In the countdown to my big secret project, I’ve forbidden myself from one of my favourite pastimes; shopping. In an attempt to stop myself from indulging in my fabulous addiction, I banned myself from entering the shopping centre near my workplace. As far as I’m concerned, if I don’t in there, then I can’t buy shit (avoidance is one of my fave life techniques, from shopping to people).
It had been four days since my last unnecessary purchase (I felt like I deserved an award)…and then my co-worker, a wonderful Ghanaian lady who brings me free fancy salads and healthy snacks from Pret A Manger every week, asked me to run into the shopping centre and grab some things for her…
Fancy faces, it was all downhill from there.
Despite forbidding myself from shopping, after I grabbed her items I found myself wandering slowly past my pre-rich fashion haven –Primar(k)ni –as they advertised more end of season reductions. Naturally, I did a mini u-turn and went inside.
There they were, the last pair of pearl and stud embellished ripped mom jeans in a size 16 waiting for me and only me amidst the chaos that is the Primark reduction section. I cooed with pre-rich bitch delight and looked at the price tag; £2! Hooker, those jeans and I were basically meant to be! I snatched my match made in heaven jeans up with a quickness and, after more unnecessary forbidden browsing, took them to the changing room.
The upside to this trying ass weight loss (*struggle) journey is that I’ve actually lost weight and dropped a dress size, so as I hung up my size14 jeans I could only imagine how fashionably baggy these size 16 jeans would fit me…
…And then I put them on.
The unflattering changing room lights glared down at me whilst the three way mirror mocked my bulging waist as I sucked in my stomach to zip the shit up (a further three minutes was spent trying to do up the fucking button). I was there heaving, huffing and growling curse words through gritted teeth, my logical side telling me that I might as well just give up because the fact at I need to do all this shit to get them on is a red flag and the shit will undoubtedly give me what I like to call double belly. Double belly is when the waistband of a pair of bottoms is a touch too snug and it cuts your stomach in two so that when you turn to the side your tummy actually has the cheek to look like ‘B’ for Belly. I knew this, I swear I did, but my irrational and emotionally unstable weight loss journey struggle brain was like, ‘Heaux, you came in this bitch with a pair of size 14s on. These jeans can fit. *Irrational Dory singing ensues* Bitch, keep swimming, heaux, keep swimming, hooker keep swimming, swimming, swimming…”
Eventually I did them up and it was alpha-belly galore. My stomach was singing ‘Why you bother me when you know you don’t want me?’ to the jeans.
A piece of my svelte heaux 2017 spirit died in that changing room.
I’d done all of this fucking work and celebrated every victory, from big to small (literally), to get myself back into clothes that I couldn’t wear before. I am a size 14 on my bottom half (these F cup titties ain’t tryna fuck with nothing below a 16, fam) so why didn’t the size 16 jeans fit me?
Not gonna lie, the part that hurt me the most was that they were only £2. Why, oh why did a super bargain like this not fit? *weeps in bargain bitch* Naturally, I decided that the reason these very fabulous jeans were reduced to £2 is because they were badly made and that’s why the fuck they did not fit. It’s not me, it’s them! As much as there may have been truth (and denial) in that logic, this issue wasn’t new to me, nor to any of you.
Sizing makes no fucking sense. Every shop you go into has their own version of what a certain size is and it’s annoying. What is so hard about making a universal size so that whether you go into a Primark, River Island, Top Shop or a Gucci, you know that your size is your size? It’s especially frustrating when you’re on a weight loss journey, because it fucks with the progress you think you’ve made.
I’ve been harping on for months about how I can now fit into a size 14, but one encounter with a pair of £2 size 16 Primark jeans has me questioning that. Those jeans suggested that I could still be an 18, but I can’t be because anything that I own that is a size 18 is now too big for me. I don’t understand.
I’ve noticed that the lower down the fashion retail scale a store is the more generous they are with their sizes, and they higher up they go…well it makes you feel like you shouldn’t bother unless you’re a solid petite 14, otherwise it’s like, move along, peasant. For example, I like to grab stuff from George in ASDA sometimes because every now and then they have good shit. I can without a doubt say that supermarket fashion is definitely generous in sizing. I figure it’s because of the market they are catering too, which is generally mums and middle aged women. I could probably get away with a 12 from there if the stretch of the fabric is forgiving enough. Stores like Primark and New Look are also a touch more generous because they’re like affordable ‘I’m every woman’ stores. Higher up the scale, River Island, H&M, and most online retailers like PLT, Missguided and what not, they’re a little more accurate in that I know that when I walk in/log on there, not to even think about a size 14. As for Top Shop and Zara, those high end high street shops, bitch I don’t even blink in their direction coz I know their shit won’t fit me. They’re too busy tryna be more bougie and important than they actually are, so they are hella stingy with the fabric (and I’m not a fan of their prices).
Fashion doesn’t need to be this complicated. Retailers need to have fixed sizes all around so that we don’t have to play the guessing game when we buy something, or go to the changing rooms and face disappointment.
If something doesn’t look good on you because it doesn’t suit you, that’s cool, but being duped by a size label that needs revising is a piss take, especially when it toys with people’s body image. This is extra annoying with online shopping because you have to send the shit back and that is effort.
Just. Make. One. Size. For. Every. Size.
What are your experiences on trying to shop for your size? Sound off in the comments below.
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Until next time, fancy face
Love Scotty x