Back in February, when visiting South Florida, the land that spawned me, I picked up a few maxi dresses at Ross. I have resisted the maxi dress until now, for a couple of reasons.
1. Maxi dresses kind of make me feel like I’m wearing a nightgown.
2. I am secretly insecure when dressed in garments that hide or obscure my legs.
Weird, right? I don’t know why this is. I suspect it’s at least in part because my legs are what Glamour would call a “feature” of my body, insofar as they tend to be shaped according to cultural standards moreso than, say, my big fleshy nigh-waistless middle, or my squoodgy upper arms, or whatever else such magazines are likely identify as flawed bits. Obviously, I have a hard time buying into this thinking on a conscious level, but it would seem that unconsciously, at least, I’m still stuck on the must-show-yer-legs! side of things even if I’ve mostly shed the must-hide-yer-lack-of-waist! side.
This is partly why I prefer dresses to pants. Well, that and I just hate pants. So I’m trying, forcefully, to get on the maxi bandwagon and BE OKAY with going out in something that feels like a nightgown and also hiding my feature-worthy pins. The process is not helped by the unseasonable chill here in Boston, but I’m still plugging away.
Last Sunday I had the great fortune to spend the day (and then some) with the fabulous, brainy, even-awesomer-than-you-think Marianne of The Rotund. As Marianne is a big wimpy Floridian and didn’t think to bring anything warmer than a cardigan, I loaned her my jacket at one point. And it was sort of bizarre and remarkable. As Marianne says:
It seems like such a simple and small thing. It IS such a simple and small thing. But, like so many things when you’re fat, being able to do this simple and small thing is actually a really big freakin’ deal. And I didn’t even realize it until I was adjusting my shoulders and putting my hands in the jacket pockets.
There was no moment of hesitation. There was no wince as I tried to gauge just how badly this garment was going to not fit. She offered, I accepted, and bam, I was wearing someone else’s jacket.
I realize how ridiculous that sounds. But when you’ve never had that moment of utter normalcy, it is kind of a big damn deal.
And it was both ordinary and amazing, particularly considering I’ve never actually had this happen before – that is, loan somebody my jacket and have it fit, rather than note how gigantic it is on them. Read the rest of Marianne’s post here, as she says it better.
Also worth noting: evidently we’ve been added as an Editor’s Choice on Bust’s Girl Wide Web listings. Hi Bust readers! Please read about Fat Satan first and if that doesn’t scare you off, I hope you enjoy your stay. Also check out the more audience-participation-intensive segment of the show over on our Livejournal community: Fatshionista.
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