Skip to main content

On clothing swaps and finally fitting in


“If you throw that in a hot wash and then tumble dry it, I bet it’ll tighten up a bit and fit you better.”  I try to contain my glee at the sight of one of my favorite skirts from college, a blue cotton floral number with a wide band that used to be snug on my hips, not-quite-falling-off T’s narrower frame.  Not only is it a pleasure to think that my friends might get some use out of some of the fifty or so items of clothing I’ve brought to the swap – most of them much-loved pieces that I wore over and over again until they were put away in storage by my mother and my style slowly outgrew them – but it is a surprise and an untold joy to see how many of my old clothes actually fit these girls.

My whole life, I’ve been significantly larger than all of my friends.  Even when I lost the weight, I remained a good two to four sizes above my largest girlfriend.  The first time I went to a clothing swap, years ago with my friend Courtney, I came away with two items: a stretchy knit dress (which was actually a favorite for a while) and a skirt of Courtney’s that never really fit my wide hips unless I tugged, hard and often – I brought that skirt back to the swap we did last night.

So I was fully expecting, as I rolled up to this swap with two bins chock-a-block full of tops and skirts and dresses (some of them with the tags still screaming the ridiculous price I’d paid years before in a moment of denial about my body shape), to be disappointed as the girls swam around in my massive clothes.  So to see T try things on, and not just dresses she could belt to fit but skirts, and to see some of them fit properly and the others at least stay up, was a shock.  And it wasn’t just her, either; Courtney looked fabulous in my Betsey Johnson winter formal dress from high school, and A rocked a dress I’d been wishing for years was just a tiny bit more forgiving in the hips, and S took my super cool (but too short for my torso) kimono top… It was actually a huge success!

I was so happy to see my clothes go to good homes – and the many many items that nobody could justify taking will go to Goodwill this weekend, so it’s not all bougies getting free stuff from bougies.  But most of all, and most selfishly, I was relieved and shocked and off-the-charts thrilled to fit in, literally, in a way I never felt I had.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Do fat women have it worse than fat men?

I've always said that being fat is harder on women than it is on men.  Not only is there a lot more societal pressure to be stick thin rather than just healthy, which men don't seem to get, but it's a lot harder to be seen as physically attractive if you're even ten or fifteen pounds overweight. Anyway, it seems I'm not the only one thinking these things.  There's an article in the NYTimes today about overweight and obese women doing worse than men financially, an interesting angle on the effects of obesity, and in it they say: Why doesn’t body size affect men’s attainment as much as women’s? One explanation is that overweight girls are more stigmatized and isolated in high school compared with overweight boys. Other studies have shown that body size is one of the primary ways Americans judge female — but not male — attractiveness. We also know that the social stigma associated with obesity is strongest during adolescence. So perhaps teachers and pee...

Memo to medical professionals: the 'weight' issue

I have a bone to pick with the medical community, although it's probably well hidden beneath layers of fat. Yes, I'm talking about the way that doctors and medical professionals deal with weight. A few months ago, I asked my friend if she liked her 'lady doctor,' because I needed to go in for my annual check-up and I don't have a doctor in SF. Her response was something along the lines of "yeah, I like her because she doesn't talk a lot. I mean, except to tell me to lose weight." At this point, she shrugged, as if this is par for the course. For the record, this friend, while not slender, weighs less than I do. So I went online to Yelp (otherwise known as the bible), and I chose a doctor who gets rave reviews. He's a man, unfortunately, but I figured I should just suck it up and give him a try. And I liked him, mostly. The only thing he did that bothered me was that he talked a little too much. Oh yeah, and that he kept slipping in comment...

Iron deficiency anemia and self-gaslighting: a story of physical and mental health

View this post on Instagram The benefit of being trapped in a chair for an hour while liquid iron drips slowly into my anemic veins: nothing to do but work on my book! #amrevising #forcedwritingtime #mybodyisanoldjalopy A post shared by Anne H. Putnam (@ahputnam) on Nov 8, 2019 at 11:24am PST Even though I warned her, my new doctor was still startled by my iron levels. “The low end of normal is nearly twice this number,” she insisted, educating me even as I nodded along – I knew this already. “Last time it was a point lower,” I told her, but she (like most people) didn’t seem to care how bad it used to be. She cared about getting me healthy now. “People get blood transfusions around these numbers.” I raised my eyebrows in surprise – not mock, but a bit exaggerated, trying to give her the reaction I felt she was after. It wasn’t that I didn’t care, but rather that my anemia had been a concern f...