In the last few weeks it has become increasingly apparent that I have fewer sartorial options than Lady Godiva.
All of a sudden everything I own swamps me and I look like I’m wearing my (imaginary) fat sister’s hand-me-downs. I’m not complaining of course, this is an amazing problem to have, but unless I wish to continue to look destitute I need sort it out.
But where should I start? All the “dressing myself” rules that I’ve stuck to for the last 20 years have changed and I’m left here in a slim girl’s body with nothing to wear and no idea how to dress.
My fat clothes rules were simple: good jeans (dark), Jigsaw Pima long sleeved T Shirts (I swear by these as they work with jeans or under suits) teamed with jackets or long cardigans. Everything was black/navy/grey or brown. Dull colours allowed me to hide. Clever layering meant that I could convince the world that I didn’t have a massive belly and a fat arse.
The truth was that I didn’t want to be seen. I was fat and ashamed. I never felt comfortable in anything I wore and, if I’m really honest, there were times when I avoided social events because I had nothing to wear and I hated how I looked.
I didn’t dance at parties; no one wants to see a fat woman throwing shapes so I would lurk like a wallflower watching everyone else having fun. I was an observer in my own life trying to make myself invisible.
This week I took a long look at the contents of my wardrobe and I had a tragic realisation. For the last 20 years I haven’t really bought clothes, I’ve bought accessories – scarves, jewellery, bags and shoes. These are the easy options for a fat girl.
My collection of beautiful accessories is a sad reminder of all the times I went shopping for clothes and couldn’t find anything to fit me.
One of the things that I hated most about buying clothes was how I was treated in shops. Nothing makes an overweight middle aged woman feel worse than the look on the face of a skinny shop assistant when being asked for a different size.
Everything in your head screams “Just because I’m fat doesn’t mean I’m stupid or unable to afford your shop’s clothes”. I was always reminded of Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman going into a posh clothes shop in her hooker’s outfit trying to explain that she had money.
So now I am nearly at my destination I have no idea how to rebuild my wardrobe. I only know how to buy fat clothes.
I’ve been thinking a lot about how I want to look and what I want my image to be and I simply don’t know.
In my days BC (before children) I had fun with clothes and I used them to express who I was. But after 18 years of a mum bod, exhaustion, a full time job and functional dressing I can’t even remember how it feels to put together an outfit and step out of the door feeling fab.
It is also really difficult to gauge how to dress in your late 40s, when you’ve been out of the game for 2 decades. I want to look groovy, cool, young (but not too young), stylish, well groomed and generally sensational.
When I achieve this elevated state I shall go on a mission to find the shop assistants who have been rude to me in the past and say in a loud voice “Big mistake…huge”.