Nylon

As a frequent shopper with an affinity for collecting clothes—whether I’m hunting for thrifty finds or saving up for the statement pieces I really can’t afford (or, gasp, picking up a few seasonal staples at a fast fashion retailer here and there)—I’ve found that the fashion industry’s concept of sizing, across the boards, is totally fucked.

Over the past two years, as I entered my mid- to late- twenties, I’ve put on some weight. Whatever; such is life, but what I find to be the most frustrating part of it is how in one store, I can wear a size small, yet somewhere else, I can barely squeeze into a large. The more this happened, the more I noticed myself getting bent out of shape when something didn’t fit, which led to more and more fitting room meltdowns. I stopped shopping at places where I only fit into larger sizes, simply because I refused to own something that was a size I didn’t feel comfortable in, even if it looked good on me. What I had to finally ask myself was why I gave a shit about the number on the tag of my top? If it made me look and feel good, why couldn’t I just be happy with it?

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