So tomorrow is good friend’s birthday and we’re going out and celebrating on the town. Today at work I did the mental closet thing and came to the conclusion that I’ve become so lame I officially have no appropriate going out outfits. Nada one. So I did what any self-respecting female would do- I went shopping. It was like a marathon. I went from store to store trying on outfits I didn’t even think I liked in the hopes that it would transform my body into something really awesome. I even tried dance moves in the mirror to see how I would look on the dance floor kickin it with the cool kids. And I wonder why I have no “fun night” outfits.
Anyways hours went by and I was finding nothing so I doubled back and browsed some of the stores I’d already been in. I started to feel like maybe I was defective or hadn’t been hitting the gym hard enough or something. One of the sales girls approached me as I stood before a wall of neon with my arms filled with clothing I hated but was trying on out of desperation. “Should I get a change room started for you?” she asked. I unloaded those clothes on that tiny sales girl so fast I don’t think she knew what hit her and as I explained my frustrations she offered to help. She suggested I try on skinny jeans. As a curvy girl with hips and a butt I’ve avoided skinny jeans these twenty-three years based on logistics. I refuse to walk around looking like an ice cream cone. I looked at her skeptically and explained that I’m curvy…or hippy…or whatever and had never considered skinny jeans a good option for me. She looked at me like I’d admitted to having some infectious disease.
I humoured her and tried those puppies on anyway and ended up loving them. At this point I’d tried on several outfits and had half the sales girls in the store gathered at my change room door, hmming and haaaing and offering their opinions. One thought the outfit might look better with coloured bottoms. The first girl whispered to her “yeah but the coloured ones don’t come in…ah..as stretchy a material as the black ones do” and it was as if that little high school mean girl had bitch slapped me. I think I time traveled. For the record the coloured pants fit just fine!
As those sales girls stood before me wearing their tiny styled outfits I had this weird moment remembering sixteen-year-old me and how badly I wanted to be them and fit into their world and how crappy I would go home feeling because I couldn’t. I remember crying because my body didn’t look the right way or fit into the clothes that were the trend of the moment. Today as I took my fabulous outfit and marched towards the cash I thought about how much of a square peg (or ice cream cone shaped if you will) I was, trying to fit into a round hole. It doesn’t work because I can’t stop being me, and in any part of my life when I’m not true and accepting of myself I think I crack the exterior a little . Who cares if I’m the girl everyone else wants me to be if I’m not who I want to be? There’s too much potential for heartache wrapped up in hinging personal strength on external validation. Come hips or high fashion, tomorrow I will look fabulous!