“I Wouldn’t…”
Just a mini-rant about a very short moment that happened in WalMart about a week and some change ago.
First of all, shout out to all my plus-size people who take daring chances with fashion. By “daring” I do not mean those empty compliments people give us for making fashion choices that the so-called “average” person could make without as much fuss. I mean “daring” in terms of being and doing the most as a middle finger to what society says we ought to be wearing. Do it well, stand tall. Mwah.
If you are or have been of size, the road of “I would never wear that” and/or “you need to change” have been thrown at you in some form. Sometimes it goes over your head, sometimes it hits you. Last week, a bit of both happened. For context, I live in a small town in West Tennessee. I stick out because I’m fat, and that’s just a given. I go out, people notice, people snicker. Blah blah. Unless they’re about to help me with the surgery and fitness bills, I’m not going to jail fighting every ignorant ass person on the streets.
As one who is supposed to be spreading kosen-rufu, I ain’t exactly supposed to be acting a fool, anyway. I often feel like the world is testing me on just how peaceful I can be. Hell, I often feel like I’m failing by somebody’s standards.
This town is full of fashion characters. From the jeans and tee crowd to Southern debutante casual, I believe there is room for all. I’ve seen pajamas at Walmart and J.Crew’s best at Kroger. Calvin Klein at IGA, and Michael Kors at the local bbq joint. There’s a smidge of urbane and ghetto fabulous, and of course, nana’s housecoat attire is all the rage. My lowkey personal favorite is Southern Church-core — specifically, the outfits you’d see at African American churches. Hats, suits, shoes, jewelry. There are a lot of different bodies wearing daring wear, so I’m not exactly alone. It’s just that…the confined and uptight tend to get upset at anything modern or remotely liberal. People who just don’t like fat people have a lot to say under their breath. How I stood out as a liberal in line for my dang asthma pills is a mystery, but go figure. If I bleed and drip with kindness and acceptance, I’ll try not to get it all over your shaken existence.
It took me a long time to get where I am in terms of fashion. I lack trend taste but have plenty of “I-wear-what-I-want-because-it-makes-me-feel-good” taste. It might be boring, might be crazy, might be a nightmare — but it’s simple and comforting. Looking back at the fat little girl who could barely find anything, the teen who sorta made it work, and the transitioning little flower who made friends with Lane Bryant, Ashley Stewart, and Fashion Bug— I am who I am.
I had to make do with the stores my family chose for me, never really knowing what mall stores would have my size. I had taste, but very seldom found where my taste could cover my body. I had friends, but asking where they shopped was like some kind of well-kept secret. I found what I could at stores like JCP, Kohl’s, and Sears. I hated being unable to shop at Delia’s and other trendy places. When they became “inclusive” with 2x and 1x clothing that was age-appropriate, I was already in my 20s, quietly shaping my little look. For years, I was secretly shopping with the older plus-sized ladies for the youngest things I could find.
I failed at being trendy! Hey man, the interpretations fell short despite my constant media consumption. I wish I could find the pics of myself in flares and tracksuits. I wasn’t into selfies and getting my pic taken. As I became older and my peers openly let me know how fat and ugly I was, I didn’t want to be seen. Despite all the selfies I take to this day, sometimes I still feel this way. So, dolling up…is a rare and wonderful moment for me. When an ex asked me why I took so many, I didn’t have the words to fully explain it. I let him think it was a self-absorbed Millennial thing, when in fact it was very much an “I can finally look at myself and feel good” thing.
I wear loungewear all the damn time at home. That’s Roni’s default. I get it from Amazon, Old Navy, Target, and SHEIN. So, going out is my time to put myself on display. Even if I’m just going to Beall’s for a cheap trip, I want to look nice. It’s bad enough how people talk about us women of size. I’ll be damned if I’m gonna look a total mess. PCOS is controlled, my hair is tied up, and I am looking adorable in themed earrings, a necklace, and my usual rings. Body spray is on, a little attitude in the hips, and out the door I go.
So….fast forward to my WalMart trip. It was a typical run for cheap vanilla body spray and the Montelukast that keeps me alive. On that day, I had on a black satin hair tube thing (to cover my fuzzy locs), my usual black Croc flops, and a purple tie-dye sun dress. I was wearing a see-through chiffon jacket cardigan. It was very Stevie Nicks, but mostly me vamping it up because it was the only thing that didn’t clash with the dress. I collect them and that was the first one I ever purchased back in 2016. It was theee piece that defined my cardigan kimono era. I always feel sexy in it, and you bet your butt I did on that day. I think two guys noticed me, but probably for all the wrong reasons. Again, can’t let it bother me. You either see me as a SSBBW goddess or a heaving mass of flesh with bear-like tendencies.
I’m minding my business and standing in line, already trying to brush off the mini anxiety of being in public. If you know me, then you know how I feel about crowds and the public. I often feel like eyes are on me, giggles are about me, and trip between not caring and sort of hating the moment. I kept going over how I fought myself from a strut into that store. Oh honey, I strutted. I told you about that damn see-through cardigan. The dress? All my favorite shades of purple. A dress that technically was not in my size, but gave so much stretch that it complimented me. It was so soft that it tickled my skin. It hugged everything — boobs, belly, and butt. Sure, it was a cheapo dress from a controversial fast fashion website — but it was divine.
For all things considered, I was that bitch at that moment.
Cue Alien Superstar.
UNIQUE!
I know, right? I have the absolute nerve. In this world of very strong opinions and those willing to throw them in the name of malice, sometimes you HAVE to have that nerve. As a Black woman in a little red-state town, I will have that nerve every time. So yes, babe, I was taking a lot of confidence from one of my favorite Virgo people!
