On [Happily] Matching Outfits With Strangers…
...and how the fashion industry failed me.
Many moons ago, before quarantine, but really just some time in February, I found myself standing in an elevator with a handful of others on my way up to start my workday. Eyes locked on my iPhone, I heard someone say “Nice jacket, ladies” with amusement. Three heads whipped up from cellphone screens, mine included, and we all laughed as we noticed we were wearing essentially the same outfit: olive utility jacket, nude-colored mules, medium wash denim. Very original. I mean, an olive utility jacket does work with everything. Outfit panacea. Same goes for nude mules.
I rarely dress to look innovative, so I wasn’t bothered or shocked by it. It was that “same dress, same party” trope that plays out so often on TV, except without the feigned embarrassment. In my previous office, we’d celebrate if two of us would come in wearing the same type of thing (usually stripes, probably from Madewell). It was like we were in on the same joke all day; #solidarity. Sure, there was a time, back in my fashion blogging days, where I’d research new ways to wear old things and spent all the time that wasn’t being used up by Instagram (didn’t exist yet) scrolling Tumblr feeds or Blogspot sites for sartorial inspiration. Styling things in a way no one else I knew would think to felt like a badge of honor. But these days, I’m more interested in things that fit well, feel good. If I find a pair of jeans I love, I want to—no, NEED to—tell someone about them who might want to know, originality be damned.
“The fashion industry cares nothing about my body type…I’m smack dab in the middle of wardrobe limbo.”
As a vertically challenged, curvier woman, clothes aren’t designed for me, so I lean in hard when the puzzle pieces line up. You see, the fashion industry cares nothing about my body type. Petite and under a size 8: you’re covered. Tall and over a size 16: check! But I’m smack dab in the middle of wardrobe limbo. And don’t get me started on the limitations of being short and plump with an exceptionally large chest. TRIPLE WHAMMY FOLKS. Swimsuit shopping is oh so fun.
I’d love to have a nice long chat with whoever decided that “petite” sizes should rarely be offered in anything past a 10 (if you’re lucky, you’ll get a 12, except it’s usually cut much smaller than a standard 12 so thanks but no thanks). Is anyone actually making the clothes who is wearing the clothes? Doubtful. I understand there’s a loose science to merchandising and buying (that whole supply-demand thing, sure), but I can’t be the only 5’3″ size 12/14 woman out there, surely. Going through adulthood hacking my way to acceptable shouldn’t have to be a luxury. Body twins: are you out there? Do you hear my cry? [What do we want? CLOTHES THAT FIT WELL AND LOOK GOOD. When do we want it? NOW TEN YEARS AGO!]
I make do. It’s not all a sob story. I kind of like going through life knowing I don’t take well-fitting clothes for granted. Trivial? Maybe, but we all have our things. I’ve come a long way to a place that I don’t blame myself or my body for the difficulties. Love the body you’re in, I say. One day, someone will make clothes for me, even if it takes having to do it myself. Until then, I’ll relish in the moments where I feel like “one of them”—in an olive utility jacket and nude mules…even if I’m the only one who needed to cuff her jeans.