So, first of all, I'm still on my high from wearing a dress today that had pockets. It's really a pretty big deal. Like, I had my hands in there whenever I was walking and I felt so...carefree and whimsical. I felt as if I should have no cares in the world as I sauntered around like a girl in a douche commercial walking in the park on a summer's day. I even thought to myself, with that sort of freedom it is good that men don't wear dresses with pockets. I mean, the access they could have to their junk...productivity would be at an all-time low, from a corporate standpoint. As a woman, I just want to put lip gloss or a feminine product in there and know that I can be hands free with my lip gloss safely riding at my side ready for use at a moments notice. I think they call that "peace of mind."
Anyway, I'm coming off that high, but also I have been agonizing about an experience I had yesterday. It all started with this dress.
I saw this dress a week or so ago in a Torrid catalog sent to my home. I was all a-twitter and thought,"that is so cute!" I figured it probably wouldn't look very good on me because I do not have the model's curves. My curves are in different places. Like, where her hips are, those lady lumps are sticking out the front where my stomach is, or are lower on my thighs. And, don't get me started about her boobs.
Well, fast forward to yesterday. I needed to take my wedding ring in to the store where we purchased it at the mall so it could have its semi-annual check and rhodium plating done. I had to walk right by the Torrid store. This dress was hanging in the front window and I knew it was a sign I should go in and try it on, you know, just to see. It wasn't going to work, I knew it, but I just had to put this curiosity to bed.
I walked in and acted all casual, like the dress didn't matter. I cruised around looking at other stuff, the clearance rack, you know, played it cool. I didn't need the dress. No. Big. Deal. But nothing interested me like that damn stripey dress. Before long, there I was, standing on my tippy-toes trying to get a hold of the freaking hanger without looking like a desperate bridesmaid trying to catch a bouquet. It was on the upper rack where only giants can reach, but I did manage to get two different sizes to try on.
I took some other stuff in the dressing room as well. None of it really rocked my world, but I had saved the best till last. I put on the bigger size first, assuming it was the way to go. It kind of hung on me like a sack. It was longer than I thought it would be and I just looked at my reflection sad and disappointed. I tried to talk myself into it and make it okay. Like, this could work. Finally, I took it off and tried on the smaller size. Hey, this is form fitting, it actually looks a bit better than the first one by being snugger. I turned around and looked at my back-side. Oh my word, my ass looked fantastic in this dress. I ran my hand over my ass and was like, damn, girl! Not that my ass is anything special, but in that moment, I'd date me with that ass in that dress. Then I stood facing front analyzing if the dress was flattering with the stripes. It kind of was. I didn't have the curve-in at the waist like the model in the picture, but I didn't have anything bulging out or cellulite showing through either. I looked pretty good, I thought. I started to get excited. Could I be brave enough? Could I wear this and have the confidence? The dress left no room for imperfections.
And then, the nightmare began...I turned sideways. That's right, I stood there side-ways looking at how I looked from the side...in the mirror...at my side...in the mirror... I looked like I was smuggling a sack of potatoes in my mid-section. And then, it kind of hugged the front of my thighs. At that moment, I wished I was a Flat Stanley, like people only saw me from the front. I was horrified, but I still tried to make it okay. I thought, well, people will mostly be walking towards me, or behind me thinking, "look at that ass...". Most people won't be looking at me from the side... What about when I sit down? What happens to the potato sack? Will it shift? Will it rest on my muffin top? I just didn't know.
I so wanted the dress, and it is such a stupid thing to want a dress that bad. I don't know if I wanted the dress more or just to be able to wear something that a thinner person could wear. This is when the inner dialogue really got serious. I thought, you know what, who cares what I look like from the side? Will anyone else notice? Yes, they will. Or...maybe they won't? Maybe I should just own it? You know, some big girls really own it. I wanted to own it, but was I brave enough? I usually dress strategically enough to cover some of the bumps...and potatoes. I mean, it isn't like people don't know I'm fat, I'm not a fucking magician. It's just, I don't advertise curves that don't exist and I don't let my belly hang out. My ass though...I had to admit, it looked good. Not like Kardashian or Beyonce booty, but you know, not too shabby for a girl like me.
I tried on the bigger size again. No, it wasn't the same. I tried on the smaller one again. The potatoes are still there. I tried on the bigger one again, could I make it work? Would I be more comfortable? No. I tried on the smaller one again. I wanted it. I wanted to be that confident. I wanted to wear what I wanted to wear and not be held back by bad body images. I wanted to accept this body in front of me for the moment, with the understanding I will continue to try and make it better. I tried on the bigger one again. No. No. It's not the one. I put on the smaller one again. I begged myself to make peace with my potatoes.
I couldn't. I left the dress.
But, I can't stop thinking about it. I feel so stupid for continuing to think about it. I don't know why this one has me so bewitched. I think maybe it's my mind making it a big deal for a reason I don't quite understand. I told The Rug Doctor today about the dress. She was proud of me for liking my ass and excitedly asked, "So, did you get the dress?" I said, "No. I couldn't do it." She looked kind of disappointed, but then nodded her head and said, "okay."
What should I do? Embrace the potatoes and buy the dress? Or, be happy that I have the common sense not to make a spectacle of myself? Should I be confident and damn anyone that looks down on me for an inappropriate fashion choice? Or, make peace with the fact that the dress just isn't for a girl with this body shape? I don't really give a shit what people think of me, but at the same time, I don't want to feel so completely exposed. And, abs shouldn't be made of potatoes, but mine are.
