“Self-respect is the root of discipline: The sense of dignity grows with the ability to say no to oneself.” ~Abraham Joshua Heschel
Yesterday afternoon I went into The Black Dog to pick something out for Noah. Now a) Having a Noah, is like having a niece or nephew or grandchild or something: I get to buy him all the ‘aballs’ and old man pajamas and things I just deem cute and play with him, all without any of the heavy lifting. And b) The Black Dog is one of the most overpriced places ever to grace God’s green earth. So if one doesn’t mind paying $27 for a t-shirt with a black lab on the front, then I say go for it. I swear that the cotton used for some of that must have tiny flecks of gold, especially after watching a woman shell out $150 for two sweatshirts and a bumper sticker.
While perusing the shelves, I noted that the children’s sizes were considerably cheaper than the adult sizes. Upon further inspection, I picked out a youth size large and hold it up to my chest and note that ‘Hey! This expensive piece of cotton that must be fresh from the gin, actually might fit me.’ And lo’ it did fit in a way that doesn’t show off a muffin top or compress my two boobs into a uniboob. I was pleased. Not only because I wear a youth size large, as I already do some shopping in the junior’s section, but also because I pulled the proverbial wool over the eyes of the Black Dog establishment and saved myself a whopping $4.50; which I then used to purchase my third clam plate. The latter was to celebrate that I could eat three clam plates in 72 hours and still fit into child size clothing.
I’m not exactly what one would call fat or obese, unless this was the seventh grade again, and then I’d be called far worse. But I’m not exactly a size 2 or a size 8 for that matter. As far as I’m concerned, I can easily run a 5K and slip into a dress from Anthropologie or Forever 21, so really, why worry? Especially since the Great Ephedra Disaster of 2005, I’m perfectly content in eating and working out and keeping the two at some sort of equilibrium so that I don’t feel like I might be in desperate need of stomach stapling each and every time I have a filet o fish.
My rationality on this subject only comes after near tears last week in the Target dressing room when a dress fit perfectly everywhere besides my boobs. Suffice it to say that the next size up made it look like I painted a burlap sack with pink stripes and added pockets to jazz the number up a bit. When I mentioned this to El Madre, she gave me that skeptical ‘uh, no you’re just fat with broad shoulders look.’ But really I am built like a linebacker – it’s really hot. Today at Banana Republic, while trying on a blazer, she finally believed that no, my boobs are just huge by remarking, loudly, “Wow, you’re boobs are huge.” Precious, I know.
That said and even with any respite logic, I still am harboring some sort of dislike towards myself. Even though I can shop with ease, I still feel like I could look better. For every item of clothing I purchase in a junior’s size, thus ‘cheating’ the man out of $10, there is a blazer or shirt that leaves a lovely gape between the 2nd and 3rd button. Or a slight pull at the shoulders when I lift my arms. Either way, I’m going to be pragmatic and say that something’s got to give, and for once it’s not my waistband. For even though I am perfectly content, I still feel like I could be and would like to be better.
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And I thought I was alone. Since my horrible “accident” with the buttons at New York & Company I refuse to wear shirt that require them. Now my closet overflows with T-shirts. And to think my mother tried to convince me that boobs would so work out for me in the long run….yea right!
My closet overflows with T-shirts as well. It’s a damn shame that I can only wear them on Saturdays and Sundays. But dude the buttons. WTF???
Try having no boobs but shoulders like a linebacker. The 80s were cruel with their shoulder pads. I immediately ripped the things out only to be greeted by, “Those shoulder pads look great.” “Ummm. Those aren’t shoulder pads. Those are my shoulders.” Even us “skinny chicks” (Those wearing size four or smaller) ar cursed. And yeah, I can wear youth size large t-shirts. My students found this shocking. Well, not so much after I tried on the jacket of one of my fifth-graders. Now I get, “You’re so skinny.”
I am so thankful I missed out on the 80′s and the hideous shoulder pads. I would have looked so freaking awesome.
Oh, and Sandy. Boobs are a good thing. At least in my experience in the world. Why else would I subject myself to the folks of Wonderbra who can make me look like I have more boobs than I actually have?
I still remember when I didn’t even wear a bra and now I’m like ‘Whoa buddy! Rein those suckers in’. I’m just really happy that it was announced in the middle of a banana republic.
boobs are good thing. now having the not-so-lovely set of linebacker legs that i possess, not so much.
Oh, my linebacker legs go with my linebacker shoulders. It’s really oh so very hot.
I feel your pain. I avoid button up shirts. I’m also in desparate need for a good bra. I have two funny (NOT) stories.
Bra sales clerk: “No we don’t carry that size. Noboday wears a size 32DDD/F.”
Different bra sales clerk: “You have very small bones and very big, heavy breasts.”
Oh, note to self: go get fitted for a bra. ASAP. I keep forgetting/using my money for wine and therefore forgetting that my boobs probably shouldn’t be touching my knees at 23.
