Is trying
on clothes an equally terrible experience for everybody, or is it just me? On
diet commercials, you see women in store change rooms, trying on clothes while
they smile and spin around in the mirror. Well, I’ve been dieting for weeks and
looking in the mirror and spinning around just makes me feel out of breath. I
wish I was one of those girls who could walk into a store, buy anything without
trying it on, and it would look great. I tried doing this once. I bought a one-size-only
flowy striped top without trying it on; I figured I couldn’t go wrong. Well the
first time I put it on, I realized there was nothing right about it. Seeing as
one of my titties is a whole cup size larger than the other, the supposed-to-be
horizontal strips were more of an awkward 45 degree diagonal pattern. Whatever
cheap material it was made out of clung to my body, revealing every fat roll.
It looked like a ham covered in a saran wrap. It was also one of those shirts
that really show off your pit stains. Maybe I should spend more than five bucks
on a sweater next time.
Anyways,
back to the trying on of clothes. Everything about the process bothers me:
Lighting
Okay, there
are two types of lighting one may encounter in a changing room situation;
brutally honest lighting or dirty trickery lighting. The brutally honest
lighting makes me insta-sad. It is often fluorescent and reveals every
cellulite divot, vein, rash, mole, hickey, bruise, hair, scratch, and stretch
mark; and I’m just referring to my leg, I haven’t even gotten my shirt off yet
and only myself and only a couple… dozen… handfuls…of men…and women…know what
lurks under there. When I’m under that type of light I feel like my body is in
one of those interrogation rooms on cop shows and its being questioned as to
why it looks so bad…like a raw chicken or a dog’s shaved belly. Then you have
the dirty trickery lighting; it’s dim and soft and highlights your positive features
(or for those who don’t have any, it just makes you look less ugly). Under this
light, I look at myself and think “wow, I don’t look half bad! I could almost
pass as a lady. I could see myself leaving my house in this.” So, I buy it only
to experience delayed disappointment. Once I get home and try it on, I realize
it accents that third chin I’ve been working on, it accentuates that bat wing
of an arm that delicately jiggles in the wind, and really draws attention to my
back fat rolls that look like a pack of hot dogs.
The
Employees
“Are you
doing okay in there?”…No, I’m not okay. I am having a nervous breakdown because
not even black can slim this ass down. Can you maybe grab me a dry cloth to dab
the sweat and tears pouring from my face from the pressure of figuring out how
to work these zippers, buttons, and Velcro on this contraption.
“Do you
need a different size?” Yea, can you grab me size “maternity even though I’m
not pregnant.”
It doesn’t
matter how shitty you look, they’re going to tell you that you look fabulous; they
work on commission. Most of the time I want to be like “ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND?
Do you not see my nipples hanging about? Did you not catch the fact that my ass
crack, muffin-top combo is NOT fitting inside these impossibly small jeans?”
“How did you
do today!?” says the size zero associate
with her midriff sticking out. **Throws a 46 pound pile of reject clothes at her
while keeping eye contact and a straight face while I walk away, without saying
a word.
The Rooms
“You can
only bring 6 articles of clothing in with you at a time!” Yea, not a problem I
can barely fit my own fat-ass in there let alone 6 pieces of clothing. They are
so damn small. I already feel panicked by claustrophobia but on top of that is
the downright terrifying fear of someone accidently walking in on you while you
have your head in a shirt, your tits flopped out and your gut exposed. The
worst is a room with no mirror. Having to leave the “comfort” of the dressing
room to look in the communal mirror is a terrible experience. You carefully
peak through the crack of the door to make sure nobody is there to see you, in
case what you’re trying on makes you look like a fat kid caught in a net. Of
course, even if you spot nobody and quickly run to the mirror to take a quick
peak, the associate comes running around the corner… “oh my goooshh…you look
soo goo…” “NO.”
The Clothes
The clothes
themselves these days are impossible to figure out. I wish they came with
instructions. There is just so much damn leather, netting, buttons, straps,
snaps, tassels, ties, bows, velour, elastic, and holes. Half the time I am probably
putting that shit on wrong, which is why it probably never fits. On several
occasions I’ve found myself getting stuck in clothing items and had to rip out
of them, Hulk style. Just the other day, I tried on a dress and it was a little
bit challenging getting it on, but I could not for the life of my get it off.
Between my tits and my hips, there was nowhere for this dress to go. I began to
panic and sweat, which I think acted as a lubricant which helped me eventually
get it off.
Here is a
picture of my stuck in that dress…
