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One of my first memories of shopping for clothing that didn't involve Brownie uniforms is the summer I turned 11. I had spent most of the summer in a swimming suit but when it came time to put on real clothes for school, it was pretty obvious that I was never going to get that Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret moment of my first training bra. Instead I transitioned from commando to a 34B Playtex Cross-Your-Heart overnight. Three hooks, that sucker had. How do you migrate from nothing to strapping on something with three fucking hooks overnight? There's no learning curve there. It's just a wall. Therefore, you employ the hook and spin maneuver and hold on tight. I still do it that way (destroying the elastic way before its time). That summer was momentous for reasons other than the new titties. You see, I was moving to another school, exchanging my sheltered little parochial life (paid for by my grandparents who were very influential in their church and I have always suspected that my tuition was all part of a much more grand political scheme by my great grandfather in some kind of Midwestern Lutheran quasi soap opera) for the very frightening concept of a public school, which I only had seen depicted on ABC After School Specials. I was terrified that I would be involved in fights every single day in the school yard, as that is what happened in the Adam Baldwin classic My Bodyguard (Chris Makepeace, Schmakepeace). When the first day of school came, I was terrified. I figured that everyone would be dressing nicer, so I picked a pair of cords (also verboten in my private school) and a button-down shirt I thought was pretty casual. It was plaid and had a silver thread running through the material. What I didn't know is that one didn't wear button-down anything to public school. You wore a T-shirt or if you were preppy, a polo. There hadn't been polo shirts at Shopko on sale (which is the only thing I could buy), and in my house, T-shirts were what you changed into after school so you didn't get marker on the cuff of your blouse. What is more, people were wearing jeans. The idea of wearing such casual garb to school was strange and exotic! Jeans! My babysitters wore them every day and they were older, wiser and could turn their hair into feathered creations that I admired greatly. I spent the rest of the day certain that I would get into a fight over wearing cords, or that someone would want to steal my plaid shirt with the Christmas tinsel in it. They did not. My grandmother took me to Shopko, under agreement that we would buy jeans and decent T-shirts that would be actually worn to school, no kidding, but in Women's World, there was nothing that looked like the stuff the sixth graders were wearing. The T-shirts in the Stout Shops all had sayings on them that were clearly intended for grown up ladies, not kids. I remember one said, "Behind every good doctor is a great nurse." I was not a nurse! I had no opinions about nurses, nor the whole emotional judgment that those glory-hogging doctors were stealing all of the medical spotlight. Did it have to be so hard to find a pair of fat girl jeans back then? The only women who were my size apparently had lives which required them to wear stretchy polyester pants 24/7. My aunt took me to the place where she bought jeans for her boxy frame. It was the men's department. I put on cobalt blue Levi's that had numbers plastered on the back tab and I looked down to see the crotch had enough room to house an actual penis. This is the moment that kicked my complete and utter adolescent shame into overdrive. Thank goodness I did not have access to an evil genie who would grant my wishes, because I might actually have died as an 11-year-old, standing behind a curtain at Casual Corner, wearing a shirt reminding the world to thank nurses. As I got taller and boobier and curvier and even more boobier, the constant need for clothing chapped my ass all the time. I never had enough jeans. I would blow out a pair climbing a tree, riding a horse or in one rather cataclysmic moment, sliding down a sharply pitched roof and wearing through the seat of my pants on the asphalt shingles. Jeans were never abundant in my drawers, because my parents were broke and a single pair of plus-size jeans cost about as much as three pairs of on sale normal-size jeans. During the pin-striped jeans craze of 1983, I had but two pairs, both of which had very distinct markings, so I had to swap them out every day and plot which shirts I could wear on which day (the plaids didn't go with stripes, oh god, the '80s were a tough time for fashion) and plus, I couldn't wear any of the button down shirts on gym day because it slowed down my lightning fast changing act, lest the rest of the locker room get to gawk at my industrial strength bra, because gawk, they