I’m making myself sound so very attractive in this post.
de-lurking to say: tailors, tailors, tailors. I’m a size 2 in the shoulders, and a 8 or a 10 in the chest-I feel your pain with the popped buttons & the burlap-sack dresses. I buy jackets a size larger & have the tailor take them in. as for button down shirts? you can get them darted. and even better? tailors take those nasty slash pockets out of pants, too. and usually pretty reasonably too.
Ok so tailor? Check. I will be on that soon as I’ve been told that I WILL (and must) be getting a new suit that will be customized for me. From Saks nonetheless. I feel all high powered and shit now.
I hear you on the breast issues, especially the ‘fits everywhere but up there’ thing. Then again, if all outfits were made for my breast size, most women would be wearing ridiculously baggy shirts and dresses. I spent a lot of time trying to cover up my breasts, which was really the wrong way to go. Thank God I learned that sooner rather than at age 63.
I’ve found something of a godsend in really expensive, well-made, fitted bras (see http://zoeandcompany.com/ in Rhode Island and Freya Bras) and wearing wrap dresses, which are stretchy. Yay, stretchiness!
Basically, I’ve finally decided to say to the world ‘Yes, I have breasts and they are awesome.’
I checked out Zoe and Company which is just in RI, which is not far from Martha’s Vineyard, which means that I will be getting a fitting in early July. Thank you, thank you, thank you, for that recommendation.
I say this with love: GO HAVE A BRA FITTING. RIGHT NOW. I will buy your booze in Chicago if it means that you will be wearing a bra that fits properly.
And then, we shall shop. And I promise not to comment on your boobs, except to say, My god, that bra is PERFECT on you.
That is all. BRA FITTING! RIGHT NOW!
Sheesh.
There is very little I won’t do for free booze and if it only requires a properly fitting bra, then so be it. I’m in.
My roommate used to have this problem and she told me that doing 40 push-ups a day helps. I’m no expert; I have a baby B size cup which really is like having no boobs at all. Seriously. But hey, in the pictures I’ve seen you in…you look damn fine!
Re: bra fittings. I have been reduced to a hot, belligerent mess in victoria’s secret, due to the sales lady all “let me measure you!” and my insistence that I was a 34 B, a b dammit, i know my size, only to have her pin me down and inform me that in fact, i am not a 34b, but a 36 a, which should tell you, i’m a linebacker with no boobs. and runner’s legs, which i think is code for “watch out, or my legs will eat you” but i guess i need it all to support my giant noggin. FILLED WITH BRAINS.
When you go to Zoe and Company, don’t take your future mother-in-law with you. I did, it was a mistake. Also, give yourself at least an hour. You read that correctly, an hour.
I’m pretty comfortable with my body, but I learned that I’m not that comfortable trying on bras in front of other people.
Just buy one bra there (they are super expensive!) and then buy more of the same ones online for 30-40 bucks less. Zoe’s has a huge markup, but I figure it is worth the $30 to have someone running around finding bras for me.
I have linebacker legs too, well that’s what a homeless man told me once.
Also, this post is the story of my life. It’s better now, but there was a time I couldn’t wear a top that had anything remotely even looking like functional buttons. Sigh.
I would LOVE to have boobs! It’s only recently that I’ve begun to understand the difficulty in finding clothes that my well endowed friends have. Because I was always like, oh, get over it, you have boobs and I don’t but would love to and how can you complain? But it turns out we all have pieces of our bodies that make things more complicated than they could be.
heather, i understand completely. COMPLETELY. i recently went into Vic’s Sec and was measured as a DD. A DOUBLE D. And I’ll tell you this: it’s not because my boobs are so huge. It’s because I’ve gained weight.
SAD. Sad that the only shirts I’ll wear right now have no buttons. I’m working on it — on losing the weight, I mean — and in the meantime I’ll leave you with a second to Susan’s recommendation. It feels sooooo good to have a bra fit properly. Even if it is a DD.
I understand in that I have the opposite problem with causes basically the same issues. My boobal area is tiny and my butt/thing area is undoubtedly NOT tiny. This means I can rarely find dresses that fit or bathing suits that don’t come in separates. I think clothes shopping is frustrating for everyone for some reason or another, but I’m proud of you for having such an awesome attitude toward your hot bod. I’m still working on achieving that attitude myself!
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[...] Matters of size, and other matters: While perusing the shelves, I noted that the children’s sizes were considerably cheaper than the adult sizes. Upon further inspection, I picked out a youth size large and hold it up to my chest and note that “Hey! This expensive piece of cotton that must be fresh from the gin, actually might fit me.” And lo, it did fit in a way that doesn’t show off a muffin top or compress my two boobs into a uniboob. I was pleased. Not only because I wear a youth size large, as I already do some shopping in the junior’s section, but also because I pulled the proverbial wool over the eyes of the Black Dog establishment and saved myself a whopping $4.50; which I then used to purchase my third clam plate. The latter was to celebrate that I could eat three clam plates in 72 hours and still fit into child size clothing. [...]