73/90, shopping with a body

Yesterday, I got to spend a lot of time with Sam. Sam and I share a lot of things: wine, long times working at mt cup (a local coffee shop), gender, strong opinions on feminism, a passion for traveling, a willingness to try anything, and a tendency to be overly dedicated to school. This means that most of our hang-out sessions are canceled because one of us is panicking about an assignment. (It's most likely not due for another week, but we panic early and see it through to the end.)

So yesterday, we met at mt cup as she was getting off of work and started in on what was supposed to be an afternoon of homework and bike rides. After about an hour of homework, we were getting itchy. We decided to come back to my house, have a glass of wine and start again.

We didn't even make it back to our computers. We sat on stools in the kitchen, both with looks of light concern. Sam commented on the day–that it was off, weird, spinning outside of us while we were left observing and not able to latch onto anything. I agreed–it's like we're not really here. Like what we're doing doesn't matter at all in the long or short run. Like we'll wake up in a few moments and prove that all of the panic was a wasted dream.

Hello, existential crisis. My name is Megan, and I'm trying really hard to graduate right now. Please come back at another time.

Deciding that we couldn't shake this thing, we did the next best thing. The next best thing is always shopping.

I needed shorts, and the shorts that I needed were on a massive sale rack at Forever 21. This meant driving to Castleton Square, a third trip to Indy for the week–never expected that in my lifetime.

By the time we made it to the dressing rooms, our fingers were aching from the weight of the hangers. Along with shorts, we found frilly, delicate tank tops that would look amazing on our trips (me, France; she, Ireland). We had button-down tops, trendy rompers, tank tops with beads and lace.

By the time we finished trying things on, we were back down to just a few pairs of shorts, and a body-image rampage–buy one, get the second free.

I had been frustrated looking for shorts online, because no one online looked like me. My shape is not that complicated. There is an hourglass involved, a bit of a bulge at the stomach, some boobs that do not rest flat against my chest. The 1920s phenomenon, where the prepubescent boy body took full force so that all that fringe and all that sheath dress could lay flat against you, was still holding strong.

I am what I like to say is average height, but what I understand is actually a bit short. I am not super thin, but I did wear a few skirts that were size 16 in girls until about a year ago. It was incredibly hard for me to let those go and accept that my body had changed and settled in. Trying to keep this understanding (and accepting that my life for the past year has led to some weight gain) becomes nearly impossible when the store is filled with employees that look and slouch like their mannequins and when all of the shirts are designed to flow along the body of a flat-chested, long-legged body.

I am not a large. I am not sure where to find the shirts that will button or pull or wrap across this chest without getting two-sizes to big once it hits my waist. Each time Sam and I stepped in front of a mirror, so excited about a light, flowing top and saw that extra fabric hanging off of our chest a full inch away from our body, seeming to add a foot to our girth, we were a bit more angry.

I wish I could make an argument here that solves this problem, or that I could say I found a store near me that understands how to make the cuts of trendy shirts work for more than one body type. For now, I'll just be glad that I saved money by only buying the shorts that I set out to find. And will thank Katherine Hepburn for making the high waist a classic wardrobe piece, so that I can stuff all of that extra fabric inside and have people see what I really am–the shoulders, waist and hips that I'm beginning to love.