I remember, way back in my youth that
was ever so long ago, getting fired up over fall and the idea of
going out and buying all sorts of cute new outfits for school. I say
“idea” because, as a young chubster, buying all sorts of cute new
outfits simply wasn't going to happen because they didn't actually
exist. I would buy the fall issue of Seventeen magazine, big and
thick and crammed with all sorts of fashion ideas and tips and tricks
and ooh and ahh over the assorted ensembles on their pages, and of
course not a stitch of the ensembles came in a size bigger than 12.
I would try to cobble together
something that could be interpreted as being sort of hip or current,
but I had two stores from which to cobble – Lane Bryant (back
before they decided to make clothing for women under 60) and Sizes
Unlimited (lots of basics. Lots...of basics. LOTS). I remember
buying a hot pink studded belt from maybe Claire's or Contempo
Casuals or maybe Express (since all I could buy were accessories if I
went shopping with my thin friends), a belt that was meant to go
around one's torso twice. Of course, it only got around me once with
perhaps another six or seven inches available, and I spent ages
tweaking it so at least I could wear a COOL BELT (it was 1985). A
particularly disagreeable male classmate decided to call me out on
it, of course, since what business did I, Fat Girl, have trying to
look like the thin girls?
Oh, there was so much polyester in my
life. So much damn polyester. It wasn't until junior year of high
school came along that it seemed like clothing from a planet closer
to mine began to be made for the fat chick about town, and I had
settled into my “I Am Robert Smith of the Cure In Drag” phase so
I could slap together lots of black and skirts and such that made me
feel more like ME than someone being forced to wear god-awful shit
because that was all that was available. I want to say Mode Magazine
appeared around that time as well, but the internet is not helping me
and at some point, there's a lot of blurring beyond a certain
date, if you feel me. Reader, I'm 39. BLURRING.
Had Torrid appeared when I was 16?
HOLY. SHIT. I don't know what I would have done with myself from
all the joy that would have been coursing through my veins. Mind
you, I'm referring to version 1.0 of Torrid, when it was Goth-esque
and DARK and I WEAR BLACK ON THE OUTSIDE BECAUSE BLACK IS HOW I FEEL
ON THE INSIDE awesome for suburban teens such as myself. And I'm
glad that Torrid exists for fat teengirls now because Lane still just
doesn't quite cut it if you're below a certain age. Well shit, Lane
doesn't really cut it for me at 39, but so few clothiers do. If I do
decide I must buy something, my first stop is going to be Vive La
Femme in Chicago's Wicker Park neighborhood because owner Stephanie
Sack is made of 100 percent pure awesome and makes shopping for
clothes so festive. I always thought I was sized out of what is
carried at Vive La Femme, but Stephanie is magic. I also will snarf
around LucieLu.com and I have some dresses from her that are also
magic. Lane gets my business for my unmentionables and jeans and
that's about it because I'm sniffy and refuse to be anything other
than comfortable these days. That may mean I dress like a
20-something fat skater kid, but I'm not constantly pulling or
yanking or adjusting something to get it over my belly/out of my
ass/up above my knees. I can't present myself in a manner which I
appreciate if I'm in shoes that are making my size Tenleven gunboats
hurt.
I'm looking at my closet right....NOW
and there are so many items in it that I haven't worn in literally
years, but it's as if I'm keeping them for a rainy day where I'll
suddenly come over all I MUST DRESS UP. I just hope they'll all go
with jeans.
