I hate clothes shopping. I know, it’s weird; as a woman, it’s apparently supposed to be built into my DNA to enjoy that sort of thing. But I truly hate it, which is kind of nuts because I really like fashion and trying new styles. I just hate the process of finding what I would like to wear. It’s frustrating, a little depressing, and not my idea of a good time. Maybe clothes shopping would be fun if my genetics blessed me with a body that was easy to dress, but (spoiler alert) it didn’t. Let me just discuss for a moment why that it is. I am:
- Short- But not short enough; petite pants are high waters, everything else is too long and bags around my ankles
- Fairly thin- But not thin enough; clothes are either too tight and give me weird bulges, or they are too big and I have no shape in them at all
- Big breasted- Ugh, I’ll discuss why this an issue later
- Short waisted- I mean ridiculously short- my ribs and my hip bones practically touch
- Flat assed- All the Pilates in the world can’t save me from this unfortunate biological gift, bestowed upon me by my mother
Basically, my body is not the body that fashion designers have in mind when they design clothing. Even so, every once in awhile -when the moon is full and the stars align- I manage to find clothing that I like and fits me well. I can usually find pieces that I like enough to be mostly satisfied with my style. So I should be happy, but still I’m not. Because buying clothes is only half the battle; there are still some very specific complaints I have with most of my wardrobe.
First of all, why are most shirts for women transparent these days? Seriously, have you noticed this? I will come across an adorable top that is just the right style and color, in my size, and I’m so excited. I take it into the dressing room, try it on, and- YES!- it fits! And looks good, even on my big rack! Hey, trust me, that is a big deal. The struggle is real. Finding a top that is flattering on me (despite my ample chest) but won’t look like I’m attempting to seduce every dude in the tri-state area is like gold dust. I mean it; a shirt that looks appropriate and chaste on another woman can make me look like I’m about to head to the club to shake my maracas for all I’m worth (that’s right, I’m looking at you, V-neck sweaters) But I digress. So, yeah, this shirt I have tried on is a win, hooray! But wait, is that….my bra? Yep, I can plainly see my bra (and nipples) right through the shirt. I never seem to notice how sheer the material is until I’m already in love and fully committed. So now what? I either have to get real comfy with the whole world seeing my goods every time I wear this shirt (not a great idea for a married mother not seeking a career in the sex trade), or I have to buy yet another damned camisole to go under it. Damn it, I hate camisoles! They are expensive and exist only so that stores can get another damned $30-$50 out of you, because they know every damned shirt is so see through you have to have them. In the winter I don’t care so much about having to wear layers, but in the sweltering heat of a Kansas summer the last thing I want to do is sweat into even more clothes than I am already.
Now, everything is probably so sheer because women’s clothing is made of the wimpiest fabrics they can possibly use to make them. Most of my clothes can only be washed on a delicate cycle, lest they lose their shape or just disintegrate right there in the washing machine. And that’s if I’m lucky. If I’m not lucky, I wind up with “hand wash only” or “dry clean only” clothing. I wish I could say I’m the type of chick who is down with running across town to the dry cleaner on the reg, but I’m busy enough as it is. So when something is dry clean only that just means I never wear it so it can’t get dirty, and I don’t I have to go to the dry cleaners more than once a year. Oh, and forget about putting any of my clothes in the expensive dryer that I own- ha ha, not gonna happen! They are all “lay flat to dry” or “line dry only” (like anyone has a clothes line these days), which means drying my clothes is a tedious process. I must carefully observe the care instructions on my clothing with a surgeon’s precision because if I don’t, it’s a disaster. A couple of years ago, I was hurriedly doing laundry, getting it done as quickly as possible to pack my family for a trip. I was pulling a load of my clothes from the dryer when I realized I had made a fatal mistake. I see my brand new (worn only once) wool sweater at the top of the pile (why, why, why would I ever buy wool? I know I can’t handle the responsibility!). I actually screamed out loud, a guttural and primal scream, as I yank my sweater out of the warm dryer, the horror of what I’d done immediately apparent. My lovely sweater was now half it’s original size, shrunk by a dryer it was never supposed to enter. With a tear in my eye and despair in my soul, I sadly turned the sweater over to my then 7 year old daughter, as I have had to do more times than I care to remember. Unfortunately, this was not the first time I accidentally ruined clothing that I dearly loved simply by, ya know, just trying to get them clean.
So I must deduce that the fashion industry has decided women no longer wish to wear clean clothes. In fact, I know this is true- designer Ralph Lauren was recently quoted as saying that the best way to maintain your jeans is to (if I’m lying, I’m dying) NEVER WASH THEM. Ever. He suggested putting them into a paper bag and putting them in the freezer (your food freezer, mind you) to kill the bacteria. Then you just keep on wearing them, I guess, food stains be damned. And I’m like, ok, so when my son wipes his runny nose across the leg of my jeans (and he will, the kid thinks I’m a human hanky) I should just leave them with snot stains and throw that noise in the freezer, so that I’m not “ruining” my jeans by actually washing the boogers off of them? Sounds legit. Sorry, Ralph- love your clothes, but you are cray cray to encourage people to wear filthy pants. Gross, dude.
So our clothing is transparent, unable to be washed without being ruined, and every shirt is designed only for members of the Tiny Titty Committee (why does everything have to have spaghetti straps; who are all these braless bitches that can actually pull those off?) I still have one big complaint left, though: pockets, or rather lack thereof. Who decided women’s pants no longer need pockets? I really like pockets, been wearing ’em for years! It’s only recently I realized a majority of my pants have no pockets. I go to put something into a pocket and my hand just slides down my leg- denied. Try to stick it into a back pocket then, surely I still have those? Nope, just wind up rubbing my cell phone up and down my butt a few times, no handy little pants cubby to be found. The part that makes me the most angry is that they will make it look like you have pockets; the design and shape of the pocket is still there, they just don’t seal the deal by giving you an actual pocket. I mean, that’s kind of insane, isn’t it? They know a pocket should be there but they just won’t give up the goods. My husband has pockets, deep ones too- he can carry all kinds of shit in his pants. Apparently, pockets are now just for boys; we get purses, they get pockets. Whatever. I could go on but I need to stop talking about all of this, I’m getting myself worked up.
R.I.P, Pants Pockets- we had a good run together.