When I first started reading fat blogs, I saw, time and again, this amazing commenter Buff Puff who consistently challenged those who would prefer us all to believe that being fat is the Worst Thing Ever. When I started blogging, I was thrilled to find her commenting here. Which is why I asked her to guest blog.
(cross-posted to Puff Piece)
Some months ago someone from the fatshionista community said she’d always thought of yellow as a thin person’s colour, and that perplexed me. Did yellow simply not flatter her, I wondered? Had it been the absolute must-have colour one season and none of the plus-sized stores picked up on it? Or had the slenderising properties of navy and black been so thoroughly drummed into her by well-meaning relatives and fat phobic fashion mavens that the thought of draping her curves in any other hue gave her the screaming abdabs? To me, yellow conjures up adjectives like sunny and radiant. It’s cute fuzzy Easter chicks, Wordsworth’s daffodils and the yummy citrus tang of a freshly squeezed lemon. All in all it’s a pretty uplifting colour. Maybe she just couldn’t picture being fat and happy? Well, she’d hardly be the first, least of all where fashion’s concerned.
I think a lot about clothes and the myriad insidious, confidence-eroding messages we chubsters suck up daily in our quest for them.
There are three dedicated plus-size clothing chains in the UK, but for decades there was only one: Evans The Outsize Shop, as it proudly proclaimed on its awnings and carrier bags. Not quite as snappy as Torrid, is it? Frankly, it’s no wonder women of my mum’s generation turned to amphetamines, inflatable rubber exercise pants and freaky fad diets to avoid the ignominy of having to shop there. Even now there are few UK department stores or high street chains offering much in the way of plus-sizes. Sure things have improved a tad for the inbetweenie lately, and you can buy attractive FF and G-cup bras pretty much anywhere now – but woe betide the bodacious of behind because those pretty matching knickers stop at size 16.
Traversing the mall in the knowledge you’re as welcome as the proverbial turd in the sangria in almost every store further compounds the sense of worthlessness that comes with a lifetime of being blanked by fashion magazines. Patently unworthy of beautification, our very absence imbues us with hitherto unimaginable power. In the land of the glossy where Scarlet Johansen is OMG!fat we, the actual fat, have achieved bogeyman status – seldom glimpsed and all the scarier for it. (I mean please, we don’t even have heads). That token fat-girl makeover feature they run every 18 months is fooling no one, least of all us. We’re the handcart everyone’s going to hell in if they don’t renew their gym membership/ embrace the latest diet/get that icky lard siphoned out of their arses pronto. Never mind our potential as consumers, as long as we keep the flames of self-hate roaring and the other suckers spending, who the hell cares what we want?
But the spirit bludgeoning doesn’t end there. Even those who do cater to our needs can still make us feel like crap. There’s the cost for a start. The handful of exclusive fat ladies boutiques peppered across the British Isles charge through the earhole for designer clothes they import from Germany, Scandinavia and the US. In these stores you can seriously look forward to paying three times as much for anything, no matter how basic, as our slender sisters would expect to pay in the high street. Then there’s the fact that, even if you’re willing and able to pay top dollar, the styles on offer may not necessarily fit or flatter your body-type, thus narrowing down a choice that was narrow enough to begin with. And no matter how steep the price tag it will still be polyester-a-go-go because, as everyone knows, all fat people have a pathological terror of ironing. But, by far the most injurious, to the human spirit is the inability to truly express one’s personality through our dress.
Want to strut your stuff as a disco diva, corporate ball breaker or boobalicious Russ Meyer-style ultra-vixen? Dream on. Your choice will be limited by the eminently limited horizons of designers and buyers who, not being fat themselves, don’t have a clue what you want and don’t seem in much of a hurry to find out. And don’t look to the vintage market to help you out, at least not on these shores. The fatshionistas of yore held onto their clothes for grim death for fear of never finding anything that would fit them ever again. I know; as a desperate teen I completely worked my way through both my grandmothers’ wardrobes wearing styles that spanned four decades.