would. Hooo boy, they would. And woe would befall if something should happen to offset the rotation of those precious pants. One of the most traumatic days of 9th grade was when I got dressed one morning for school and the zipper on my jeans broke. The only other pair was soaking wet in the washing machine, and my hippy parents only connected the dryer when the temperature got below freezing outside, figuring that nature could handle all of our laundry drying needs. I had nothing else to wear and stayed home sick that day, horrified that anyone would find out and think that I was so fat that I broke out of my pants, when in reality, I was so fat that my pants were like diamonds, difficult to find and involved a lot of pain and anguish from a child. And they did find out. Of course they did. Now I still have problems with finding adequate anything (although quite frankly, my standards have improved along with my aesthetic) but I find myself hoarding clothes. I will buy two or three of the same shirt in different colors. I own seven pairs of the exact same size and brand of flat front black trouser. Seven pairs. That's more than a week's worth of the exact same look! We will not even begin to discuss the number of plain solid-colored T-shirts folded on my closet shelf (Okay, after doing my seasonal wardrobe transition a few weeks ago and culling out the stained or tattered stuff, I counted. There's 67 short-sleeved T-shirts in either crew or V-neck. I must really love you to tell you that.) Y'all, I have a problem, is what I'm saying. Esteban made a bet with me a few weeks ago. He bet me that I could not go until the end of the year without buying any clothes, shoes or purses. Harumph, I'll take that bet, mister. Except that when I have a spare moment during a conference call, I'll find myself surfing through Zappos and Lane Bryant's websites. When I blew through Target over the weekend to buy laundry detergent (understandably, the bulk of the laundry in our house is monumental, but on the plus side, I can wait a very long time before I run out of, well, anything), I found myself automatically drifting over to their truly dismal little plus size section stuffed behind the Liz Lange maternity wear (Note to Target: pregnant women need maternity clothes for, what, six months, tops? But win over that plus-size market and you're going to have a lot of lifelong customers. Simple math, people). What is going on here? Maybe Esteban is right? Or maybe I was scarred too early by dressing like a 40-year-old woman named Arlene. Shortly after the bet, three of my jeans got either ripped, snagged or destroyed by a possessed washing machine. My parochial background is such that I still never really automatically throw on a pair of jeans because they don't really feel all that natural to me, and truthfully, when I get home from work, I ditch the work garb and get comfy in yoga pants, not denim. The bet, however, couldn't have happened at a worse time, as I am down to two pairs of jeans that fit me right now (I told you about the shameful T-shirt count, so I will not tell you how many pairs of smaller sized jeans are sitting in storage) and one pair are Mom Jeans that didn't look as Mom-ish when I bought them online. Esteban gave me a temporary dispensation to replace existing stock, but I am going to tough it out, but damn it, January 1st can't come soon enough. —Weetabix The comments section wants to live vicariously through you and your clothes shopping experiences. Are you a hoarder? Do you live by the barest closet possible? Have you found the perfect pair of jeans and damn it, why are you holding out on us? 11 CommentsLeave a comment |
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FEED ME
I am afraid to count my t-shirts. I have a lot of black pants and black long skirts. I also have a shamefully ginormous collection of turtleneck sweaters (black pants + turtleneck sweater + fun & funky scarf = winter work uniform). I also have a lot of black shoes, most of which I hate.
And I am having severe jean angst right now. My FAVORITE pair from Old Navy has a hole in the butt. A non-mendable hole. My other favorite jeans are from LB, and are Venezia Supremes. Which they don't seem to have any more with all their "right fit" bullshit. I HATE THOSE RIGHT FIT JEANS. The pockets make my ass look all droopy. The fit itself is fine, if the pockets were higher up....
So I go to order the Old Navy jeans online. I was not going to buy shit from them since they made plus sizes not in the store, but, after trying on all the jeans at LB and Avenue, I was desperate.
They discontinued my old favorite jeans. I ordered the "Flirt" ones. They're ok, but they're a little too long-waisted for me. Might have to now order the "Diva", which will probably not fit right either.
Sigh.
As a plus, though, I love the new Hampstead pants from LB...THOSE fit me perfectly.
