That doesn’t mean people looking to buy big girls. Though price-per-pound we are one hell of a bargain. No, what I’m talking about is big girls that need to buy new clothes.
Because I’ve been making a half-assed effort to lose roughly half my ass, assisted by pharmaceuticals that make me pee like a fish, I’m smaller. Two full sizes smaller. Too small to get away with wearing most of my usual clothes.
The are-these-pants-too-big test consists of removing my trousers without unfastening them. If they slide down easily, it means that I’m one stairway misstep away from disaster. And they’ve gotta go. With shirts, it’s a look in the mirror to see if “are you having a baby?” is a legitimate question.
So now I have to shop. I freaking hate shopping. I see no sport in it, just varying levels of unpleasantness culminating in a distasteful frenzy of raw consumerism. Bleh. But a girl can’t go to work nekkid. Not when winter’s coming in northern Iowa.
Thank you, internet. I can sit at home and have the plus-size fashion world come to me.
And what it’s telling me is that fat women are tramps. One would imagine that we are all sitting on heavy-duty stools on street corners or dancing in gentlemen’s clubs on reinforced poles (Playtex girders, anyone?). Really, just because I have triple Ds doesn’t mean that one of the Ds must be open to the public. Yes, my cleavage will support the storage of keys, lipstick and a cell phone. But having a neckline low enough to show that is like leaving the zipper on your purse wide open.
Just to the left of slut mode is utter infantilization. What makes retailers think that large women are appropriate venues for cartoon characters? How does having Tinkerbell or Hello Kitty on my chest reinforce my professionalism? Worse yet, “Juicy” on my ass? “Overabundant” would be more accurate (and there’s room for all the letters), but what the hell is the point?
And what’s with the 70s fabrics? Back then the funky patterns were supposed to be inspired by LSD. Now I think designers are just high. I don’t usually discriminate on the basis of color, but seriously, unless you’re an autumn leaf there is just no reason for orange.
The quest continues for dark pants and light shirts that won’t make me look like part of the catering staff. With no words, no slut factor and no cartoons. They have to be somewhere.