The sad fact is that even if you’re wise to your deliberate exclusion from the wild fashion-party everyone else seems to be having – even if you’re as righteously fuming about it as I’ve been for most of my adult life – the cumulative effect of that exclusion still gets to you. Back when Marianne first started The Rotund, she questioned whether she often wore black out of deference to her Goth roots, or because she’d been conditioned to believe wearing bright colours would draw attention to her fatness – despite accepting her fatness. For years I was unable to buy anything that wasn’t black or some god-awful drab shade of blue. Deprived of the rich, vibrant jewel tones that make my heart sing, I started to use them on the walls of my flat instead. By the time I had access to vivid coloured clothes again I found, to my horror, I’d lost the confidence to wear them in the interim. Likewise I wore long, loose, body skimming layers for years; it’s a look that suits me but one nonetheless born out of a dearth of choice. Eventually, if we let them, these forced choices come to define us; become our choices over time. We lose heart, channel our creativity elsewhere and start thinking of yellow as a thin person’s colour.
Like women who have to work twice as hard as men in the workplace just to prove themselves equal; fat women have to work twice as hard as those with all the choice in the world to prove they can look just as good. (But, hey, at least there’s twice as much of us to look good when we do). Fortunately I got over my fleeting fear of colour, reclaimed my spirit and lived to fight another day sartorially speaking. I found alternative, fashion-forward, fat-positive websites, zines and communities to replace those that encourage us to bitch about celebrity zits and cellulite as some kind of twisted compensation for making us hate ourselves. It’s amazing how truly fucked-up the rest of the world starts to look by comparison after a while.
20 Comments
I grew up hearing that if you’re fat, navy blue, brown, and black were THE colors to wear, and small prints for tops and dresses. Being a rebel (don’t tell me I can’t do something, that’s the exact thing I WILL go out and do), I never went along with that. One of my favorite shirts was a bright yellow stretch terry cloth top I made and I wore it till it fell apart. I have a shirt now that I absolutely love, it’s shades of orange, brown, magenta, yellow, in a large abstract pattern and pretty bright. My daughter-in-law doesn’t care for it, but that’s because she’s not into bright colors (and she’s thin, so I don’t think size has much to do with what one likes). It looks good on me, and I don’t care if people think I shouldn’t wear anything that bright, I like it, and I’m the one whose opinion matters. I also have a blouse that is a pale pink, hot pink, baby blue, and medium blue floral print (flowers about 3″) and I wear that one with my dark rose slacks. I have a lot of different colors in my wardrobe, and I wear them all. I figure if people don’t like the way I look in them, they don’t have to look.
I’ve always loved color (well, except for the all-black angsty teen phase), but imagine my surprise when I discovered that horizontal stripes actually flatter my body type (by emphasizing the boobs to waist to hip ratio). Fat fashion myths die hard.
BuffPuff, the only thing that could make this post better is about a million pictures of you in your amazing, colorful outfits.
**But, by far the most injurious, to the human spirit is the inability to truly express one’s personality through our dress**
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. Far from being a fashion maven, I do still firmly believe that our most immediate form of self-expression is our state of dress. When this communication tool simply isn’t made in our size, or is cost prohibitive how well are we able to communicate ourselves? What clues to our personality, politics and cultural affiliations are we able to offer the public if not the ironic t-shirts, off-shoulder sweaters, slouch boots or steam-punk chic of our dreams?
The lack of ample sizes in our preferred styles, in my opinion, can be a bit like tape over the mouth.
Buffpuff, I love you. This is my favorite part:
We’re the handcart everyone’s going to hell in if they don’t renew their gym membership/ embrace the latest diet/get that icky lard siphoned out of their arses pronto.
Buffpuff love seconded! So, should Torrid open a London outpost, do you think? Would it do well there? Or would some government nanny who thinks “if your size clothing doesn’t exist then you magically won’t exist either” try to shut it down for the sake of Public Health?