I'm quite upset that LB seems to be discontinuing their Lexington pant. I have a half dozen of those pants in black and brown. I've been reduced to scouring eBay for them.
When they have a sale on their tall bootcut stretch jeans I stock up. I believe I have at least five pairs of those jeans in each of three different sizes.
I have so many black 3/4 sleeve v-neck t-shirts, and almost as many black sweaters.
I'm constantly scanning online and in stores for clothes and shoes (my size 12 feet are just as hard to cover as my butt). I continually replace my Franco Sarto loafers and my Simple blue suede sneakers.
My shameful jean story. I REFUSED to say goodbye. 3 yrs ago to a pair of dark low-rise capri jeans I found miraculously at GAP.
They were the ultra flattering 99% cotton 1 % spandex. They were magic jeans. They made my ass look literally, luscious. PLUS since I am only 5'4, when I rolled them down, they were perfect to-the-ankle jeans for flats.
They became my woobie pants. Every time I put them on, I felt skinny, well skinny for me. So, needless to say, I wore them A LOT. Sometimes, everyday.
And then after about 1 1/2 yrs, the horror. I blew out the inner thighs. THAT wasn't going to keep me from my favorite jeans. I bought patches. But sadly, the iron-on patches combined with the spandex in the jeans never really took. Not that it stopped me from wearing them...I would just re-iron the patch every other night. Well, lost some weight and could no longer wear my fav jeans. BUT I found them in my new size on eBay! But folks, it’s happened again. Last week, the thighs blew out. And since that style was from 3 yrs ago, I think I finally have to go jean shopping. Suck.
My secret...I am wearing those blown out jeans right now, patches barely holding...at work. I have issues. But lordy have I loved those magic jeans!
I too love the Lexington pants-but try the Hampsteads. They're very similar. Not *exactly* the same, but the fit & fabric are close. Better than those asstacular Houstons and Chelseas, anyway.
I almost shed a tear over that! I too only had 2 pairs of jeans as a kid, but luckily, I grew up in the sticks and it didn't really matter. Sure, I had some friends who dressed 'better' and I'm sure at times I envied them, but on the whole, I don't think I noticed so much.
Plus, by the time I went to high school it was the peak of the 'grunge' period and it was easy to be a cool looking grunger on a shoestring budget. Especially when I raided my dad and brother's closets for beat-up jeans and flannels. My Metallica and Soundgarden t-shirts were what, $15 each? Not much. My mom hated this phase, but I gotta say, it was very affordable!
These days I'm sure I treat myself a bit too often. I think it is because there wasn't any shopping to be had where I grew up, and now that I live in a city, well, I HAVE to take advantage of the Anthropologie down the street, the Gap a few blocks away, and the Nordstrom Rack a quick jaunt out to the 'burbs. I'm not a hoarder though. I probably only have 10 t-shirts and 2 pairs of black pants. There - are you going to shed a tear for me now?
Long comment, but--you asked.
I will cop to buying multiples in the different colors. (I posted a comment here earlier this year confessing I bought three swimsuits in the exact same style)
And I also have the multiple pairs of identical black work pants thing going.
But I am not a person who has ever owned a lot of clothes. I hate shopping, I hate spending the money, and I'm more about presentable comfort than high style. I never have more than a week's worth of bras, panties, or dress pants.
I own three pairs of jeans right now, but that's an unusually high number for me. (Jeans Friday at work + Saturday + Sunday = 3 pair) They are identical, except for the shade of blue. When I bought a new pair the other day, I ripped the tag out of the ones I was wearing and checked the model number, and bought the exact same .
And I own no dresses or skirts that are remotely wearable. The last time I bought a dress was for a funeral 7 years ago--not counting the custom-made matron of honor dress I wore in 2002.
I don't own pajamas or a nightgown (the buff, and when I can't do that, teeshirt and shorts.)
Shoes are also a nightmare, given that I have a size 9.5 extra-wide foot. That's another area where I will buy multiples in various colors, plus two in black. If I find something I can wear, I will stock up. That way I can postpone the torture of having to shop again for as long as possible.
