...they're just depressing. Especially when they're in those clothing stores where all the clientele are 16 year old stick insects and all the sales staff are gorgeous, very young, and very, very thin.
I went shopping in my lunch break for a new dress to wear out to dinner for our anniversary next week. I spotted this nice little black dress. Fair enough, it was in one of those stores people like me can't walk into without receiving looks from everyone saying "you're not young enough, thin enough, or cool enough to buy clothes here." (Okay, I'm paranoid - but it can't just be me who feels like that when clothes shopping!)
Anyway, I pick up a dress, go to a change room, pull off my clothes, try to avoid looking at myself too much with the angled mirrors on three sides of the walls, attempt to pull on the dress, and then I realise that it's just a touch too tight through the hips. Well, that's nothing new, I'm not fat, but I'm a curvy girl and many things don't fit right. Anyway, I decided to try the dress on my pulling it over my head. Sucess!
But, well, it didn't suit. A dress has to flatter. It can't just look ordinary. And this one was pretty ordinary. So I tried to pull it off.
And realised I was stuck.
I couldn't pull it down, because my hips would not allow that. And for some reason, I couldn't get it back over my head.
I was extremely worried of ending up in the situation (as has happened before) of pulling it over my head and then getting stuck with my hands in the air, wobbly bits all exposed, and head and arms trapped.
Anyway, I started panicking after about 10 mins of struggling and decided to just buy the thing and cut it off at home. How bluddy depressing. But I gave it one last try, and for some reason, it let me free. Yay!
Why, why, why can't I be one of those perfect girls who parade around in new outfits and look fantastic in everything? Why can't I walk into a store and not feel like I'm too geeky to be there? Why can't I try clothes on without getting stuck in them, dammit?!
That's just way too depressing.
10 comments:
Why, why, why can't I be one of those perfect girls who parade around in new outfits and look fantastic in everything?
Because, unfortunately for most of them, those "perfect" looks and "perfect" bodies are all they've got. And when the naughty bits begin to sag and the inevitable wrinkles appear, they won't have anything else to fall back on.
You, on the other hand, will have wit, intelligence, good friends, and the sure and secure knowledge that it's what's inside the package, not the wrapping paper, that makes the gift so wonderful.
Well, first of all, curves are nice, and I'm sure yours are lovely, and in all the right places. Be glad you have them. We grownups appreciate such things.
And, second, methinks you quite bluddy well *are* the perfect girl, as I'm sure your hubby - and your legion of slack-jawed, awe-struck fans, admirers and wannabes - would attest to. And if we ever met, I'm sure I'd think so, too.
Just thought you should know. ;-)
Same here. I'm a 33 waist and a 38 arse.
Sucks to be me.
I have been having serious image issues lately and can relate so I don't know what to say!
I will tell you this little story...
I live across the street from a tanning studio. I see many, many women go in and out every day. Almost every one of them is (fake) blond and have large (fake) boobs. When they get into their vehicles (usually a sports car ot a Jeep) they will put lipstick on and fix their hair. They then talk on their cell phone for a few minutes before driving off still talking on their phone.And I think of this...
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same,
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
And the people in the houses
All went to the university
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same
And there's doctors and lawyers
And business executives
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry
And they all have pretty children
And the children go to school,
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same.
And the boys go into business
And marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same,
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.
...........
When I read you blog that is the very last thing I think about.
(((hugs)))
Those kind of dresses only flatter supermodels anyway, and to look like a supermodel, I'm afraid you're going to have to develop a serious cocaine or heroin problem, take up smoking, and stop eating. Just saying is all!
I make Alex come with me when I need clothes. Why? Well, I need help sometimes just like you describe...I kid you not. My boobs are rather large for my height, my waist (even when overweight) is usually small in contrast to said boobs and ass, and my ass is ALWAYS, and I mean ALWAYS present and accounted for. Even when I became royally depressed during the collapse of the marriage and went down to 99 lbs and looked like a starving waif, I still had ARSE. I was just a stick, skin, and arse. The end.
Dresses aren't made for women who have curves. My sister does NOT have curves and has been doing ballet since she was six. Even now at 45, she can walk into any store and put on anything and it looks fab on her. Clothes were meant for HER, not me. But that's ok...I won't trade my curves for anything. Real women are meant to be plush. Otherwise, it'll be as my friend Colin says: "I don't like women like Gwyenyth Paltrow because they are too skinny. I imagine having sex with them and their bones protruding too much through their skin, me ending up all lacerated and bleeding as a result."
Once upon a time, there was this clothing store called Units. They had the grand idea of having a communal changing room. That's right: A big room with mirrors all around, and benches in the middle. You were expected to go in there are take OFF your clothes and try ON their clothes, all in the company of any stranger who happened to be there with you. Not to mention pushy salespeople milling about. Wonder why THAT place went out of business? Another place I know of has itty-bitty changing rooms with no mirrors. You are expected to change and come out to the sales floor to inspect yourself in the mirror. Then all the salespeople and other customers can gather 'round and offer a critique. As if you could trust anything said by a salesperson with a quota, or another customer you've never met. I like the clothes in this store, but I rarely try anything on. I've even been known to buy a number of items, take them home to try them on, then return that which I don't like. A very inefficient system. What kind of Einstein is behind these crazy concepts? GIVE US A DECENT CHANGING ROOM AND MAKE IT PRIVATE. That's really not so much to ask.
P.S. I've gotten stuck in a dress, too. You're not alone. Kira and I have the same body type, "hourglass" which carries high risk of getting stuck. Glad you escaped.
I put on a lot of weight with my babies. And I'm a teacher (sort of), so I own one of those shapeless teacher denim dresses. Well, while I was still married, I pulled my once shapeless teacher dress over my baby-fat-inflated body. Let's just say, "10 pounds of sausage in a 5 pound casing"...that phrase applied to me in that moment. I had to enlist the help of my less-than-sensitive now ex-husband to remove the shapeless teacher dress. I'm sure he got on the phone with his asshole friends to tell them about the incident. THAT was humiliating.
I'm glad you escaped. And no, you're not the only one!
Lol i can't stand those shops even though i'm a guy, i still can imagine how you feel. You see those shops with those "fashionably bored" looking girls in them and it's just eurgh no thx.
Then again I can't stand those shops where all these people come running up to you all "OH CAN I HELP YOU??" in their far too cheery for an abritary 10:23 way. Then they follow you to the change rooms and wait outside and ask them to show you and ask if you need help with sizes.. i mean fair enough they're helpful but we're not all invalids!!!!!!!!
aaaahhh better now
To those who related and to those who flatter me, I luv you guys. xx
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