Great article Buffpuff. I am also in the UK and agree that for clothes, it sucks.
and you can buy attractive FF and G-cup bras pretty much anywhere now
::wibble:: …omg, where?!
A-freaken-men on the polyester hate. I’d sell my soul to see a nice cotton, linen, and silk uprising in the big sizes. If they’re going to charge me just for the fun of it, they could give me some value for my buck. Especially since I’m perfectly comfortable in cold weather but I get completely paralyzed by overheating, breathable fabrics are the only things that make summer bearable.
I have a lot of black clothes, I’m mostly ok with that because I like black. Unfortunately, the only other colors I’ve had for a while are capri blue (love) and red. Not a dark red, not a wine red, not a purplish red, just…red. Boring. I love emerald greens and browns and drab greens and purples and deep blues, but clothes in my size come in black, capri blue, and red. I finally found a great brown skirt and some knit tops to go with it, but everything else I have is black.
Of course, the flip side on color is that I hate dressing like the 1980’s never went out of style, I’m very conservative and I like solids rather than patterns. I prefer to wear clothes rather than keep up with fashion trends because it’s more cost effective. Layers tick me off, sleeveless outfits don’t get bought, anything with a long drapey thing that goes over the outfit doesn’t go home with me. I’m not going to hide my body under a floaty tent of plastic fabric, I’m also not going to let my arm flab flap in the breeze.
Also, this whole fad for wrap fronts and rouching and empire waists, it has to stop! If only one style of clothing is offered in a store, and I can’t wear that style, then I can’t buy anything in the store. I’m smuggling the Grand Titons in my bra, I can’t be messing around with styles that don’t accomodate giant droopy boobs.
Casual clothes I want: Poet shirts, long tiered skirts, long full skirts, broomstick skirts, long soft slacks, wide legged pants, angel sleeved shirts, 3/4 sleeves, tunics, tunics with wide sleeves, and tunic dresses. (Yeah, I dress like a Renn Faire just let out.) For work I want structured suit jackets, not fitted and please leave the damn shoulder pads out!, with matching straight legged pants. I want silk, and linen, and cotton, and when the season is right I’d like wool and maybe alpaca blend sweaters. I want to shop off the rack, if I hear “we can order it for you” you better know that you won’t be making the sale. If I can’t try it on in the store, why the hell would I go into your store.
Oh yeah, and boobs come bigger than a DDD, start filling the rack with bras for big racks!
God, Wallflower, I think you’re me. EXACTLY. Who the hell who wears a size 30 (US) needs fucking shoulder pads in a suit jacket? I tried on a suit recently that had shoulder pads and PUFFED SLEEVES (just like Anne of Green Gables used to want!). I looked like a Victorian linebacker trying out for a part on The Apprentice.
And, generally, rock on Buff Puff and TR. Love, love, love all that you have to say.
Great post!
and you can buy attractive FF and G-cup bras pretty much anywhere now
Yeah,how did that happen in England and why hasn’t it happened in North America? I realised a while back that all my bras are english brands, I don’t think there are any North American companies that make attractive bras in bigger than a DDD.
::wibble:: …omg, where?!
England. You can get them online here though: http://www.biggerbras.com/. They’re quite expensive, but worth the money if you can afford them.
You know what’s hard to find? Large band, small cup bras. Most bras in a 40 or greater band width start at a C cup.
Okay, me and my ghetto booty are LOVING the phrase “bodacious of behind.” I totally want that on a bumper sticker or something.
And amen on busting the color barriers. I love me some color, despite still wearing lots of black (can’t help it, it’s my fave!). I like my wardrobe to showcase my wildly variegated personality and interests…and I need a broad range of color options to make that dream a reality.
For the record, I hate yellow, though.
Thanks for your kind words, everybody!
