I have hidden my entire life. Even when in plain view, I hid behind others who were more attractive- like Rumpy. I hide behind my ability to manipulate a conversation. Hell, I can manipulate an entire room! I’m that good.
But few people really know me. It’s time that changed.
So I’m going to start writing about me. I’m calling it: Tuesday True Confessions.
Today’s confession: I hate fashionable clothes.
I know that the clothes we wear tell the world who and what we are. And I think that’s the most ridiculous expectation we humans have set up for each other ever.
I have been told since I was a young child that I wasn’t pretty. I was fat, and back in the day, everybody knew fat kids weren’t pretty, and had no qualms about telling a kid that. I remember the looks of disgust my fashion-conscious 3rd grade teacher gave me. Finding clothing for me to wear was difficult, and so my grandmother made many of my clothes. While all the other kids were wearing blue jeans and t-shirts, I was wearing dresses made of polyester. To this day, I still hate polyester. I owned my first pair of jeans when I was in the 4th grade. Once I got that first pair, I wore them every chance I got.
I remember I also had a Boone’s Farm tank top. I wore that thing every day too. It was heaven for me- a chance to taste the forbidden, to experience what other kids took for granted. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. I should have just lost the weight. And I tried. I remember going to diet clubs with grown women when I was 7. As a teen, I was a binge-and-purge queen. And oh, boy, did I love to eat speed! Yellow jackets were my best friend.
So what does all that have to do with my hating fashion?
At some point as an adult, I realized that I could choose to either wear what feels comfortable, or wear what would make me pleasing to society. That was a no-brainer, because I already knew I wasn’t pleasing to society. Never have been. So comfort won the day.
I own a dress and one pair of low heels that are worn to job interviews and funerals. At work I wear our uniform shirt with jeans and one of a couple of pair of Sanuks I own. And on weekends, I have a drawer of men’s tees and sweats that I wear.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’d like to wear clothing in pink and purple instead of navy and heather gray. It’s not so important to me that I’m willing to spend a day looking for them. Clothes in my size may seem to be plentiful, but many of the pieces look ridiculous to me, as though they were designed to demean the overweight wearer.
Perhaps if I were to put more effort into my attire, things could be easier for me. But I’m cool with me the way I am. If you don’t like me like that, that’s your problem. Deal with it.
Care to share any true confessions about yourself?