When Garments Attack

You could say I have a love / hate relationship with clothes.

All right, if I’m being honest it’s more of a hate / hate relationship. To my defense, they started it.

First of all clothes never fit me. On top of being overweight, I’m high waisted, hourglass figured and long legged with chunky calves and arms. This means that pants slide up (in utter defiance of gravity) to rest way up high at my middle, almost under my boobs, generally leaving my white, thick ankles bare to the world. Sleeves stretch skin tight over my upper arms even as the shoulder seams are sliding down out of proper positioning and any boots higher than ankle simply never fit.

I mean what is up with clothes and gravity? If it’s supposed to stay low, it rides up. If it’s supposed to stay up you bet your butt it’s heading for the floor. Is this some magical property of fatness or do skinny people go through it too?

I’ve spent a large portion of my life in fear of flashing underwear. I’m not kidding. I stare sometimes in fascination at people who bend over or simply sit down and seem somehow unaware that not only are they showing several inches of skin in the back but also a yard or two of underwear material to boot. How can they not notice that? And I have to admit that particular epidemic isn’t limited to the obese, I’ve seen skinny girls (and guys) flashing the tight whites more than once.

I can’t just get into a car or sit down in a seat, I get into a car and adjust. Because invariably the action of sliding into the car seat hicked up my shirt in the back, yanked my pant legs up to my knees and left my bare back pressed to the back of the seat. When I rise, I’m yanking down. When I sit, I’m yanking up. It’s like my clothes are in a continual fight to get as far away from me as possible.

I guess I can’t blame them; I’ve stated my hatred of them so often – it’s no wonder they don’t like me. Even shopping is done with grudging acceptance of a necessary task because I’ve no desire to wander about naked either.

That’d be bad for pretty much everyone.

Then there’s the fashion choices available for the overweight. In short, they’re expensive, poorly made and ugly. Take bathing suits for example… obviously this is not going to be a flattering look for the overweight regardless; but what rocket scientist decided that what might make the situation better is to cover it with shiny, cheap, fake satin looking nylon stuff? Preferably with a big skirt to float around your ears the moment you get in the water and large, loud floral patterns to boot.

Also, what is so danged difficult about the concept of an hourglass? Am I totally mistaken or is this not in fact the ‘classic’ female shape? And yet when I actually find a pair of pants that fits over my impressive backside it’s invariably gaping open like a saggy circus tent around my waist. Note to the fashion industry: I am not shaped like a column.

Then there’s shirts… again, if they fit over my belly then they’re falling off my shoulders. Because a woman with hips my size must have shoulders like a linebacker to balance them out.

The end result is that I always wear clothing that’s too big for me. I know it makes matters worse, I know it makes me look larger and fails to show of my assets (read: boobs). But it comes from just wanting to hide. I want to drown myself in warm yards of cozy fabric just the same way you dive under your covers at night and yank them up over your head for comfort.

I am the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal – if I can’t see you, then you must not be able to see me either.