Meowser, I think the UK is crying out for a branch of Torrid! About 10 years ago, Lane Bryant went through a brief brilliant period and I wrote to their managing director; I begged and pleaded, telling them exactly how dire the situation was in the UK, but they just flat out weren’t interested, which just seems crazy to me. They could charge as much in pounds as they do in dollars and they’d still be cheaper than anyone here except Evans. What’s more it would do the brand leaders good to have some serious competition.
Tag, I get most of my bras from Bravissimo(www.bravissimo.com). They’re expensive but they go up to a J cup in some designs. However, they don’t seem to go larger than a 38′ or 40″ back size.
And coco…
“The lack of ample sizes in our preferred styles, in my opinion, can be a bit like tape over the mouth”
My thoughts entirely.
A freakin’ men. My mother had this strange superstition about a kid wearing black making them a Satanist, so despite her embarassment at my size, she would do all she could to steer me away from black, and sometimes straight into dont’s that really should have been dont’s (crop pants on my figure, just for starters).
It’s OK to show legs and arms and skin. It’s OK to look as fabulous as you can – I’ve been an Internet shopper since it was possible to shop on the Internet, but even without it, I’d be commited to finding or sewing whatever it took to wear clothing that gives me pleasure in my own form.
I wear black a lot because it’s sophisticated, stylish, easier to mix and match, and requires me to have less items of clothing (which is important in my personal anti-clutter crusade). I always tart black up with colourful accessories for that extra-arty, extra-French look. That being said, living in a smaller community (plus-sized online shopping is not much of an option for rural Canadians), it took me YEARS to find a decent-fitting black blazer and a pair of nice-looking black trousers that DIDN’T have a freaking elastic waist. Also, I hate the idea that other people might be thinking that I wear black to look thinner – but then, I’ve finally reached the point where I no longer care what other people think about my size.
What I truly long for are decent cuts and decent fabrics. Why does this have to be so difficult? I want silk, leather, wool, cashmere, linen. I want trousers that don’t come up to my boobs when I try them on, or billow out around my hips and taper in at my ankles (WHO is wearing that style anymore??). I want tailored shirts and tops that don’t look like freaking tents. And why, why, WHY is it so hard to find a woolen winter coat in my size, nevermind one that isn’t shaped like a garbage sack?
The thing is, in my last job, I had a respectable paycheque and a great need for a level of quality, given some of the traveling I was doing and meetings I was attending. I don’t understand why manufacturers and retailers are still so slow to admit we plus-size people are a cash bonanza for them. Do they not have enough business sense to wonder why so many of their “regular”-sized clothing stores can barely stay in open?
Brava BuffPuff!
It sounds like plus-size situation in the UK is what it was in the US 10-15 years ago: limited, ugly, embarrased, and apologetic. This was also the era I grew up in, so y’all have my sincere empathy.
(Btw, I’m also completely stealing “bodacious of behind”!)
such a smart post!
“My mother had this strange superstition about a kid wearing black making them a Satanist”
LOL! I wish mine had! Every party dress I had from the age of 6 was black, navy or charcoal.
Alas black, when you have an orange cat who moults all year round and likes a lot of lovin’, is rarely an option.
I hated Evans for a long time, refusing to go there until I needed clothes for work (any color you want so long as it’s black). Some of their clothing was great, but then there was the size/fit issue – I guess in Britain fat people are really, really, really tall. And fixed waistbands? They don’t fit me.
Then I found Monsoon, and swooned with happiness. Alas/luckily, I found them before I moved to the US, thus saving me loads of dosh.
Now I’m back and I still have trouble finding things I like in the colors I like that fit me right. I’m starting to think that maybe it’s not them, it’s me, my body type, my expensive taste and poor wallet. If I sewed I’d make my own clothes…
Orodemniades, it is SO not your body. The fault does not lie with your inability to conform with mass-manufactured clothing, it lies with the way mass-manufactured clothing is designed to fit the fit models used by the company. The fit models hit a lot of average measurements but that doesn’t mean the clothes actually FIT everyone else.