Is this the dumbest blog I've ever written? I'm not sure. Is this like a real growth moment? I don't know.
Seriously confused.
#sidepotato #idtapmyownass #stripeddressgotmelike #areyoureadyforthisjelly
Anyway, I'm coming off that high, but also I have been agonizing about an experience I had yesterday. It all started with this dress.
I saw this dress a week or so ago in a Torrid catalog sent to my home. I was all a-twitter and thought,"that is so cute!" I figured it probably wouldn't look very good on me because I do not have the model's curves. My curves are in different places. Like, where her hips are, those lady lumps are sticking out the front where my stomach is, or are lower on my thighs. And, don't get me started about her boobs.
Well, fast forward to yesterday. I needed to take my wedding ring in to the store where we purchased it at the mall so it could have its semi-annual check and rhodium plating done. I had to walk right by the Torrid store. This dress was hanging in the front window and I knew it was a sign I should go in and try it on, you know, just to see. It wasn't going to work, I knew it, but I just had to put this curiosity to bed.
I walked in and acted all casual, like the dress didn't matter. I cruised around looking at other stuff, the clearance rack, you know, played it cool. I didn't need the dress. No. Big. Deal. But nothing interested me like that damn stripey dress. Before long, there I was, standing on my tippy-toes trying to get a hold of the freaking hanger without looking like a desperate bridesmaid trying to catch a bouquet. It was on the upper rack where only giants can reach, but I did manage to get two different sizes to try on.
I took some other stuff in the dressing room as well. None of it really rocked my world, but I had saved the best till last. I put on the bigger size first, assuming it was the way to go. It kind of hung on me like a sack. It was longer than I thought it would be and I just looked at my reflection sad and disappointed. I tried to talk myself into it and make it okay. Like, this could work. Finally, I took it off and tried on the smaller size. Hey, this is form fitting, it actually looks a bit better than the first one by being snugger. I turned around and looked at my back-side. Oh my word, my ass looked fantastic in this dress. I ran my hand over my ass and was like, damn, girl! Not that my ass is anything special, but in that moment, I'd date me with that ass in that dress. Then I stood facing front analyzing if the dress was flattering with the stripes. It kind of was. I didn't have the curve-in at the waist like the model in the picture, but I didn't have anything bulging out or cellulite showing through either. I looked pretty good, I thought. I started to get excited. Could I be brave enough? Could I wear this and have the confidence? The dress left no room for imperfections.
And then, the nightmare began...I turned sideways. That's right, I stood there side-ways looking at how I looked from the side...in the mirror...at my side...in the mirror... I looked like I was smuggling a sack of potatoes in my mid-section. And then, it kind of hugged the front of my thighs. At that moment, I wished I was a Flat Stanley, like people only saw me from the front. I was horrified, but I still tried to make it okay. I thought, well, people will mostly be walking towards me, or behind me thinking, "look at that ass...". Most people won't be looking at me from the side... What about when I sit down? What happens to the potato sack? Will it shift? Will it rest on my muffin top? I just didn't know.
I so wanted the dress, and it is such a stupid thing to want a dress that bad. I don't know if I wanted the dress more or just to be able to wear something that a thinner person could wear. This is when the inner dialogue really got serious. I thought, you know what, who cares what I look like from the side? Will anyone else notice? Yes, they will. Or...maybe they won't? Maybe I should just own it? You know, some big girls really own it. I wanted to own it, but was I brave enough? I usually dress strategically enough to cover some of the bumps...and potatoes. I mean, it isn't like people don't know I'm fat, I'm not a fucking magician. It's just, I don't advertise curves that don't exist and I don't let my belly hang out. My ass though...I had to admit, it looked good. Not like Kardashian or Beyonce booty, but you know, not too shabby for a girl like me.
I tried on the bigger size again. No, it wasn't the same. I tried on the smaller one again. The potatoes are still there. I tried on the bigger one again, could I make it work? Would I be more comfortable? No. I tried on the smaller one again. I wanted it. I wanted to be that confident. I wanted to wear what I wanted to wear and not be held back by bad body images. I wanted to accept this body in front of me for the moment, with the understanding I will continue to try and make it better. I tried on the bigger one again. No. No. It's not the one. I put on the smaller one again. I begged myself to make peace with my potatoes.
I couldn't. I left the dress.
But, I can't stop thinking about it. I feel so stupid for continuing to think about it. I don't know why this one has me so bewitched. I think maybe it's my mind making it a big deal for a reason I don't quite understand. I told The Rug Doctor today about the dress. She was proud of me for liking my ass and excitedly asked, "So, did you get the dress?" I said, "No. I couldn't do it." She looked kind of disappointed, but then nodded her head and said, "okay."
What should I do? Embrace the potatoes and buy the dress? Or, be happy that I have the common sense not to make a spectacle of myself? Should I be confident and damn anyone that looks down on me for an inappropriate fashion choice? Or, make peace with the fact that the dress just isn't for a girl with this body shape? I don't really give a shit what people think of me, but at the same time, I don't want to feel so completely exposed. And, abs shouldn't be made of potatoes, but mine are.
Is this the dumbest blog I've ever written? I'm not sure. Is this like a real growth moment? I don't know.
Seriously confused.
#sidepotato #idtapmyownass #stripeddressgotmelike #areyoureadyforthisjelly
