Primer: Loose fact about me, I kinda hate shopping. I hate paying full retail for anything and I hate looking and looking and looking and not finding things I like.
That said, here is my big head teef… I am no longer a ‘big girl’. It’s still really hard to get used to the fact I can no longer shop in XL, 1XL, Large or double digits anymore.
In 2009, I wrote:
The hard practicality of the weight drop, is the inevitable wardrobe fall out. For me it’s bad, since I don’t have the money to shop, so I end up just making do with the smallest of the things I have, and little cheap cotton dresses like the one you see in the photograph to the right. To show you the kind of head teef moments I have had during this odyssey of weight loss, take my ‘skinny jeans’ as an example.
In 1995 (yes, I said it: 1995), I was about 22 and in Miami for a conference, and my dear cousin DMH took me to the awe-inspiring Sawgrass Mills Mall. There, I bought the tightest pair of jeans I’d ever owned, a size 14 petite. In the store, I had to lie down on the floor of the dressing room to pull up the zip, and after buying it, could only wear it for a few months before it got too small. For fifteen years I’ve kept those jeans as a reminder that I could once fit in them.
About two or three months ago, on a fleeting whim and desperate because I had not a single pair of jeans that fit, I pulled those jeans out of the bottom of a bag of old clothes, and guess what? Those bitches were too big. Like hanging on my hips too big. That was like a real crystalising moment for me. Chrysalis…
I looked at myself in the mirror and all I could say was, “Wow!”
When I find myself skimming the Larges or trying on 10s it becomes so unbelievably apparent that it is not possible for me to even fool myself about this anymore… except in my head I still think I’m a size 16.
Even 8s and Mediums are becoming dodgy… if it wasn’t for the tatas that will never ‘shrink’ and the little bit of ass God/dess has left me with, and the fact that my body shape has remained the same since I grew all my curves, it would be hard to justify most of these 8s and Mediums I am now dealing with.
Then there is the drama with jeans. I have some ass… it’s not the size it used to be, but I am blessed with hips and a bit of pooch in the back.
I am also short. A smurf. A tall hobbit. This shocks a lot of people, because they never think of me as a ‘short’ person, especially since I can rock three inch heels, project awesomeness and fool everyone into thinking I am at least average height, but I am definitely on the little side at 5 foot 2.
The hidden truth of this when you have hips and ass is that is nearly impossible to find jeans or pants that fit. If you find something that goes over your hips, you have this gap in the back. If you have been going through jeans like a hot knife through butter like I have due to weight loss, this gap becomes MORE pronounced the more weight you lose.
What were working jeans—working jeans require a cupping of your assand thighs for perfect framing and maximum contribution to the esthetic appreciation of the melanated male population of Earth—quickly become falling-off-of-you ridiculousness that defeats the purpose of having any ass at all.
So you’re in this permanent loop of trying to find working jeans for short people. In the Caribbean this is a dodgy exercise. In foreign things become a tad easier.
I’ve been through more jeans in the last five or six years than I have in the whole 15 years previous combined. Since Dayo was born, I’ve gone from a size 16/18 in 2007 to FIGHTING to maintain a size 8. I’ve had points where even size 8s were too big, and I was uncomfortably ‘small’.
My gallbladder simply won’t allow me to hold on to anything remotely like weight, and when I combine this with yoga it all just melts off. It’s interesting watching my body manifest in what I think of as an emotional and spiritual context. I keep no weight anymore… of any kind.
I now HATE the kind of weird I look when I leave the house. Most of the time I look like a head of hair and the clothes are wearing me.
Except, I hate to shop. I mean I hate it. I know it sounds weird, but I really hate buying clothes and shoes.
I was recently told by a priest to prioritise my own clothing. Like actually buying clothes and not to wear clothes given to me by anyone. It echoes messages I’ve been getting about taking care of myself.
I’ve been egging with my rose quartz for almost six months… and I see this NEED for adequate clothing to be now an act of self-love. It’s the song the universe has been singing for a while. I’m loving the motif.