TUBBY, OR NOT TUBBY, FAT IS THE QUESTION

Reading about someone’s quest to lose weight is not always a pleasurable read, I’ll grant you that. On my way to the bottom, I have made many observations about being on this side of the scale:

All Sizes Are Not Equal

In the past, I would see an item of clothing on the rack and I knew it would look good on me, without trying it on. When you’re between a size 8–10, as I was, I could usually suss out outfits that would fit, without benefit of a dressing room. Now I have to keep an eye out for clothes that are XL or XXL and even that is not a guarantee they will fit. There seems to be a disconnect between bigger sizes and height. For years, I would try on pants that would stop three to five inches above my ankle. I discovered some great tall jeans by Parasuco Jeans at Addition Elle that were long enough. They were discontinued. Then I found another pair of tall black dress pants. They, too, were discontinued. I’m not that tall, I’m just under 5'10". Surely, I wasn’t the only one buying theses jeans? It was only recently that I found a pair of tall jeans, Inc Denim that actually hit the ground. Hallelujah! Price not so much. $200 for jeans. The bonus of these pants is that they don’t gape at the back either. I have an ample derrière, but most pants I’ve tried, I could fit a full knapsack and a lunch box and still have room for more inventory. I’ve been equally unlucky with blouses. Most, if not all blouses sleeves are either too big or too small. I’m like Goldilocks, I keep looking for the ‘just right’ size.

They call it a change room, but so far, nothing has altered. And a dressing room should be called a dressing down room. I don’t recall when I was slim, sales clerks throwing themselves between the curtain or asking to be let in, to take a peek at you at your most vulnerable. They seem to think that this kind of behaviour is acceptable when you’re fat. Addition Elle staff excel at this. Some people need the support, I’m the type of person that wants to be left alone. They insist on bestowing their fashion critique on you. I don’t want to be told I look good, when clearly I look like I’m wrapped in sausage casing. I’ve seen some women be told they look fabulous and I’m saddened that they’re sent on their way with clothes that are the exact opposite. I’ve boycotted Addition Elle.

Is This Seat Taken?

Recently a fashion show had nude males parade down the runway carrying purses. Imagine a fashion show with fat women/men parading down the runway, with chairs on their ample derrieres. Had it not been for great flexibility and bruised hips, I would have carried off a few chairs. I eye chairs, the way someone with hemorrhoids might. What material is the chair made of? Will it hold me? Is it wicker or plastic, and the legs will start to dive outwards under the weight? Does it have arms on either side? Do they stick inwards? How long am I willing to sit in a chair that will incur soft tissue damage?

Therein Lies The Rub…

When you’re fat, your thighs become free flowing columns of unshapely girth and without benefit of bicycle shorts or equally useful material to separate them, you could end up like the cicadas that rub their legs to elicit that perfect it’s so “effin’-hot” hum. Not so perfect when you’re a human. It’s a wonder that we don’t lose weight over the summer, as we’re usually dressed in many layers to hold all that weight in.

A Picture Paints a Thousand Words

I am an only child, so I never had the benefit of hand-me-down clothes from my elder siblings. I think I’m approximating it now, though. Fat clothes, unless you can afford higher end Marina Rinaldi or some such designer clothes, are like design cast-offs. It’s where clothes go, to die. Somebody out there thinks that giant flowers, bleached bottoms and thighs, scoop necks, lace collars, sleeve cut-outs, black shiny leggings, short skirts, jersey pants, garish colours and quaint sayings like “squat till you drop” are desirable attributes for plus-size clothing. It’s not. I’d rather wear one of those Italian house dresses, that they used to sell at Honest Ed’s before it closed last year, than some of the offerings I find at various stores. Increasingly, the fashion for plus size at Winners and Marshalls has been dismal. I think the buyers have taken leave of their senses and we are left with polyester and outfits that only the desperate would purchase because there is nothing out there. I only shop for the XL or the XXL sizes and nothing above, because I am small-boned and a pear shape. I swim in the tops. My upper arms are as a friend put it, pipes, but some of those arm cut outs? A train could motor through them. Between the scoop necks and the arm cut outs, there isn’t much material left to cover a bra strap. One would have to wear a camisole underneath.

My Cup Runneth Over

I have made a request to whomever wants to listen to me, at Winners or Marshalls. So far, it has not been acted on. In the bra and panty department, the bras for ladies of sizes 36 C and upwards, have to bend over to the bottom tier to look for bras. As male employees of Buzzfeed and PrimaDonna learned recently, having an ample bosom has its perks and its problems. Leaning over, no matter how good your bra is, you’re still assailed by gravity. I have asked management and staff whether they can switch the bras, so that the larger sizes are at the top and the A & B cups at the bottom. They look at me and say, “Yeah, that makes sense”. But none of them have risen to the challenge. I remember asking a clerk, at a well-known department store, where they kept their D-cups and she said, “The foundation garments are on the back wall”. Foundation garments? Did I mistakenly walk into the Home Depot?

Vous Voulez Couchez Avec Moi?

Not if you’re wearing flannel pajamas. What’s with the latest sleepwear? I wear them myself but in my pursuit of a sexy nightgown, my search has been futile. Everything from minions, pussycats and pithy quotes have been plastered all over onesies and what we used to call baby-dolls, but the only nightgowns I have found are flannel or 100% nylon. I get comfort, but I like to occasionally wear a sexy nightgown, or a teddy.

More incredibly insightful observations to come.