Delighting in Fatness
January 21st, 2010
Musings
A few days ago I wrenched my skinny shirts from their hangers, folded them into a neat pile, and set it on my dresser.
This triumphant act was months–no, years–in the making. Seriously. I cannot overstate my emotional attachment to my skinny shirts, meaning those shirts that only fit properly when I’m eating sparingly and well, and exercising vigorously and often. In other words, those shirts I never wear. Or wear happily, at least. The collection includes a fitted denim button-down, a black Old Navy criss-cross jersey, two shirt-under-sweater v-necks, and a stretchy dark red number that convinced me I was still hot at a critical moment.
I vividly remember the moment of decision I faced that red-shirt year. After having weathered six pregnancies, I was just about ready to forfeit any and all further attempts at hotness. Staring at my young-yet-not face in the mirror, I seriously considered chucking my cosmetic bag, cutting my hair in a short, sensible style, and buying some stretch pants and sneakers. Going unisex, I thought, would be a huge relief.
Then all of a sudden I realized I was only thirty-two. At some future date, hotness would be taken from me whether I liked it or not, so I might as well capitalize on my remaining years of choice. And so, instead of chopping my hair off, I went out and bought a highlighting kit. And instead of buying stretch pants I bought a deep red stretchy jersey top with a v-neck.
I’m wearing that shirt in my facebook profile photo. Notice the look of triumph.
But here’s the deal. I’m now thirty-eight, and counting. A combination of factors have made it difficult for me to properly enjoy that shirt, as well as the other members of the skinny collection. Age, for one: with every passing year it takes more and more effort to maintain my weight, and I’m just not willing to spend more than an hour a day exercising, and I’m just not willing to forfeit refined carbohydrates because they’re one of my chief joys in life. Medication, for another: when I switched antidepressants last spring I gained 20 lbs within 6 months. And check this out: recently I had my first-ever custom bra fitting, wherein I learned that my bra was three (3) sizes too small. Now that “the girls” are properly supported, there’s a lot less room in all of my shirts, and the skinny ones look downright scandalous.
Still, while I haven’t comfortably worn my skinny shirts for a good long while now, I haven’t wanted to let them go. A while back I gathered them up and moved them to the far end of the closet, not the hidden end, but the end I can easily see. There they hung, daily reminding me of an impossible ideal belonging to a bygone era. The sight wasn’t discouraging. Rather, it enabled me to live in a fluffy pink cloud of denial: “Someday soon I’ll wear those again.” In fact, I was so convinced that this would happen that I didn’t worry much about my actual body size or how I would get from here to there. In my mind, being skinny was a present-day reality.
But the other day, the pink cloud parted. Not dramatically or traumatically, which I’m grateful for. But gently and wisely. I just looked at those shirts and thought, “I’m not going to wear those again. Time to give them to someone who will.”
So, yesterday I brought the pile over to one of my close friends who I deeply care about despite the fact that she weighs 50 pounds less than me. I laid it on her kitchen counter without hesitation, and smiled as I thought about how cute she would look in the black-and-white sweater-shirt thing. I drove home in my supersized bra with my muffin top oozing over my denim waistband, and was warmly greeted by a man who, apparently, thinks middle-aged fleshiness is hot.
I’m inclined to agree.
p.s. I kept the red shirt. It might still work, with a jacket.
12 Responses
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And what if your skinny friend doesn’t look right in those shirts because she HAS NO BREASTS????
I have to say that some women, like you, look gorgeous regardless of their weight. Others of us gain five pounds and it all goes straight to the chin and jowls. Doughy.
What makes a woman really beautiful, though, is her decision to feel beautiful, regardless of her weight. I’m glad you’re deciding to let this one go and rejoice.
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Kathy, I think you look great! Granted, I haven’t seen you for 8 years, but I’ve seen pics and you look great! Practically the same as in high school.
It sucks to have to get rid of your skinny clothes (or in my case, my not-as-fat clothes). But I say it’s an opportunity to buy yourself some new threads!
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Yes, buy new clothes! Out with the skinny, in with the fat!
I gained a bit more weight with my last baby than I did with my first three, and I lost the weight much…more…slowly…so that at some point I realized that I couldn’t just keep wearing my maternity clothes until I fit back into my regular clothes, so I bought myself a new wardrobe. Then I had to stop wearing those clothes because I got too small for them. Now I’m afraid to try them on for fear that they will fit again.
But you should definitely buy some new clothes. Delight in fatness, indeed.
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I bought tall black boots. For the first time. I don’t need skinny jeans — I got hot boots.
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Oh, yes, I’m delighting in it right along with you. I can relate to this. For me (of the pear-shaped variety) it’s pants, not shirts. I have a collection that spans the spectrum of 4 sizes with only about two pairs that I really, truly feel good wearing. The rest of them tsk-tsk me every time I open the closet.
Who needs ‘em? Time to shed the clothes (if not the weight).
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Does this mean I should use all those gift certificates to clothing stores I get for Christmas instead of waiting years on end to shed 20 pounds–the same goal year after year? and pass those skinny skirts on? Why is it so hard for me to let go of my 20 year old body?
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Kathryn January 21, 2010 at 6:30 pm
Because our 20-year-old bodies represent everything we’ve been conditioned to believe as valuable, even though we know better.
Seriously: beauty and youth combined is the biggest source of obvious power available to women. Sure, the rewards are hollow, but they’re undeniable.
Marintha, use those gift certificates! I totally want to buy new clothes, but I already have plenty that fit. (Well, that’s not entirely true–I need to buy the next size up in jeans. Tomorrow. And I’ll keep the current set, but I’m purging the two-sizes-too-small set.)
I know it’s not easy. This transition has taken me years. Years! And years and years! It all came together for me when I finally realized that in order to look the way I think I should look, I would have to take extreme measures: surgery, rigid eating habits, excessive exercise . . . basically, making my body shape the central focus of my life in terms of time and money and thought.
I’m committed to physical health, but I’m no longer beholden to skinny shirts. It feels good.
Awesome comments, my friends.
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Kathryn January 21, 2010 at 6:32 pm
Deborah, I have some awesome black boots that so far I’ve only dared to wear under pants or with long skirts. I think it’s time for a knee-length skirt!
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Andrea R. January 21, 2010 at 9:12 pm
Kathy,
I agree with you — we’ve been totally conditioned to only value our 20-year-old selves. I have a hangup with wanting to weigh what I did in high school. I need to let it go…Show off those gams with your hot boots! Boots are the answer, baby!
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oh my gosh, this is so me & so much of what i’ve been thinking about lately. why is my “before i ever had kids” body the ideal? it stands to reason that bodies should and will be different after childbirth and with age. and i hate that i can logically say that but then cannot trust it’s really ok.
AND, when i really really should be delighting in fatness for a very lovable & blessed reason, i’m still insecure.
blasted body issues. i hate them. but you inspire me kathy!
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Kathryn January 28, 2010 at 9:21 am
Andrea, boots ahoy!
Brooke, nothing in heaven or earth could stop you from being beautiful.
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Every woman has that area of quarantined dreams in her closet. Sometimes I hid them in the back, and sometimes I bring them forward in some mistaken idea that seeing them will somehow motivate me to fit in them… which usually sends me for a cinnamon roll to make myself feel better. Then I feel worse.
Damn, I should just get rid of them too.
Only I find myself looking down the barrel of 38 now a divorced woman with three kids, and wondering where I’m ever going to find a man who thinks my cupcake top is sexy…