Fat Pants

It’s spring once again and it’s time for the great wardrobe swap at my house. If you need me in the next week, I’ll be buried under a metric ton of hand-me-downs and old beat up play clothes.

With three kids who need a bigger size of everything each year, the turnover gets pretty crazy as I sort old and new, clean out every drawer, make a Goodwill drop and wash the clothes from the attic. As if I don’t already do enough laundry.

When I get through the piles of kids clothes, I take inventory of my own wardrobe to see if I need anything for the season. I’ve been off the running wagon for quite some time now, and enjoying all the deliciousness that the greater Nashville area has to offer. Burgers, pancakes, creme brulee, biscuits — you name it. There is nothing better than some Mafiaoza’s pizza after the 12 South Winter Warmer. You get the idea… my clothes don’t fit anymore.

Before I started running, I was the size I am now and I had tons of cute clothes, but that was seven years ago. I probably have some maternity clothes in a box somewhere that would come in handy about now, but that might be a dangerous habit to start.

I needed clothes for a meeting, so I put on my brave face and went shopping over the weekend. The dreary weather seemed a good complement to this dreaded activity. At my first stop, I ran into my friend D and she had some really cute stuff. I enlisted her help in finding some things that might work for me.

I walked to the dressing room with 15 items. When I walked out of that dressing room, I was carrying one item and an existential crisis. Those clothes made me look absolutely ridiculous (in D’s defense, she only handed me two items) and I questioned my lifestyle, my fashion sense and my will to live. D texted and asked how it went. My reply: I want to drown myself in a giant vat of pureed Kale.

I ended up not purchasing anything there and I headed to the place where everybody knows my name (and they’re always glad I came) — Target. I loaded up my cart with nine items and made the walk of doom to the dressing room. Y’all. My will to live was restored! I didn’t look like a giant marshmallow wrapped in bird-patterned gauze tied together with string.

I don’t know what this says about me as a person that Target makes clothes that are my style and that make me feel good about myself whereas department store clothes make me sad. I suppose this shouldn’t be surprising given my simple folks background.

My shopping excursion was some great insight into my attitude about my weight and appearance. I’ve been a range of sizes in my adult life and when I get unhappy enough about my appearance, I do something about it. I’m not there yet, so I just try to find clothes that I feel good wearing and eventually I’ll jump back on the wagon and get back in the smaller clothes.

In the meantime, I am so happy that some retailers offer trendy clothing in sizes that are not featured on magazine pages. I think the thing that was so depressing about my first stop was the idea that “fat clothes” have to be less trendy and flattering than “regular clothes.” I don’t accept that and I don’t accept that anyone who is not tiny is not comfortable in her skin. My new clothes may be a bigger size, but you won’t hear me calling them fat clothes. They are just clothes that accommodate a few extra slices of pizza plus dessert.

 

Overheard at the salon: “The only good experience I had in Miami was at a Chili’s restaurant.”