Anyway…
I’m minding my big-back’d business when this lady not so quietly let it slip how she “would never wear something like that”. Scanning that space, it was wholly evident just whom she was commenting on. It certainly wasn’t the nice old man in front of me in his baby blue polo and khaki slacks. Certainly wasn’t the rest of the folks in their very sensible Summer attire of assorted capri pants and tank tops. Had to be the 5-foot-7 woman with the Rosetti bag standing in line.
Miss Lady went there on purpose, chatting with her equally old friend. This isn’t my first time at that rodeo. I once wore my teased hair to the nice Amish market across town, and some old lady cleared her throat looking right at me like I was some kind of day-ruining tart. Dude, I was in that shop getting trail mix and country fixins. Another time, I wore shorts — actual shorts--out for a quick run, and some bratty little kid started singing “fat, fat, faaaat”. Oh bless his mom for shushing him, but all he was singing was the truth — crappily! I didn’t think the shorts were that tight, but there’s only so much body clothing can cover. I was out minding my own, looking for discount earrings.
The universe was definitely testing me. Do I react, Chicago style? Working blue right out in public! Do I address it Brown style? Ice-cold wit via the venom and sarcasm from mom’s side of the family, with just a hint of debutante enunciation! Or, do I let it slide and flex my writing muscles at a later time? Oh ho ho!
I didn’t move a muscle. Didn’t turn to shoot a look, didn’t say something slick under my breath, and stopped myself from throwing random medical apparatus at her. I was indeed heated but had sense. Trust me, the PMS was talking to me. That whole “sensitive Millennial” thing people gripe about was about to turn into “super bi*chy Chicagoan with a strong softball throw”. In my head, a bold moment blossomed as I waited for my medicine. To that old fart, I wanted to say:
“honey, I know you couldn’t wear it. Miss Mamas, I know you would not dare — you don’t have the confidence nor the taste to do it. Yes babe, I’m damn near 40 and dressing exactly how I want to. I’m choosing colors I feared. I’m wearing cuts I dared not to in my youth. If you have such a problem with it, hand over 100 bucks so I can fix it. In the meantime, figure out why a perfect stranger’s wardrobe choices have you feeling so bold that you get to talk crap about ’em in public. Figure out why what I have on is such a threat to your numbered days. Go home and reflect over Metamucil and fading memories about all those pitiful moments when you could have done something bold, but you stayed inside the lines to please somebody else. You and your basics are dismissed…”
“Basics” was yours truly being nice. Her look was a pair of boring ass capri pants and a tired ass discount poly-blend tunic, hair teased to wispy hot roller hell, and a face in dire need of moisturizer and a night regimen — when I tell you the gauntlets could have very well come off, they could have. All she could have said back was something racist and fatphobic. I smiled to myself and the nice pharmacist as I completed my purchase. I’ve never been the type to act a fool in public, but the temptation to meet my lesser self at the crossroads of Southsider and Spicy Virgo often tempts me. For the sake of not giving into the stereotype of being “ghetto” or the angry Black woman, I kept it cute.
Damn.
It made me think of my ex-boyfriend in GA, and I did not want to. For all the crap between us, damn if he didn’t get it right about being a lion with my head held high against an endless sea of ignorance. Wise man, spicy temper. MOVING ON!
It also made me realize that in all my terrible human imperfection, what I was taught in the past as a Christian and nowadays as a Nichiren Buddhist have helped me to become a better person. It’s easy to take the low road, but harder (and way more fulfilling) to restrain myself and be dignified. My lesser self would have my ass in jail somewhere if I acted on every impulse. Working on not caring what people think has by far been the hardest part of living on this planet. I’m not sure if it would be any different if I were smaller. It’s an honest insecurity that gets the best of me. I’m not afraid to admit that.
It feels good when I’m having a good go of it, not caring and being either strong or just a sarcastic spawn of a Capricorn. Sometimes being an ass and embracing toughness helps you get by.
I won’t go there and say she was threatened by me. Not as a woman, not as a Black woman, but damn — there is something about people that always gets to me when it comes to should/should not in fashion. Nobody asked, and nobody should care. Especially if it’s not hurting you. We all cannot dress the same way. Some of us grew up in generations where the constraints of fashion and societal norms did not make us prisoners. I’m sorry that the rules and goodness knows what else shaped her mindset, but it is not going to keep me down. I have been in the midst of too many interesting people to box myself in because of my size or what other people think I should wear. I don’t see any extra money in my account or CashApp to fix it. (hi, $PurpleSilk) Nobody is emailing me Amazon gift cards to change it.
I wear what I want, when I want, doggone it! Lingerie, shorts, capris, skirts, cardigans, tank tops, halters, jumpsuits! Dresses, dashikis, caftans, and enough tie-dyed crap to send me right back to the 70s, babe!
I wear clothing that moves me. Clothing that brings me comfort. Clothing that can be timeless, but is appealing to my spirit. I wrap myself in things that help me cope with the world, help me sleep, and just flat-out look damn good. Following trends just ain’t me. I might take scrapings from the current hotness, but I’m a frugal lady — I need these clothes to last and go with the flow of time. Trying to please others or feel like I belong…because of clothes…that’s what I flopped at in my youth. Honey bye! I’m not hanging on to that.
I cannot wait to get old. I surely will not be dressing like it's my last days. I’ll be dressing for comfort, still, but embracing my age in interesting prints, cuts, and colors. I want to go beyond where I am now and enjoy what’s on my back. I want people to hear me before I enter a room — jingling with jewelry and bells. I want wood accessories and swishy fabrics to celebrate living.
Kudos to me, I wasn’t a full-on jerk to a stranger. I’ve got hints of sense in this rattled old brain. I shall treat myself to a lovely handful of granola and my daily vitamins.
