I'm desperately in need of new jeans. I like the more stylish ones, and will readily admit that I have slapped down a Benjamin plus change for a great pair of duds. However, I always seem to buy them for the body I don't have. As though I'm on some sort of mind-altering pharmacological concoction while in the dressing room. I get these fab pants home, and realize they were purchased for a person who has (1) legs that are a full foot longer than my own, and (2) an ass half the size.
To that end, I now have a drawer full of brand spankin' new stylish jeans, and two pairs from more common mass-merchandisers, which I wear with religious vigor. They fit my stumpy legs, and accommodate my almost J-Lo rear end. But now they've stretched enough that they're a bit too roomy.
It's hot today, and most of my favorite boutiques are streetside shops. In my lazy state, I'm in no mood to beat the streets, so I do what 95% of Americans do, and that's hit the mall. First stop is a three-letter chain store known for their jeans. I shopped there when I was in high school and college, mostly, so I'm sure of their stock of "basics" like jeans and t-shirts. I fully expect to need to size-up my pants, due to the fact that the majority of their clientele are, indeed, still in their teens, and I have clearly passed that mark {as have my hips and thighs}.
Imagine my surprise when I find a display of jeans, promoting the new "curvy" line. Being that my biggest problem with pants is that the waistband gapes wide open while the rear is just right {or too tight}, I was thrilled - truly ecstatic - to see this section. And true to their signage and display, my regular size fit "just right" {as Goldilocks would say about her very favorite bed}, AND I could select the designated length for the legs. Of course, stumpy here had to pick "ankle" length. Although I might have been the oldest and least-hip person in the store, I was clearly the happiest and most satisfied.
A few stores down, I wandered into the "big sister" of the previous chain. You know the place - years ago they used to specialize in a safari-outback-khaki kind of look, and the t-shirts were brown with a sketched globe with the name of the store written around it. Come on, I'm not the only one to remember this, am I?
Quite possibly. But anyway, it's a staple for the nicer, more upscale and professional gear that can get me through a work week. Moving beyond the disturbing fact that 70% of the professional women in my age group have probably purchased at least one of the same items I just did, thereby thwarting my attempt to be at all original, the goods are good, and reliable. I've had the same affliction in buying slacks as I've had with jeans, so I've got all kinds of pants that just don't make it onto my bod.
So how thrilled am I to find out that this "big sister" retailer also has instituted the same "curvy lady" product line! Rock on! I find a pair of pants that I like, and proceed to purchase it in three colors. These will require a trip to have them hemmed, but all else is good.
Too good, in fact. I repeatedly sent the dressing-room girl out to get me a smaller, and again a smaller size. When I expressed my disbelief that I was fitting into a Size X, which is a full two sized smaller than my regular {and that of the jeans I had just purchased}, and asked it perhaps the sizes had been adjusted to create happier shoppers, one of the attendants confirmed that yes, I was most likely the victim of vanity sizing. Which I'd certainly heard and read about on prime-time-expose, but never seen such a blatant example of. I am certain that my tush is the same size, or larger, it was the last time I shopped at this particular institution, but alas, my size has decreased by two.
In an effort to make their shoppers happier people, feel good about themselves, and thus purchase more and more sweatshop-produced duds, they're totally pulling the wool {or in this case, cotton/poly blend} over their customers' eyes. I can't really complain, as my body image has now received a short-term infusion of goodwill.
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On an unrelated note, my next stop was the bookstore, and of course I gravitated to the pregnancy/childbirth section. I found a fascinating book with incredible photographs of the entire creation, developmental and birth process. I thought I knew a lot, but one this I certainly did not know is that the cervix looks like a donut. A Krispy Kreme. I had no idea. Kind of wish I'd skipped that section.
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