Clothes shopping? No, just trying on clothes at the store. I curse it. I loathe it. It has to be one of the worst kinds of torture in modern times for middle aged women. Go ahead, put me in a room with Caillou playing on repeat 24/7, or play “Baby Shark” on a continuous loop, I won’t break. But you put me in a room with beautiful clothes, or worse bathing suits, and then tell me to try them all on and find something that looks good on me. I can guarantee government secrets will be spewing from my mouth in record time. Funny thing is that I used to love going clothes shopping.
This past weekend, my husband and I went to our local mall. We had no particular reason to go, but wanted to get out of the house. We had barely made our way into the mall, when I spotted some beautiful spring outfits displayed in a stores window. In that split second, I made the dreaded mistake and walked in. I told my husband I needed something to wear to my daughter’s college graduation and also a few items to update my wardrobe. All the clothes looked so colorful and cheery. Even my husband was pointing to clothes he thought would be nice for me. Maybe this was a good sign.
I was feeling hopeful as I entered the dressing room with an armful of dresses, tops, and pants. One by one I tried on the pieces. Every item I put on, I found there was something not right about it on me. I even went up sizes, but still nothing was working. It was too tight in the chest, the garment clung to every stomach roll, every pant made my butt look huge, I couldn’t move my arms in the dresses. The few clothes that, by definition, fit, when I put them together with a top and bottom, looked awful. I just couldn’t make anything work. I could feel my frustration build up and my confidence sinking as I made my way through the array of garments. I think I even made some loud groans and heavy sighs in the dressing room during the ordeal.
As you can guess, I left with nothing. The only thing that was happy was my wallet. The rest of our time at the mall was spent avoiding clothing stores. I couldn’t deal with more disappointment.
I mentioned before, that I used to love clothes shopping. It wasn’t that I was thin or had the perfect shape. I just knew how to dress my pre-menopausal body. Sure, I gained and lost weight numerous times throughout my life, yet for the most part my body kept the same shape even at different clothing sizes. Since going through the change, I don’t recognize my body anymore. It is so different from what it was. I always had a waist, an hourglass shape. That is gone. I always had nice arms that were toned and defined. They are much larger now and flabby. I have an apron belly with large love handles and rolls galore. My boobs are like saggy sand bags. My butt is an odd blob of a shape. Even with diet and exercise my body will never be the same. Lack of hormones and age forever changes us.
After sometime walking around the mall and calming down from my traumatic experience, I did eventually find a dress for my daughter’s graduation. Do I love the way it looks on me? Not particularly, but it will do the job. It covers what it needs to on my misshapen body without looking like a potato sack.
I know I am supposed to love and embrace my body, but it is so damn hard. Of course, society doesn’t make it easy for us. Let’s face it, it seems most clothes only look good on young, in better shape people. Why else would you lose weight? Be honest, it’s to look good in clothes, especially a bathing suit. Right? What about those mannequins that certainly don’t look like me? Even the ones that are supposed to represent a “plus size” person have flatter stomachs and a shape. Trust me, I noticed when I was wandering around in the mall.
The funny thing is that I will, with certainty, put myself through this again. Maybe it will help me adapt to my new self and find new ways to dress. So, let’s make a pact to embrace our beautifully aging bodies. I have also decided dressing rooms shall now be renamed torture chambers and if you ever hear groaning in one, it’s probably me trying desperately to love myself.
Thoughts, comments or concerns?
It’s the mirrors, I am convinced stores buy their mirrors from the same place that carnivals do for their funhouse. Remember those distorted mirrors that once made you laugh?
I pass the mirrors in my home several times a day and I stop and say “not too bad for an old girl”, but then I’ll go to a store and am in TOTAL SHOCK.
Instead of trying the clothes on, I stand there staring in the mirror asking “who am I looking at? Is this how I really look? Do I have any elasticity left in my skin? And what color is my skin, is it gray?”.
I agree, it is definitely a torture chamber, so I will stick to looking in my mirrors at home and liking what I see.