And I'm notoriously cheap. Probably 75% of my clothes were purchased in an establishment where one could also pick up snow tires and dog food. If I could subsribe to a uniform service, I'd be so damned happy.
Whatever happened to that future the movies promised us, where everyone would wear identical uniforms, dammit? (Probably just as well. I'd look horrendous in a silver lame jumpsuit.)
I'm very particular about how things fit, so when I find something I like, I too buy it in every color I like. Sometimes 2, if it's really perfect, so I can wear one and hoard one. I'm glad to hear I'm not alone in this!
I used to be a hoarder but was converted by a friend who always looks perfect. Always. She was helping me sort out my clothes for a move and was astonished I was keeping any
clothes that I didn't absolutely love. When I attempted to explain my rationale I realized she was right and now I try to keep only that what is either useful or beautiful ( ideally both) ...
I swear that you and I were separated at birth!!! Your life experiences so mirror my own that is almost spooky!!!!! :)
I too went from a training bra to a 34C three hook (in 5th grade) and one horrible gym day, a classmate thought it would be funny to unhook the thing and watch me flail around helplessly trying to get it back on to stop the girls from bouncing around. I saw the bitch at my last class reunion; poor thing... the booby fairy has never come to visit her (insert evil chuckle here).
As for clothes, I have exactly 5 pair of jeans that fit...period. I'm short (5'3) with wide Midwestern child-breedin' hips so finding anything that isn't too long in the legs and too big in the waist is almost impossible. I found these at Catherine's and, wouldn't you know it, they discontinued them! I live in fear daily that I will have a blow out and I'll have to wear dress pants everywhere!!!
As far as shirts go, I find ones that fit and buy them in every color. Again, the boobs and hips play a major role in my limited choices but I seem to do better with shirts than with pants.
I am definitely a hoarder, both for size reasons and sentimental ones.
I have problems with shoes, slacks and tops. I am fat, tall, broad-shouldered, big-footed - basically built like a linebacker.
I probably still have every vaguely professional shirt I ever bought in my adult life - 12 years or so worth of discount-store finds, gifts and (from later on, when I started to have some money) some true clothing investments.
Some of this stuff is hideous and I never wear it. Some is fantastic, but I don't wear it that often because it is fussy, hard to wash, not comfortable, etc. Some of my clothes get worn to death.
But I have real trouble getting rid of stuff. I have these two pairs of Venezia flare-leg hip-hugging jeans that looked totally fabulous on me. I blew out the inner thigh (the eventual death of all my be-legged bottom-coverings) but I still have them. I tried to patch one pair, and that made it massively uncomfortable, but I didn't get rid of either pair, in any case.
I occasionally try to get over this and give some stuff away, but it never goes very well. Somehow, I'm terrified that the available plus-sized clothing options will shrink and disappear and I will have to survive on what I have till I die.
Also, am I the only person who wishes there was a place to get basics all the time? It seems the stores only have things I consider basics like regular black slacks (as opposed to cuffed, cropped etc) or simple knit tops and blouses in white and black when they're in. Since simple is almost never in, I can almost never find basic wardrobe elements that are not a problem for skinnier folks...
-E
I hoard clothes, sometimes with the intention of remaking them into something else. For instance, I have a multitude of silk dress shirts that are damaged in one way or another. I save the silk for my fabric stash.
I also buy multis of t-shirts. I currently buy Mossimo from Target. They are extremely comfortable once I take that damned side tag out. (BTW, why do manufacturers tout their *NO NECK TAG* t-shirts, but then sew in a quality control tag on the side??? I have to cut the serger threads to get the damned thing out, and then have a sewing repair job. This is so annoying I even sent in a complaint.
I have enough changes of undies to last a month. I was in Miami for Hurricane Andrew and didn't have access to a washing machine for six weeks. I only had to do laundry once at the laundromat before the power was restored. The undie policy *no less than thirty pairs* has stood me in good stead. So, when I go to Target to get more, I always buy as many of the wide band undies in my size as I can find.