What is it like to go into a store and know you will find something that fits? What is it like to be able to shop vintage, and try on cute dresses from the 50’s that don’t look like those worn by Ethel from All in the Family? Lately I have found myself wondering this more than normal when I go into a shop and see garment after garment in sizes too small for me. I try to shrug on leather jackets at Goodwill, ones someone could have easily overdosed in at a Who concert in the 70’s and realize I would have had trouble fitting in to the counter culture of an era where counter culture WAS the culture.
Weren’t there fat people in the 50’s, or the 60’s or hell, even the 70’s? Didn’t they have to get dressed, or was it that all of their clothes were that awful brown polyester my elderly art teacher seemed to have company stock in? I mentioned in an earlier post that I’ve been contemplating creating my own wardrobe just so I can blend in styles I can’t seem to find anywhere in my size, but I’m scared of cutting the patterns when I am still at this larger size. All of my clothes fit slightly weird, and honestly, it’s my boobs that are the reason why most things aren’t zipping or buttoning these days.
Since my weight gain my breasts have enlarged to the (personal) point where I cannot stand them and when I lament about this to other women I am met with incredulousness “well, you don’t have big boobs, not really.” True. I am proportional, so my boobs look normal when they match my ass which has also grown 2 sizes this year. I do not have bazungas to vie those of the cover model of Jugs and they are not a size HH or what have you but they are still in the D area and for me they are big. They make my clothes tight and 
my bras bulge. They sometimes cause that weird quad boob you get when your top boob spills out of your bra too much and creates this weird fold. They are so big they cause me to tug my shirt up when I am at the gym with cleavage spilling out of my old sports bras because the old guy who follows me around the gym won’t stop ogling. The weight gain causes my jackets not to zip past my chest, and I’m old enough to have spent good money on quality outerwear…I will not buy more!
Currently, the best part of my day, is when I take off my bra and release the hounds, allowing my low hangers the freedom they deserve. Pretty sure this is the best part of the day for 48% of the population (edited from 50% to allow for hippies and 3rd world countries). Having never been a small breasted nymph, since I was 11 I have worn industrial bras that Rockefeller would have been proud of. I am not one of those women who leave the house without a bra unless a turbo is built into the top. I feel most women would agree there is a liberation akin to the Finale of Les Miserables when you unclip the contraption that does the most work of any garment, besides perhaps a scoliosis brace. (Don’t tell me a jock strap does more work, that’s protecting in case of incident, that is not every day hard labor like the straps of my bra perform.) I wish I understood physics more because proper bra construction definitely has something to do with that, but that’s a class I almost failed… good thing I was such a kiss ass, wouldn’t happen now, that’s for sure.
Where am I going with all this? Honestly. I’m just wondering what it would be like to have this not be a thing. Not the wearing bra stuff, though I’ve always wondered what it must be like but to not have to worry about my pants fitting or my shirt or my pricey jacket. To just be able to BE, at ease, in my own body. I know it is likely a place I will never get to and it makes me so angry that I still care so much. Is it because I want to fit in with other people or with the image I have of my ideal self? Would I be more comfortable if Adam and Eve never left the garden and we were all just nudists? The only thing I can say for certain is that would be a definitive yes on the hot summer days where it’s not only a relief to take your bra off, but a relief to take it all off and lay in front of a fan buck naked.
too fat to be italian 