she was.  However, we had to endure her day in and day out in disgust-- until she got there.   In basic training, you have very limited time (especially at the beginning) to take care of personal hygiene.  Each platoon has to get in the bathroom take care of business within a few minutes and get into formation both morning and night.  The problem with this particular lady of lard was that she was rightfully deeply ashamed of her body.  So, what ended up happening was she'd skip the shower portion of the evenings in order to avoid being seen naked by the other girls in her platoon.  Over time the stench was fucking unreal.  No one wanted to march next to her and everyone would try to put her at the back of a squad, because god help you if you were downwind from her.   Then one blessed day, Lord Beetus Cristo turned his gaze from her.  Our head drill sergeant caught wind of her during a PT run and stopped the platoon.  He walked  up and down the formation sniffing at us, wondering aloud what bag of shit was making his already difficult job unbearable.  Finally, he found her then demanded an explanation for her stench from the platoon guide.  The platoon guide quickly explained that the other girls had been trying to get her to shower ,but that she would refuse every night.  I bet the grin that the Drill Sgt. gave her still gives her nightmares, because what happened next was the funniest thing I've ever seen.    As soon as the run was over we formed up into a company formation.  My head drill sergeant and another drill sergeant yelled out for everyone to halt before we were usually dismissed.  He ran upstairs and came back with a big metal pan, a hose, and a floor sweeper.  Then he loudly proclaimed that this is what happens when you can't be trusted to take care of yourself.  He called the fatness front and center, in front of the entire company, and made her stand in the metal pan.  He loaded shampoo all on her head, while another drill sergeant sprayed her down with a hose, and a third used the floor sweeper to scrub her like you would an elephant.  The entire time she was loudly crying while the water and shampoo ran down her face with her tears.  Our company fought like hell to stop laughing, but even so the occasional smile and snort would escape.   The fat bitch never missed a shower again.