Clothing: The Struggle Is Real

The ever-shrinking wardrobe problem continues: on a daily basis, Lor and I keep getting rid of clothing and not replacing the donated items. Finally, in desperation, we went shopping for clothes yesterday.

And left the store without a single item of clothing.

Here's how it went down: we had a small clothing budget, so we decided to diligently look through sale and clearance price items only. Lor was immediately faced with a supply problem: it seemed the only sizes available were Small and below, or XXL and above. After finally finding a couple of items that might work, she tried them on. Both were rejected and placed back on the racks.

My problem was a little different. I found a few items that would probably have worked, but they were either too expensive ($20+), or too hideous. Camo-pattern jeggings? Not in my closet.

I finally decided to just grab some sweats and call it a day. I found some lightweight sweatpants I could use for exercise going for only $6. And immediately met resistance from Lor, of all places.

Lor: "Those sweats are too small."

Me: "Too small? They are size Large! I am wearing baggy XLs right this second!"

Lor: "The ones you are wearing right now are old, and stretched, and have been worn more than once. The Large ones are too small."

I would've argued the case, but the Regrettable Haircut Incident was still fresh in my mind. Lor tends to be right, I tend to be wrong. It's a thing. So, I put the sweats back on the shelf, and we left the store.

Why didn't I just get a set of XLs, you ask?

Because buying an XL felt like a failure. It made me feel like I must still be "fat". (Word used on purpose, with all negative connotations accepted.) Even thinking about it now makes me feel like I am moving backward.

It is an astonishingly silly way to feel, I know. But I am still looking at my body and focusing on flaws. My previously beach-ball sized tummy has shrunk to about the size of a volleyball, but it is still there. Previously solid muscle still wobbles. And my hair loss...well, you all know what happened there.

After all I have been through, I am still focused on failure, and paying scant attention to progress.

I am not sure how to beat this, in all honesty. I have a very real fear at this point that I will get all the way down to my goal weight, look in the mirror, and think that it was a wasted effort. I simply can't shake my mental identity of obesity yet.

And meanwhile, thanks to the ongoing clothing drama, there is a very real threat that I will show up to Thanksgiving dinner next week naked. 

Now THAT ought to put a damper on everyone's appetite.

Combating Obesity Through Nudity,

- Hawkwind

Wardrobe Malfunction

(Remote Posting Means No Pretty Pictures Today. Imagine Fluffy Kittens or something.)

It was something we were warned about, but I didn't pay a whole lot of attention to. Clothing, that is. All around the bariatric community, there are tips on clothing sales, recommendations for thrift stores, even clothing exchanges - but what the heck did I care about such things? I had a closet full of t-shirts, and a drawer full of "goal" clothes that had been picked up for me by my mother-in-law at garage sales over the years. Surely, I was covered, right?

The first rumbling of potential crisis happened when we met my parents to buy Lor's bike. My mother mentioned that my Dad hadn't recognized me at first, which filled me with pride and accomplishment. Then I was deflated by Mom's next comment - "And that shirt! It looks like a tent on you!"

Meant as a sincere compliment, this dismissal of my favorite t-shirt warned me that trouble was on the horizon. Lor has been telling me for weeks that my existing wardrobe is getting a little too large even for fashion-unconscious me. Later on, at home, I pulled another favorite shirt off a hanger and put it on in front of a mirror. I was startled and depressed to notice it now hit me right above the knees. I looked like I was trying to wear a miniskirt. Clearly, it was time for the wardrobe intervention that Lor had been hinting at.

An hour's worth of trying on clothes later, I was completely disheartened. Fully half my shirts no longer fit me "well". I could hang on to them and accept the "tent" look for now, but I was going to have to start cycling them out. I now had exactly 4 t-shirts that were sized correctly. Dress shirts and sweaters and the like? Not a single one fits me right any longer.

But the really depressing part was the drawer where I keep my jeans. I knew my beloved carpenter jeans would no longer work, because they were 48-inch waistlines. I had cleverly hidden a few 44-inch pants in the bottom of the drawers, planning against today, when I could proudly pull them out and show them to Lor, demonstrating my genius and foresight.

But not a single one of them fit, either. I had missed my window. These brand new jeans I had been waiting to wear for years would have to be worn by someone else - they literally slid right off my hips and onto the floor. I tried on every pair of pants I owned, creating a "donate" pile, and anticipating that I would replace the ones that fit into my drawer.

That drawer now stands completely empty, by the way.

Thank goodness it is summer and I can still wear shorts. We went to the local (bariatric group recommeded) thrift store and were able to find a few pairs of 40-inch waistline shorts. (Bafflingly, 40-inch pants did not fit, but shorts did.) The fact that I was now within 2 inches of my decades-long goal of a 38-inch waistline was not as nearly as exciting as it should have been - it was more than offset by the fact that I was having to go clothes shopping - and I knew that, within a few weeks, I was going to have to do it again. I was not buying these clothes, really. Just sort of renting them.

Thanks to my LootCrate subscription, I can count on one new geek-themed shirt a month, but I can only wear a shirt so many times in a month before it develops holes. The same vanity that used to force me to only wear sweats rather than buy 50-inch waistline pants is now operating in reverse - I refuse to buy sweats to wear instead of shorts or jeans. What is the point of losing weight just so I can wear nothing but track pants?

Or shirts that fit like tents for that matter?

Cursing The Day I Became Fashion-Aware,

- Hawkwind