Not too long ago – although it feels like eons ago – I had the very rare (more like once-in-a-mom’s-lifetime) opportunity to go clothes shopping with two close friends. I walked through a clothing store full of beautiful garments, vibrant colors, and varicolored fabrics that looked as if they were spun from Nepalese saris and were as soft as clouds to the touch. Each of my friends and I wandered around the store on our own, sifting through all the beauty. Then we reconvened in the dressing rooms where we participated in a fashion show for one another.
We ended up trying on some of the same things, and something struck me (other than the fact that there was no need to rush in the dressing room because my friends weren’t going to throw a tantrum or have an accident): We all had uniquely shaped bodies and what looked lovely and flattering on one of us ended up looking just okay on someone else. If I had been alone and had witnessed some stranger waltz out looking like Aphrodite while trying on something that I had just discarded to the “Definitely NOT” pile on the account that it looked like a trash bag on me, I probably would have immediately looked at my own body in disgust and blamed it for its inferiority to that other woman’s body. But not during this particular shopping trip. Maybe it’s because I love my friends, and I know they unconditionally love me. Maybe it’s because I see my friends as beautiful and in their presence, I feel good about myself and what I have to offer to our friendship. Whatever the reason, it was really enlightening for me that as I slipped into myriad clothing – some that looked good on me and others not so much – I didn’t blame my body for not looking as nice in that flowy kimono top as it did on my super petite friend. Nor did I get upset when I saw a dress that immediately brought Sir Mix A Lot to mind when I tried it on (I like big butts and I cannot lie. Forgive me for quoting Sir Mix A Lot), look quite flattering and modestly chic on my lovely, athletic friend. There was nothing wrong with any of our bodies; they were just different. And if something didn’t look quite right on one us, it wasn’t our fault or our flesh’s fault – it was the cut of the dress or the shirt that just didn’t work for us.
A few years ago I needed a dress for a cousin’s wedding. I found a beautiful coral dress with what I thought would be a flattering cut. I ordered the dress in two sizes. When the package arrive at my doorstep, I could not wait to try it on. I knew coral was a good color for my complexion and the dress had looked so perfect in the catalog. I tried on my typical size and discovered that the dress hugged my Sir Mix A Lot (sorry again) bum way too tightly. Ugh. Yet, the top portion of the dress looked perfect on me, and it really was such a pretty color – the shade of a fiery sunset. Well, surely the bigger size will fit right. Indeed, it did fit my bum just fine, but it hung way too low on top, and I immediately began to lament my mismatched curves. I have the derrière of an hourglass but the top of an isoceles triangle. I tried the dress on for my mom and my husband. They didn’t feel it was flattering on my figure either, but they blamed the cut of the dress whereas I cursed my figure. I also tried the dress on in front of my oldest daughter who just happened to be in my bedroom when I decided to engage in another ritual of self-punishment.
“That dress is too tight on your bottom, Mommy!” she exclaimed as I examined my rear side in the full-length mirror.
I smiled and nodded. And heroically held back the tears as I slipped out of the dress silently, once again, cursing my body.
Later when a friend asked me if I’d found a dress for the wedding, I recounted the horror of trying on those two dresses, but something slipped out of my lips that I hadn’t realized at the time as being the truth. “There was something wrong with those dresses. They’re just not cut for women with a strong backside or any curves on the bottom.” Sure, the model had looked good in the dress but other than the fact that she was probably in her twenties, she was also built in a straight line. There was nothing wrong with her figure, and the dress was cut just right for her. But there was nothing wrong with my figure either, and the dress really and truly was not made for someone with my natural proportions.
But so often we women blame ourselves when something doesn’t fit right or look good on us. Or we buy jeans that are a tad too tight with a promise to ourselves that we will work harder and go Paleo (again) so that the jeans will fit in a month or two. Then we spend the next month fantasizing about doing a million crunches and the day the jeans hang loosely on our body while berating ourselves for the fact that the jeans still don’t fit. We should never buy anything for the “someday” when we will be five, ten, 20 pounds thinner. We shouldn’t buy for the day when that tiny tummy bulge vanishes and the LBD hugs our bodies in all the right places. We can’t buy for the fantasy. We have to buy for the reality.
I’ve also noticed that sometimes I am afraid to buy a really beautiful piece of clothing, and it’s not just its price tag that might be deterring me. So instead I buy a bunch of loose, cheap clothing because at some level I think that this aging, mom-body of mine doesn’t deserve something beautiful. I don’t want to mess up the white sheath dress that fits me just right with all of my gunk (and, yes, the gunk that comes with being a mom to little, messy kids). Maybe I finally convince myself to buy the dress, but then I relegate it to the dark recesses of my closet only to be worn when I feel worthy of its style and delicacy. That’s rubbish. Why not pull out the dress for Mass or brunch with family? Don’t save things for a rainy (or thinner, more beautiful) day. Don’t live to look good – live to feel good. That starts from the inside out. How has hating your body or even just a part of your body (your flat chest, your scrawny arms, your tubby tummy, your big thighs) ever gotten you anywhere? If something doesn’t fit right, blame the clothes, not your natural design. Buy and wear clothes for the life you’re living, not the fantasy life you hope to one day lead or the life you once lived when you were, let’s say, 20. Be realistic with yourself and your figure. Treat yourself with kindness. And remember life is a lot be a lot like a good dress. A dress doesn’t wear you. You wear the dress. A life isn’t meant to be wasted or held hostage for the day things magically change. A life is meant to be lived. So brave those florescent, dressing room lights. Bring a friend if it helps you to see the uniqueness of the human form and to appreciate your own body. Keep searching for the right dress, the great pair of jeans, the feminine midi skirt that is right for your beautiful body. Surround yourself in beauty every day, and know that you are absolutely, unabashedly worthy of it all.